The Art of Giving Nothing

The trees have lost their leaves and the water birds have flown south. Nature has made a space which feels like it needs filling. It isn't so strange that we choose this barren time of year for giving gifts. The questions I've been asking myself as the pepparkakor (gingerbread cookies), lussebullar (saffron buns) and julknäcke (spiced crisp bread) flood the shelves is what should I be filling this season of giving with? How much do I really want to fill it?

This season of darkness is in many ways a balm. It gives us permission to wind down, to dine early and to leave aside the reverie of summer's light nights. It wraps us in yearning for a hot cup, warmth and sleep as we head for the darkest day. Outside the world is beautiful in its restraint. The greyness is fine and well-tailored, like a Swedish peasant woman's Sunday finest one hundred years ago. The plants on the flower beds have long bowed their heads as the soil slumbers. There is a heaviness which slows all life, all sound and which gives us an opening to rest quietly within.

That inner world is often neglected. Maybe that is because we suspect that it isn't that quiet in there after all. Our wants, passions, fears and memories can make it an awfully busy place. Winter is that time too: a time for facing our Bergmanesque demons and, in doing so, shrinking them to size and reclaiming the peace that belongs to each of us. This reclamation of personal space can be winter's most important gift if we are prepared to receive it.

The winter lore of Scandinavia is full of practices that encourage our readiness for peace. The end of year is a time for clearing out and using nature's antiseptic, pine, to scour the floors and wipe the surfaces. It is a time for cleaning ourselves in the sauna and for letting the steam, or the magic löyly as it is known, to heal us by bringing outthe beads of worry and ambition. It is time for that silent walk in the quietwoods which, unburdened of its foliage, is now lighter and more airy than in any other season.

As I sit in my clean home staring out at the gray, my demons shrink unwillingly to size and I experience a moment of nothing. The nature of nothing is that you cannot explain what it is except to say that it leaves you feeling the reverse of what it sounds. Suddenly I understand the Swedish love of fading gray, the subtlety of form and expression, and the endless fascination with winter white. Like Buddhist monks, they reach towards the greatest gift of the season which is emptiness. Paradoxically, it is in that empty space that we begin to know the world, its true riches and the love of family and friends. It takes the experience of nothing to know the thrill of everything.

Yet how do you give someone nothing? In our society that sounds like an insult – not in the spirit of the season. After some head-scratching, I've come to the conclusion that while you cannot give nothing, you can give in a way that opens up the possibility of partaking in winter's greatest free offer. The question of whether this is a gift that is needed or will be appreciated falls away. Everyone needs and ultimately yearns for stillness, even if it isn't immediately apparent to them.

Across the street, the organizers break the gray by hanging tinsel around the sign for the annual Julmarknad (Christmas market). It conjures images of red and green, handcrafting, people drinking glögg (warm spiced red wine) and eating saffron buns. Closer to the ground, the dogs wag their tails and snap up the scraps. “Mamma, can I buy this? Can I buy that?” is the chatter one hears across the stalls against the jingling of the bells that ring from the horse-drawn carriage that draws paying customers around the park.

Amid all of the action is the chatter about Queen Silvia's prayer book (Drottning Silvias Bönbok, Verbum) illustrated with photographs taken by none other than her husband, the King. At first it seems presumptuous of a modern queen to tell us how to pray. Yet there is something appealing about giving a gift of non-denominational prayer. It's a way of working through our positive and painful experiences, says the Queen, who works tirelessly for the cause of disadvantaged and abused children. In other words, prayer is a way of processing the energy of chaos and transforming it into the power of peace. I consider buying a discounted box of prayer books but wonder if there isn't an even simpler way to give nothing.

At the Christmas market I run into a friend who thanks me for listening. I barely remember what she is talking about. “When everyone was giving me advice, you just listened”, she insists with such gratefulness that I am certain I cannot possibly deserve it. I glance around the Christmas market. People talk about their wares, their holiday season plans and the latest news. Like everyday life, it is filled to bursting with opinions, thoughts and information, but it is rarely a place for the quiet empty haven of listening. The act of receiving another person's utterances without filling their consciousness with more, is an invaluable thing precisely because it has the possibility of bringing that still moment.

Something special is about to happen at the Christmas market. The chatter dies down and out of silence the glorious voices of a St. Lucia procession rise. The tall, young singers move slowly and in unison, Lucia with her hands clasped in prayer. The live candles on Lucia's head illuminate her classic profile. The harmony of voices unembellished by instrumental accompaniment, is in itself a gift: a welcome to each person to unburden their hearts and to dwell in this uncomplicated moment. In Lucia at the Christmas market I see the barren winter's greatest and most moving gift: the chance to soar in the experience of everything beautiful out of the humble base of absolutely nothing.

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This piece is written for my column, Letter from the Island, written for American-Swedish newspaper, Nordstjernan (www.nordstjernan.com). For more about my writing and other projects, including upcoming books, please visit www.julielindahl.com. Welcome also to visit my free e-magazine for wellbeing with Nordic inspiration at www.nordicwellbeing.com.