As a Norse Pagan, Yule is one of the most sacred and meaningful times of the year for me. It isn’t just a “holiday”, it is a season, a spiritual reset, and a reminder that even in the deepest dark, light always returns.
Yule marks the Winter Solstice, the longest night of the year. It is the turning point of the wheel, when the sun is reborn and the slow return of light begins. Spiritually, it represents death and rebirth, rest and renewal, honoring the ancestors, and trusting that growth is happening even when we cannot see it.
Traditionally, Yule isn’t just one day. In Norse practice, it often spans 12 nights, beginning on the Solstice. Each night holds its own energy, a time for reflection, intention setting, honoring the Gods, and connecting with kin, both living and dead.
For me, Yule is about slowing down. It is about sitting with the dark instead of fearing it. It is a time to honor Odin for wisdom and sacrifice, to acknowledge the strength of the Gods and Goddesses, and to thank them for walking with us through hardship and transformation. Yule reminds me that survival itself is sacred.
In my house, Yule is cozy, intentional, and deeply personal.
I decorate with evergreens, pinecones, candles, and symbols of the Norse Gods.
I light candles each night to honor the returning sun.
I keep an altar refreshed with offerings, mead, bread, apples, and written intentions.
I spend time journaling, reflecting on the year behind me and what I want to carry forward.
I honor my ancestors, speaking their names and thanking them for the strength I carry.
There is always good food, warmth, laughter, and moments of quiet reverence.
Something I still do every Yule is a tradition I shared with my Mema. We would make a big pot of hot cocoa, stirring in peppermint, then turn off most of the lights and sit quietly by the fireplace. Soft holiday music would play in the background, the tree glowing, the house fully decorated, and we would simply exist in the peace of the moment. I continue this tradition today, even though she has been gone for twenty years. It is how I honor her memory, and how I feel closest to her on the Solstice.
Some nights are celebratory. Others are soft and introspective. Both are equally sacred. Tonight I’ll likely step outside with my frankincense and my drum, singing to Odin and raising a toast in his honor. While I don’t have mead this year, I do have a very special imported beer from Bavaria that Calvin and I will share, and that feels just as meaningful. I’ll make my offerings to the Gods, then spend the rest of the evening enjoying the company of family and friends.
Yule doesn’t demand perfection. It asks for honesty, presence, and respect for the cycles of life. It teaches patience, resilience, and trust in the turning of time. And honestly? It gives me permission to rest without guilt.
So if you celebrate Yule, or are simply curious. I hope this season brings you warmth, peace, and a reminder that even the longest night gives way to dawn.
Hail Odin!
Hail the Old Gods.
Hail the returning sun.
And happy Yule to those who walk this path.
Skal!