Warming to the Winter

I’m old enough to remember open fires, and the ‘marching armies’ (apparently for others they were 'fairies') of incandescent soot moving across the fire-bricks at the back… And although I will readily concede that fires are not particularly efficient, and are environmentally unfriendly, in my childhood the fire was a friendly companion to my fantasy. Looking back, I would say that I was warmed through by more than physical heat.

I day-dreamed my stories — I lived in reverie, imagining everything was possible and even more, that it was actually happening… Warmth and potentiality seem to be related somehow. The Greek philosopher Heraclitus went so far as to claim, ‘This world, which is the same for all, no one of gods or humans has made; but it was ever, is now, and ever will be an ever-living Fire, with measures of it kindling, and measures going out.’ Clearly he was fascinated, as I have been since childhood, with the transformative mystery of fire, of heat, of warmth… So I gaze at a fire and everything is imaginable. I warm to these possibilities.

Little children respond so readily to warmth. They flourish in its presence, expanding just like it does into the available space. Their interest in the world kindles enthusiasm for existence. Breathing opens up a space, and warming fills it. Children warm to being here through their explorations. And it is like this throughout life — warmth draws us into the situation, whereas coldness causes distance. Warmth is relationship. The ultimate warming experience is love — between the tender touching towards another person through interest, and the blazing intensity of passion, love opens the world to joy.

Warmth is not heat. I prefer to reserve this word ‘heat’ for the physical intensity of those 37°C days in summer, or for those occasions when I’m under pressure and really ‘feeling the heat’. Heat is felt at the surfaces — it scorches — but real warmth suffuses, permeates, soaking through into the deepest and often darkest places. And this warmth encourages — wherever warmth penetrates, there I can feel my presence is supported. So the other day I walked out into sunshine; the air was cool, but the direct sun soaked right through me, even it seemed right into my bones. And I was content.

But winter reminds us, when we discover how cold the air can be around our ears, and even chilling the skull, that little children need protection not only from the demonic summer sun, but also from the cold air of winter. Until they are three, their fontanels at the top and back of the head are open and the brain is unprotected. Yet their warmth sense is still undeveloped, and they cannot discern the cold. We have to perceive the risk and cover them.

We also create inward warmth by enriching life. A collection of autumn leaves, red berries, nuts and seeds — these awaken interest in a child for those natural rhythms of death and rebirth. Participating in the seasons with our children prepares another kind of soil — the rich humus of the soul, in which the deep purposes of life take root. Winter invites inwardness, and we discover rich depths of sensitive awareness through cultivating this inner life. Into reverie, into the warming and enwarmed heart we sow the seeds of the future…