Every living being senses this moment. Yule arrives — the winter solstice, a day of profound significance across religions, beliefs, and cultures. It is the sacred turning point of the year, when darkness reaches its maximum.
The days have grown exceedingly short, and the nights now seem endlessly, unbearably long. The sun appears barely to rise at all: the pale light of dawn swiftly gives way to dusk, and once again everything is enveloped in cold darkness.
The darkness reaches its absolute limit. It feels as though light will never return. And yet, in the moment of complete surrender to the totality of night, a miracle suddenly occurs: a faint spark flares up from nowhere. Its light is almost imperceptible, but it does not go out. What is it?
In many ancient traditions, Yule is the festival of the birth of the solar child-god. His arrival is paradoxical: such a powerful deity enters the world not in a time of triumph and splendor, but at a moment of utmost vulnerability. At this point, the god who may one day become supreme represents not invincible strength, but merely the beginning of a journey — a new possibility, a fragile hope. And so the moment of greatest darkness becomes the first encounter with light.
This paradox has always been felt as a crucial passage. In the impenetrable darkness of long Yule nights, the path is invisible, and one’s strength is nearly spent. Yet this first divine spark becomes a sign of meaning regained — quiet, like the breath of an infant. That meaning is not yet clear, but it is already tangible. And the task of the human being is not to let it dissipate or vanish, but to hold it, to preserve it until warmth returns — until the tiny flame can grow into a great and steady fire.
Modern New Year and Christmas celebrations have retained little of the spirit of ancient Yule. Yet it still lives deep within us — in the desire to take stock, to bring things to completion, and then to pause for a while, listening to the world and gazing into the darkness. In the hope for a miracle that is certain to happen. In the quiet resolve to do something differently. And in the absolute certainty that everything will be all right — if that small divine flame is kindled, the one capable of dispelling even the greatest darkness.
Text by Yulia Zemtsova
Photo by Ravshan Kazakov
Translated from Russian by Sofia Zemtsova
