The tantra of Christmas

There are plenty of holidays through the year, but for some reason, Christmas seems to be especially full of love, rejuvenation, and wonder. Why? My theory is that Christmas is the only time of year we have permission to fully enjoy ourselves. We get drunk on our senses – the lights, the bright reds and golds, fluffy pastries, decadent chocolates and savory meats beckon us to lose ourselves in the “magic of the season”. But really, isn’t life full of magic all the time? Maybe it’s just that we rarely pause long enough to enjoy it.

While many happy feelings are associated with Christmas, it's notoriously a good time for romance. We can also feel more love for our parents, children, friends, and even strangers at this time. The change is so noticeable that we may wonder, why can’t we be like this all year round? In light of a few things I've learned about neurology, and a desire for  more love in my life, I thought I'd share my thoughts.

So what makes Christmas so romantic? According to neurology, when we first fall in love, our brains release a ton of dopamine. Dopamine is a neurochemical associated with reward: sexual attraction, gambling, drugs, and exercise can all boost dopamine levels. Dopamine is also associated with confidence, motivation, and energy, which explains that "top-of-the-world" feeling of falling in love. It’s evolution's way of encouraging us to find a mate. Oxytocin, which increases later in the relationship, is evolution's way of encouraging us to settle down and raise children. It's also dubbed the “cuddle hormone”, and since there's not much else to do in December, this makes Christmas a great time for bonding, whether you're just getting to know each other or are long-time partners.

Given that Christmas is filled with rewards like shiny presents and good food, and activities like cuddling and relaxing with loved ones, it's possible that we're bathed in dopamine and oxytocin the whole time. In a sort of tantric way, perhaps this is part of the magic of Christmas. No matter what hormone it might be caused by, consciously enjoying pleasure uplifts our energy. And, true to tantra, this may be what makes us more apt to smile at strangers, give to charity, and treat others with more kindness. Maybe this is what makes Christmas "the most wonderful time of the year."

I’ve found that after Christmas, I often feel full of energy and start planning for the coming year. (This year, I brainstormed ways to green my home.) The whole “New Years’ Resolution” thing is an example of the tendency to start new projects when  we're feeling refreshed. But if we fizzle out a few months later, we need to examine if pleasure and connection are enough a part of our lives throughout the year. 

Christmas is a time when we really enjoy ourselves. We almost worship abundance, with more conscious intent than usual. Through giving gifts to others, we feel just as uplifted as by enjoying them ourselves. We create beautiful decorations, music, cards, and parties, and we slow down enough to enjoy them. But what if Christmas came in February? Personally, I’d drape my house in violet and pink cloth, make coconut cake to resemble snow, and invite all my friends over to sing our favorite spiritual songs and trade seed packets. How would you keep the magic alive all year round?

Greetings from the Darkness

It's the holidays again, when many of us participate, with varying degrees of enthusiasm, in rituals of sending Christmas cards, attending parties, and connecting with friends and relatives. As a new wife, I've found myself reflecting with a chuckle on the sentiments expressed over the years: "oh, time to do that again," or some variation of fatigue at these "forced" social overtures. I totally get it. Nobody likes to be social out of a sense of obligation, and no doubt, the receiver of said overture might not be pleased to know that their friends' visits, calls and well-wishes were less than enthusiastic. We all would like to participate in a world where our interactions with others are always enthusiastic. At least, I would.

Since my early 20's I've wrestled with this, sometimes being extremely diligent with Christmas rites, and other times totally missing friends' birthdays. Some years, I confess, I opted out of Christmas gift-giving, not for mere lack of enthusiasm, but out of revulsion at the idea of giving out of obligation. In my late 20's, I sort of white-knuckled my way through, believing that consistent participation in Christmas rites was a sign of adulthood.

At the same time, I've always sensed that this time, around the winter solstice, has its own kind of magic apart from any religious overtones. It is the darkest time of year, and we can't help but notice some of its effects. We may feel more tired than usual and/or crave quiet times at home, watching movies or snuggling under a cozy blanket. We crave bright lights and music, but we also crave simplicity and peace. We experience more than ever the paradoxical desire for the comforts of the world, and the strength of being at peace with stillness, darkness, and uncertainty. We want to celebrate at one moment, and meditate the next.

