“Hello darkness, my old friend, I’ve come to talk with you again.” Because a vision, of this night, became planted in my brain.
Why? Why did I need to make this night happen? For all of you? For Myself? No one told me to do it. My wife, Helen, said it would be too much. Still, I pushed on.
I’d come to see a light within me that had grown dim, a fire that needed tending. In many ways, I just wanted a distraction.
I’ve been struggling, this past year, with my sense of who I am, and with my relationship at home. I felt stuck, so I grabbed onto this idea “with both hands!”, despite the obvious risks.
I want to Thank You All for accompanying me on this Journey, as I attempt to guide us in facing the dark together. I hope I have honoured the traditions of Matariki and the celebration of the Maori New year. But this observation tonight of the Solstice, for me is much more sombre, sobering.
Let’s talk about the darkness. I’ve come to see it all around. There’s this part that is inside me -- It’s self-serving, places where I put myself before others. Where I turn away from those who need me; even from my own best interests. I’ve been coming to terms with it lately, dwelling on it.
This darkness is entangled with who I am. I fear who I was becoming.
I worry about losing control—of relationships, of political systems we thought would protect us, of bodies that age, of minds that might fail. I worry about AI. I used AI extensively to help me craft this night, even these words, and it gave me a kind of power to create much more, much quicker and easier than I could do on my own. But convenience has a price. Where is this leading us?
I fear that darker times are coming. We all know the problems: we’re overfishing the seas, laying the land bare, and overheating the planet. There is needless suffering and inequality, but we’ve become trapped in stories and systems that pull us apart when what we need is to be a part of something larger.
No shared story means no shared brakes. Everything is moving fast, and things are breaking all around us. Yet we’re racing toward building super-human AI systems, with no understanding of how to stay in control. One new book from Experts in the field, puts it plainly: - “If Anyone Builds It, Everyone Dies.”
And while we are currently alive here on the Earth, we are utterly alone in an unbelievably vast and otherwise empty universe. There’s no one to save us from ourselves. If this thought scares you, you are having the correct emotional response.
-<* *>-
Tonight, we face this together. - I don’t know what to do.
Often I feel I should have answers, feel I should be doing more, I should be better. But the darkness inside of me wants to turn a blind eye to the darkness out there in the world.
It whispers: someone else will take care of it.
It leads me to distractions, to avoid facing up to what I could do.
When I’m alone with these fears—my own darkness, our collective crises— it can feel overwhelming. Even then, I hold onto hope. Despite my faults, and despite my growing fears… I’m not powerless.
I’ll find strength to face what’s coming, by knowing I can still make a difference, here, with all of you. There are small acts of care within my reach. Ways to push back the darkness, with whatever light I still possess.
When the future looks dark, and the fear feels overwhelming, I remember what still matters: - Each other.
The Māori say it simply:
“He aha te mea nui o te ao? - He tangata, he tangata, he tangata.”
{”What is the most important thing in the world? It is people, it is people, it is people.”}
People with joy, happiness, community. People thriving together. These things we celebrate at Matariki—renewal, connection, abundance, hope for the growing season ahead.
Tomorrow is the winter solstice—the longest night. It marks the end of the suns retreat. But it doesn’t mark the end of the dark. The cold of winter is still deepening. Tomorrow will be brighter than today, but it won’t be warmer. Not yet.
This is where we find ourselves: at the turning point, but still in the deep, dark, cold.
Right now, somewhere, someone is suffering. Alone. Desperate. And we will not help them. Even if we could, there would be another. And another.
Our care has limits. I care more for my own child than for all the other children in the world, most of whom are worse off. I worry more about my own future than about strangers facing far worse fates.
This is human. And it’s part of why suffering persists. We have limitations.
We cannot save everyone. Worldwide, with every breath you take, about seven people die. Even here in Christchurch, approximately seven per day. This isn’t fair.
Life isn’t fair.
The universe doesn’t care.
But we care.
If we want to live in a fairer world, it’s on us to nurture it. Together. We can’t solve the worlds problems, but we can help. Even from within the dark, we still can find ways to shine light for each other. We seek solace in friends, neighbors, community. And we work to make life more Good, here, now, together.
Because coordination—and we desperately need coordination to solve these problems—starts small. We can’t work together at any large scale unless we know how to gather around the fire together.
We’re circled around the fire now. Ready to begin building toward the light. But first, let us pause a moment, to contemplate the darkness.
<When you are ready, Please turn off your LED candles, with a single twist at the base.>
In a moment, I’ll extinguish the last candle. And we will sit in the dark, for a full minute of silence. Think about whatever you need to think about.
But right now, bring your focus back to this place, this moment, this gathering. Together We breathe. Seven breaths—for the seven sisters of Pleiades, for the seven billion souls who share this planet.
For those we’ve lost. For those we love and hold close, and for those we will never meet; those still out there, in the dark.
[Lead seven deep breaths]
[Extinguish the last candle]
<60 seconds of silence, don’t rush it!>
* When you feel ready to move on; you may relight your own candle. But for a short time, while we remain together, the floor is now open for anyone who feels like sharing. *
Darkness Meditation—for NZ Winter Solstice 2025
Here’s my talk for tonight’s Solstice Gathering, in Lyttelton, New Zealand.
