Winter Solstice, an inward turning

 I’ve always loved winter.

There’s something about the permission it brings — to go inward, to slow down, to not feel like you have to be out and about doing anything at all. That delicious feeling of being rugged up, cosy and snuggly inside with a warm drink in your hands. It’s a different energy to spring, summer and autumn. It’s introspective, quieter, slower, softer — and it feels nurturing to meet it.

We’re so lucky in Melbourne to experience the full rhythm and display of the seasons — to witness them through our senses; to feel, see, smell, hear and even taste them. The days shorten. The nights stretch out. The cold settles in. Nature has clearly turned inward.

We see winter reflected in the way we nourish ourselves. Warm broths, root vegetables, ancient grains, stewed fruits and slow-cooked meals that ground and sustain. Food that lingers. Food that carries us through.

The trees stand bare, for us to witness the elegant beauty in their structure and shape, nothing to hide behind, they are revealed and exposed in a still kind of vulnerability. No excess beauty, no distraction — just form, quiet presence, and beneath the surface, bulbs lie underground beneath the leaf litter, their energy drawn in, preparing. Not yet visible, but gathering.

Even our native river red gums that still carry their leaves through the cooler months, they continue their quiet work, shedding bark while directing energy below ground. Unlike deciduous trees that enter dormancy, these evergreens remain active, using winter's cooler, wetter conditions as a vital period for deep root development. Nature reminds us that growth is not always seen — sometimes it is found in what we release, and in the roots we deepen beneath the surface.

We feel this too.

The pull to stay in. To rug up. To choose stillness over movement. And even when we do step out on those cold Melbourne nights, layered up, breath visible in the cool air, each exhale creating a soft mist that hangs for a moment before disappearing — there’s a different kind of excitement; sharper, more alive.

The Winter Solstice marks the deepest point of yin — the longest night of the year. A moment where everything has turned inward as far as it can go. And within that, something begins to shift. Not outwardly, not yet, but the first quiet impulse of yang is already there — like a seed held in the darkness, dormant beneath the earth, carried from the spent flowers of summer and waiting for the conditions for a new cycle to emerge.

The longest night is not an ending but a turning point. As the Yin Yang symbol reminds us, within the darkness the white dot represents the spark of light already present — the promise of what is yet to come.

During this time, the traditional custodians of this land, the Wurundjeri people, know this season as Waring — a time of cold, water and drawing inward. Waring is the wombat, who emerges from its burrow to enjoy the warmth of the winter sun. Migratory birds arrive from across Bass Strait, while male lyrebirds begin their extravagant courtship displays. Even in the quietest season, life continues its subtle movements beneath the surface. It is a time to stay close to warmth, to conserve, and to tend to what sustains.

In Traditional Chinese Medicine, winter is associated with the Water element and the downward movement of energy. It is connected to the Kidney and Bladder meridians. The Kidneys are said to store Jing — our deepest reserve of vitality and foundational essence. Winter invites us to protect these reserves through rest, nourishment and the wise use of our energy.

While the Kidneys are often described as our deepest well, the Bladder teaches us about flow, adaptability and release. Running along the entire back body, the Bladder meridian reminds us that strength is not only found in what we conserve, but also in our ability to let go of what we no longer need.

Keeping warm matters. Warm socks or slippers, a scarf around the neck, a beanie on the head. In Chinese medicine, the soles of the feet are considered a place where we draw nourishment from the earth, while the back of the neck is viewed as a gateway through which cold and wind can enter the body. These small acts of care support us more than we realise. Winter is not asking us to push harder. It is asking us to sustain ourselves.

The Water element teaches us how to yield. Water always finds the lowest place, following the path of least resistance and shaping itself to what is. Soft, yet powerful in its persistence. Like water returning to its source, winter draws us back to what is essential.

This same movement is accessed through the Root Chakra — our foundation, our sense of safety and belonging. Winter calls us home: to the body, to warmth, and to the simple structures that support us. When the external world quietens, we are invited to soften and remember that we are held.

In yoga, this is reflected in Savasana. Often translated as "corpse pose", it is really an invitation into conscious rest. A practice of stillness where effort dissolves, the nervous system settles, and integration happens quietly beneath the surface. The breath meets us here.

A simple mantra to sit with:

So Hum.

I am that.

Breathing in, "So".

Breathing out, "Hum".

A soft remembering that we are part of this rhythm, not separate from it.

Yin yoga invites us to stay. To soften. To allow the body to open in its own time. The breath deepens — slow, steady and warming from within. In stillness, we begin to hear what lies beneath the noise.

Less doing.

More listening.

Winter isn't asking us to bypass what is difficult. It invites us to sit with it. To trust that even in the darkest spaces, something meaningful is taking shape.

There is a quiet intelligence in this season. Not everything needs to be expressed. Not everything needs to move.

Like water held beneath the surface, some things are here to deepen.

A simple anchor:

I soften into stillness.

Because within this darkness, something is gathering.

And we don't need to rush it.

Namaste yogis,

Georgia Karstens

Yogi & Lightworker