And if you think my winter is too cold,
You don't deserve my spring. Erin Hanson
There is an unmistakable hint of spring in the air. The magic and wonder of the awakening may be subtle, but sleeping seeds and roots heed the call and begin their journey toward the welcoming light. The animals transition from survival to perpetuation of life as they prepare for newborns that will soon arrive.
Here in the Midwest, we also know that this is a false spring -- it may flirt with us, but snow and freezing temps are still a very real possibility. It ensures we aren’t too quick to plan or plant life outdoors until the threat of a deep freeze is long gone.
False spring however, is the promise of things to come. It’s as if nature knows the earth and its inhabitants, cold and tired from winter, need a gentle reminder that the warmth is returning. It is a portal for nature’s cycle of life. The subtleties that you and I sense in sounds, smells and moisture in the warming air are vital cues to the plants and animals that will awaken and gift us their life-sustaining bounties for yet another year. Nature responds to the earth’s call that the season of growth is returning.
The Return
Returning -- but remain guarded for a little while longer.
Returning -- but stay close to your place of safety and warmth.
Returning -- but don’t for a moment think this means that you are in control.
Returning -- but proceed with caution.
Beloved, the spiritual lessons of the Spring Equinox begin the moment you become aware that the earth is preparing herself for an explosion of life. The seed that will soon burst forth from the ground has been gathering energy for weeks to make the journey upward toward the sun. The miracle happens long before we witness it break through soil.
The seed believes the Earth’s promise that even though the air may still be cold, it is time to grow.
The rhythm of life is the same. We are born, we dance through our years, with occasional falls followed by leaps of joy. This journey brings moments of grief as we’ll face heartaches and loss that will cause us to retreat from the world and cocoon in our pain.
There we’ll sleep, keeping the world at bay to allow our hearts to mend. Then one day, a ray of light will shine through the curtains, reminding us that life is beckoning us to dance once again.
It is time to return to our life’s story, Beloved, just not too quickly.
Just not too quickly.
Be gentle.
Take your time.
Stay here and gather your strength.
Stretch then sleep.
Gather energy then rest.
The air will signal that it is time for us to burst from our pod of comfort, perhaps a little wobbly at first, and continue the story of our lives. No, we are never completely the same after journeying through the cold, dark winter of loss.
Neither is that little flower accompanying us on our way. Deep inside its biology is held the secrets of every cyclic year: slumber - awaken - bloom - slumber again.
But we who are witnessing its beauty and brilliance are not aware of the scars it carries.
We only see its beauty.
And that is true of you, Beloved. Whatever your story may be, we will only see your beauty and marvel at the miracle that is you.
And that is living.
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A gentle warning: In this writing I share a story about a newborn puppy that was actively dying. For anyone who has held the space of a loved one while they were taking their last breaths, you will discover there is nothing out of the ordinary about this story—an animal’s dying process is similar to that of humans. Still, the innocence of a newborn puppy may prove too much for some. If so, this is the writing to pass over. If you are staying, know that I handle this story with the reverence it deserves.
“Chasing the belonging.”
She said those words during our podcast recording. We had just spent the last hour together in a conversation that was so comfortable, as if we’d known each other a lifetime. Perhaps our souls did, because there was an ease in which we navigated heavy topics about the tension that now exists in this country, the challenges of peeling away indoctrinated layers of belief, and the desire to find ‘your people’ when you’ve lost your spiritual community.
