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For a couples of hours one day this year, I needed to be beautiful. Of course I did all the usual beauty things like putting on makeup and so forth but that wouldn't get me as far as I needed to go. I needed to be beyond beautiful; I needed to be glamorous. 

Glamor is magic. It's not a coincidence that it's both a word for a certain sophisticated sort of beauty and also a word for the innate shape changing magic of the fae. 

Note: The events here related took place before the pandemic.

Stan, Stan, the Swimming Pool Man,

looks as good as anyone can.

One of the advantages of taking the kid to his swim lessons is his instructor.

Stan, Stan the Swimming Pool Man is as beautiful as a god. I swear, this guy could crack walnuts with his butt. At open swim on Saturdays, it's always kind of amusing to watch the old ladies lining up to flirt with him.

As Sokrates says, the contemplation of beauty is its own reward.

He also says: If you want to understand the gods, look at excellence.

Today's lesson is over. I'm having a profoundly theological moment, watching Stan's trunks mold to his muscular, athlete's butt as he climbs out of the pool.

Suddenly I have a problem.

How to deal with not being able to get a haircut keeps coming up on my social media. I'm one of the traditionalist Asatruars who don't cut our hair, and I have some styling tips for you.

Coincidentally, this is not the first time I've given out hairstyle tips. Years ago, I spoke to a local college religion class about Asatru. I showed up in my gythia robes and so I had already talked a little bit about what my outfit meant, and I was wearing the pincurled style I wore during my campaign for public office, and I mentioned that many traditionalists don't cut our hair. One of the students asked me about how I kept my hair from getting split ends if I didn't cut it. My reply was, "It does have split ends. You just can't see them because I stick the ends together with mohawk spiking gel."

Many of us inherit our tastes from our parents. I am no exception. My mother was an artist with her own gallery. There she sold her paintings and a few decorative items that included carved wooden works by my brother and his wife, that might be bought by those who came in for a look around. She primarily painted abstracts, and she enjoyed wielding her brush to music. She had a brush in her hand most of every day. She once told me she had sold paintings to people all over the world.

As the wheel of the year turns to the Winter Solstice, Nature settles ever deeper into Her cloak of darkness and repose. At the opposite end of the scale, our Western culture marks the holiday season in a flurry of shopping, social obligations and overconsumption — a busy end to a busy year in an outward-focused, ever-doing, hungry-for-more world.

Nature remembers what we humans have forgotten:
every cycle must return to stillness, silence, the dark;
every out-breath requires an in-breath;
every outer endeavor turns back inward to its origins and begins again;
from death comes new life; from the darkest night, the new dawn is born.

Beauty sleeps in the belly of the dark, be it the seeds of the green growth of Spring, the powers and mysteries of the unknown, and our own dormant gifts and potential. Yet the dark has a gatekeeper; our pain, losses and the denied, repressed parts of our life story and humanity also await us in the belly of the dark. We cannot reclaim our beauty without also embracing and healing our wounding; both dwell within the shadowed folds of our inner world, side by side, a mirror of the other, each with gifts and blessings to share.

The part of you that holds your wounding is not your nemesis; it is the truth keeper of how you were hurt, what was taken from you and the choices you made in order to survive and even thrive in the face of adversity. It has stood guard and shielded your tender, beautiful, true Self, waiting for the ripe moment of your healing and blossoming.

If you are one of the fortunate ones, with few bumps and bruises in your life story, still the darkness has gifts lying in wait for you. Because the sacred dark is the truth keeper of the profound potential and mysteries of our authentic, whole/holy humanity that have been denied and repressed in our collective culture.

Open to the ways of Nature at this turning into the Winter Solstice. Heed the call arising from the belly of the dark that invites you to stillness, silence, and opens portals to your inner darkness. Let go of the frenetic activity of the season; follow your breath inward and return to your center in search of the fragments of your life story and true Self ready to return to the light.

So without, so within; as the new dawn is born of the darkest nights, so too can your beauty blossom from the depth of your wounding, and your whole/holy humanity shine forth into the returning light of a newborn day.

Photo Credit: Aaron Burden on Unsplash