One early December morning I walked through town, seeing people scraping the ice from their cars in the harsh light of the street lamps, pushing against the offerings of winter. I was struck with the sickening truth of my own defences against the unwanted aspects of my experience. It became an image of our collective resistance – our resistance to the dark, to grief, to the horrors of the world, to our own deepest dreams, desires and values, to our personal and communal guilt and shame. It is a resistance that employs the weapon of light, spreading light farther and farther into every corner of existence so that we can continue to pursue a singular narrative of ‘business as usual’ in both an individual and collective sense. What can help us break this trajectory? This turning away is more painful, and ultimately more harmful, than turning towards. We must respond to the invitation of winter, of the dark cradle, where we can touch base, cry, shout, heal, and break ourselves open into a greater whole. It is a risk we have to take, for our own sanity and authentic growth and as a moral obligation to the living earth.