<previously: https://www.lesswrong.com/posts/4oAk2cu489LcuhjWi/creating-my-own-winter-solstice-celebration-southern>
The Darkness Meditation V9
< Song—Sound of Silence >
“Hello darkness, my old friend, I’ve come to talk with you again.”
Because a vision, of this night, became planted in my brain.
Why? Why did I need to make this night happen? For all of you? For Myself? No one told me to do it. My wife, Helen, said it would be too much. Still, I pushed on.
I’d come to see a light within me that had grown dim, a fire that needed tending. In many ways, I just wanted a distraction.
I’ve been struggling, this past year, with my sense of who I am, and with my relationship at home. I felt stuck, so I grabbed onto this idea “with both hands!”, despite the obvious risks.
I want to Thank You All for accompanying me on this Journey, as I attempt to guide us in facing the dark together. I hope I have honoured the traditions of Matariki and the celebration of the Maori New year. But this observation tonight of the Solstice, for me is much more sombre, sobering.
Let’s talk about the darkness. I’ve come to see it all around. There’s this part that is inside me -- It’s self-serving, places where I put myself before others. Where I turn away from those who need me; even from my own best interests. I’ve been coming to terms with it lately, dwelling on it.
This darkness is entangled with who I am. I fear who I was becoming.
I worry about losing control—of relationships, of political systems we thought would protect us, of bodies that age, of minds that might fail. I worry about AI. I used AI extensively to help me craft this night, even these words, and it gave me a kind of power to create much more, much quicker and easier than I could do on my own. But convenience has a price. Where is this leading us?
I fear that darker times are coming. We all know the problems: we’re overfishing the seas, laying the land bare, and overheating the planet. There is needless suffering and inequality, but we’ve become trapped in stories and systems that pull us apart when what we need is to be a part of something larger.
No shared story means no shared brakes. Everything is moving fast, and things are breaking all around us. Yet we’re racing toward building super-human AI systems, with no understanding of how to stay in control. One new book from Experts in the field, puts it plainly: - “If Anyone Builds It, Everyone Dies.”
And while we are currently alive here on the Earth, we are utterly alone in an unbelievably vast and otherwise empty universe. There’s no one to save us from ourselves. If this thought scares you, you are having the correct emotional response.
-<* *>-
Tonight, we face this together. - I don’t know what to do.
Often I feel I should have answers, feel I should be doing more, I should be better. But the darkness inside of me wants to turn a blind eye to the darkness out there in the world.
It whispers: someone else will take care of it.
It leads me to distractions, to avoid facing up to what I could do.
When I’m alone with these fears—my own darkness, our collective crises— it can feel overwhelming.
Even then, I hold onto hope.
Despite my faults, and despite my growing fears…
I’m not powerless.
I’ll find strength to face what’s coming, by knowing I can still make a difference, here, with all of you. There are small acts of care within my reach. Ways to push back the darkness, with whatever light I still possess.
When the future looks dark, and the fear feels overwhelming, I remember what still matters: - Each other.
The Māori say it simply:
“He aha te mea nui o te ao? - He tangata, he tangata, he tangata.”
{”What is the most important thing in the world? It is people, it is people, it is people.”}
People with joy, happiness, community. People thriving together. These things we celebrate at Matariki—renewal, connection, abundance, hope for the growing season ahead.
Tomorrow is the winter solstice—the longest night. It marks the end of the suns retreat. But it doesn’t mark the end of the dark. The cold of winter is still deepening. Tomorrow will be brighter than today, but it won’t be warmer. Not yet.
This is where we find ourselves: at the turning point, but still in the deep, dark, cold.
Right now, somewhere, someone is suffering. Alone. Desperate. And we will not help them. Even if we could, there would be another. And another.
Our care has limits. I care more for my own child than for all the other children in the world, most of whom are worse off. I worry more about my own future than about strangers facing far worse fates.
This is human. And it’s part of why suffering persists. We have limitations.
We cannot save everyone. Worldwide, with every breath you take, about seven people die. Even here in Christchurch, approximately seven per day. This isn’t fair.
Life isn’t fair.
The universe doesn’t care.
But we care.
If we want to live in a fairer world, it’s on us to nurture it. Together. We can’t solve the worlds problems, but we can help. Even from within the dark, we still can find ways to shine light for each other. We seek solace in friends, neighbors, community. And we work to make life more Good, here, now, together.
Because coordination—and we desperately need coordination to solve these problems—starts small. We can’t work together at any large scale unless we know how to gather around the fire together.
We’re circled around the fire now. Ready to begin building toward the light. But first, let us pause a moment, to contemplate the darkness.
<When you are ready, Please turn off your LED candles, with a single twist at the base.>
In a moment, I’ll extinguish the last candle. And we will sit in the dark, for a full minute of silence. Think about whatever you need to think about.
But right now, bring your focus back to this place, this moment, this gathering. Together We breathe. Seven breaths—for the seven sisters of Pleiades, for the seven billion souls who share this planet.
For those we’ve lost. For those we love and hold close, and for those we will never meet;
those still out there, in the dark.
[Lead seven deep breaths]
[Extinguish the last candle]
<60 seconds of silence, don’t rush it!>
* When you feel ready to move on; you may relight your own candle. But for a short time, while we remain together, the floor is now open for anyone who feels like sharing. *