In ancient pagan religions, the solstice was a time to honor the darkness as well as the return of the sun. We carry this tradition in some ways today, as we kindle fires and Christmas lights as a reminder of brighter days to come. We look back over the year, as this is a natural time to pause and remember the past. We remember those who have come and gone from our lives, and how we ourselves have changed and grown.

I imagine many people feel this, to varying degrees, and I think they must because it is reflected in our yearly traditions. As for me, I do feel drawn to connect to old friends, new friends, and relatives this time each year. It is dark now, and cold, and I want to ask them, "how are you? Has the year treated you well? How does this darkness feel to you? And what do you hope for in the year to come?" As I write my Christmas cards I let my heart speak these messages. And before I know it, my stack of cards is done, ready to be sent out. These are not just obligatory pieces of paper; they are a token signifying that we have thought about each other, that we are connected, even - nay, especially - in the darkest times.

Soften

Holding oneself soft, softer, softer
is the way to really bloom
Allowing space for the mind to detach, float
(filled with colorful images, float...)

Allowing time for the body to breathe, melt,
loosen, re-assemble itself

Feeling beliefs become re-shaped as you hear the
deep deep wisdom... so quiet....
whisper in your ear

Suddenly surrounded by so much beauty

What can I do with it all?

Soften

Pointing at the Moon

Since summer 2013, I've been blogging under Dear Americans, a record of my move to Canada from the U.S.. But I've been recording my thoughts about the mind-body connection, embodied spirituality, and living well for 15 years. As a sensual and creative person, who comes from a reserved, intellectual, and accomplishment-focused family, I was driven by a need to reconcile these two parts of myself. In my late 20's, I was busy obtaining a Master's Degree in Counseling, teaching yoga, working fulltime, and dealing with an autoimmune disease that affected my body and mind. Last year, I got married and moved to Canada, and am now on a sort of compulsory vacation. While I'm waiting for my immigration papers, I've done some reading about neuroscience and how the brain is affected by diet, lifestyle, sex, hormones, and mindful practices. While I'm not intending to dispense advice here, I am very excited to see that the connection between the mind and body is finally being understood, and I look forward to sharing both my personal experience, creative writing, and the exciting tidbits I find.

"Pointing at the Moon" comes from a Buddhist tale about a man who asked a nun to read a sacred text to him. The nun questioned the man's ability to understand its meaning, since he was, after all, illiterate. He replied, "the words are like a finger pointing at the moon. But the finger is not the moon. To look at the moon, it is necessary to gaze beyond the finger." I like this idea of spirituality as being intuitive, something best experienced first hand with our senses. I also like its reference to the Moon, because the moon is a symbol of feminity, and female cycles have been important to my spiritual and creative growth. According to ancient traditions, the feminine force is the material world, including nature's beauty and cycles, sexual power, and the body, in all its beauty and limitation. While Western Judeo-Christian culture tends to overlook the sacredness of the physical world, many of us are turning back to the body's wisdom and finding peace in nature. We are coming to believe that revering the body and nature, and taking solace therein, may be the key to restoring balance to our greed-driven society.

Coming into alignment with the body's wisdom, the power of gratitude, the rhythms of nature... these are powerful tools. Not just because of how they might help us in our individual search for health and happiness, but because through that search, we seem to become more generous, balanced, and thoughtful, and more part of a harmonious whole. Through the abundance of peace and soothing we can find within, we can feel less and less of a need to find it through consumerism, ambition, or aggression, as is the cultural norm.

This is not to say that Christianity, intellectualism, or straight-up Zen meditation are not good ways to find balance. My blog focuses on physical and emotional techniques, mostly because they're part of my own journey, but also because I believe there is a vacuum of information out there. While it has improved dramatically since the 1960's, sexual and emotional health still carry stigma and are kept under unnecessary wraps of secrecy and taboo. Much of this is for sheer lack of knowledge. Pointing at the Moon is one more voice to remove the secrecy, one voice in the movement towards a happy, whole expression of being human, warts and all.