On the morning of the Spring Equinox, my husband and I walked up the hill together, under the fading stars. We wanted to get up high so we could see the sun rise above the mountains. We tracked through snow some places, losing the trail, walking by instinct, until finally finding our way to our spot by the ruins of an old stronghold. Only a few moss covered rocks remained now.
We dressed in white robes, pulling them on top of our winter coats, and sang a mantra together. The sky turned pink, and brightened. The clouds shone like gold above the mountains. We waited, and waited for the sun to show itself, and I started to feel cold, and impatient, but I did not want to leave until I could see it fully. It felt important to stay. So we did, in the wind, sitting, watching the sky. And then finally it came, the ball of fire above the clouds. I felt so happy and relieved. The trees, moss, heather, stones, were all bathed in golden light. It was beautiful. The moment, the energies felt special, sacred. I wanted to soak it all in it. I stayed for a while longer, lingering in the cold as long as I could. I wanted to gather it all in my heart, and carry it with me, those precious, golden rays of the Equinox.
Back home I took a long, hot shower, and was still shivering when I crept under the covers for a few hours more of sleep.
Later in the day we went on a road trip to visit a circle of ancient, mysterious stones, a few hours away.
No one seem to know their true meaning, but I thought I felt something as we climbed that green hill, and walked into their midst. I sat there for a while, as the sun started to set behind the hill, trying to read what I was feeling.
A few days later, as my experience had settled more into me, I wrote this:
As I walked among the stones, I thought I felt whispers of what once was, as though the veil was very thin, separating the past from today, thousands of years between us. And yet it felt like it could have been yesterday.
I sat for a long moment, feeling a touch of sadness, a longing for a time when nature and beauty was honored, protected, and love and light was like precious gems to be gathered and shared with others.
Do You Remember?
Do you remember the winter light of the solstice? The woman in blue, standing in a circle of frostbitten stones. The silence of the dark morning, the last stars fading at the rising of the sun.
Do you remember that long moment of reverence? Knowing what the light meant, to the world, to your soul. Can you hear the singing? Feel the sense of wonder, and relief as the first rays reach you, warming your skin, a little, in the depth of winter.
Do you remember when everyone felt the meaning of the sun, and could read the stars, the rain, the mountains, the earth. When the world was an open book of teachings to be honored, understood. When one sapling, one tiny flower could mean so much, carrying a message of light, from the universe, the gods.
So much has happened, so many impressions in the space of one day. I’m sitting at the kitchen table, on this late Sunday morning. Outside its started snowing, tiny specks on the wind. It’s such a change from yesterday, which was sunny, not a cloud in sight. Spring was singing its beautiful song, loud and clear, and it was also the Equinox. It felt like a gift.
I will write more about it soon, about watching the sunrise, as well as my trip to an ancient stone circle a couple of hours away, – a mysterious place that no one knows much about. For now I feel like resting, let the impressions settle, so that I can later put words to everything that has happened.
On a different note I’d like to share some clips form a movie that I first watched many years ago, but that still brings a sense of magic and wonder whenever I see it, – The Voyage of the Unicorn.
I’m sitting on the step outside, listening to the evening, the little stream, the birds, the rush of the water fall across the lake. Tomorrow is the spring equinox. I will get up early to greet the sun, wearing white, praying. I feel hope for what is coming, for new things, for the light returning.
After going back inside I keep my window open, so that I can hear the song of that one bird, that seems to only sing in the early morning and evening, – those moments of in-between. I will just sit for a bit, and listen.
Today felt like a day outside time. It moved along so slowly, perhaps because I got up early, and wasn’t very tired. It felt like a soft, quiet day, with a grey, overcast sky. But there was a light behind the clouds that made me gaze at them in wonder, feeling that I was drinking in beauty.
I bought myself deep pink roses, that reminds me of kisses. I made myself a white pillar candle in honor of the spring equinox, and of the solar eclipse, and let it burn throughout the day.
With the eclipse happening I felt the energizes changing, the sky darkening. Something told me to stop what I was doing and just sit, to be in that special, long moment. So I did, feeling slightly agitated inside, but happy to relax for a little bit. I could see my anxiety, tiny flutters in my stomach, and I managed to ease it a little. I softened into myself.
My husband I had a moment together outside, as the eclipse was at its darkest. It felt like the beginning of twilight. We held hands, watching the sky, the lake, the mountains. Two eagles circle far overhead, and we could hear their cries. It sounded like one was calling the other. It felt like their cries carried some secret meaning. Perhaps they felt something happening.
We went back inside, and watched the light returning. I could see the sun shining on the other side of the water, and I sat down for another moment, just taking it all in.
I go outside to say good night to the trees, the mountains, the lake. And I remember waking up in the night, and seeing the stars reflected in the black, perfectly still water. It was a frozen night, completely silent, and it took my breath away. I stood by the window for some time, watching the stars, wondering if anyone was looking back. I tried sending love into the sky, wondering if they would hear me, but I frightened myself a little, and crept back under the warm covers.
It’s been a beautiful couple of days; cold, but sunny with a clear, blue sky. I love seeing the room bathed in sunlight in the late morning. I’ve been a bit tired though, so I try to rest by writing, and drinking my tea. Sometimes I need moments of quiet, to breathe, to gather myself, to remember who I am.
She felt there was a rose in her heart, a blush of pink slowly opening into the light. She felt she was standing at the break of dawn, watching the sun begin to rise after a long, cold night. She felt newborn, pale, fragile, yet full of promise.
Something in her was growing stronger, brighter with each passing day.
It’s the moment between light and dark. I’m sitting, wrapped in silence, a candle burning on the table in front of me.
I hear birds singing. I feel so happy to hear them again, after a long winter of quiet, of rain and dark storms.
The other day I woke up to the song of one lonely bird outside my window. It was such a sweet melody. It made me smile in my half-sleep. I felt that spring had come, even if there were no signs of leaves or flowers yet.
With spring I feel life returning, to the earth, and to me, I feel new energy coming through me.
Speaking with the Goddess
I asked the Goddess to wake up, and she did. That’s why I’m awake so early on a Sunday. I yearned for some moments alone, some time for reflection and deep feeling. Time to listen to my own soul, to the Goddess, to the sounds of a day slowly waking up.
I wanted to speak with the Goddess, because I had doubts about my path, about what I needed to do. I felt alone. Sometimes I wake up feeling such despair, like everything I dream of, yearn for doesn’t matter, that nothing matters. The feeling want to drag me down, keep me asleep. But if I pray for strength to face it, and I get up in the moments before sunrise, and write to the Goddess, listen to her words, then my dreams don’t seem so impossible anymore. There’s hope.
I’m following my heart, and I try to walk a path of love. I feel a different life will lead to regret, to a wondering of what if? What if I had tried?
So I try, and I take a step in the dark, clinging to faith, letting my path reveal itself.
I updated the cover of my book, The Little Flower. I wanted something that felt like light, like magic.
I’m still writing, and I hope to share more of what’s coming through me. I’m practicing sharing instead of holding back. I’m so good at silencing myself, but I don’t want to do that anymore. I feel I’m on a journey to finding my own voice.
Thanks for reading. Please check out my book if you feel called to.