On March 20th, the northern hemisphere moved through the vernal equinox, the midpoint between the winter solstice and the summer solstice, where the hours of light and dark are perfectly balanced.
Not only does the equinox signal the advent of spring, but invites us to
pause and examine what feels out of balance in our lives. On this day, and the corresponding autumnal equinox on September 22nd, we can play with the idea of unifying internal opposites and honoring the darkness within us, as well as the light.
Just as spring heralds the beginning of the year, with evidence of new life springing up all around, the passive, contemplative focus of winter is left behind. We feel the stirring energy of new life, new opportunities, new ideas.
Perhaps, we can use this pause to invite a little spring cleaning for the soul? Clearing off the earth to make room for the small seedlings that will push through the soil to find the sun. What within you needs help and support to find its way into the light? What unhelpful habit or belief might be discarded for the energy of a new practice or idea?
Using the cycles of the Earth to help guide our work throughout the year keeps us attuned to the same benchmarks that our ancestors used for millennia to move in concert with the seasons and to mark periods of great transition, as well as moments of stillness. To embrace what grows in the light, as well as what thrives in the dark. Both are needed to be whole. What is your work for the spring?
Blessings on your journey,
I am finding these to be very challenging times as of late, even though things seem to returning to something more recognizable, for the moment anyway. There is still so much liminality in the world, so much that is undefinable and ineffable, as we continue to navigate the pandemic, the Ukrainian war, the changing climate, the ongoing oppression of others.
The world can feel like it is unraveling at times, and me along with it.
These are the times when I am most vulnerable to some form of distorted storytelling. The brain is a meaning making organ, after all. It has any number of creative ways to develop narratives that help me think that I know what’s happening.
This isn’t necessarily a bad thing. We are designed to look for and rely on some kind of model for our experience, especially when it feels threatening, or sufficiently outside of our ordinary experience of reality for us to know how to respond. Our central nervous systems do not do well with the unknown.
When I find myself in these spaces of confusion, when I feel the footing beneath me shifting, I try to make it a practice to slow down and acknowledge my vulnerability to a story that shores up my ego, or reduces the complexity of the situation to something more digestible, but incomplete.
Here is the invitation to humility. Holding our understanding lightly in open hands, makes room for new information, or a shift in perception or perspective, and gives us space for compassion as well - for ourselves and for others.
It is okay not to know. Confusion feels uncomfortable, so we tend to breeze past it. Perhaps we might try welcoming the unknown and undefined, the generative befuddlement that always precedes understanding? There are lessons here too.
Blessings on your journey,
Louisa has always enjoyed writing and is thrilled that she now has a way to share her musings with a larger community of like-minded seekers. Her writing is often an extension and exploration of the struggles she faces in integrating her own spirituality, scholarly study, life experience, and nuggets of brilliance from her teachers in the hopes that it might alchemically transform itself into something approximating wisdom.