NAVIGATING THE INNER WINTER
The rose knows how to let who they are die for the chance of their becoming. It throws its petals to the fertile void surrendering the very thing that captivated others to them, for the promise of this becoming.
The past few years I have been aware that I have been in the fertile void that I have come to call the Inner Winter. Maybe you have too? I first felt the invitation of descent the morning of my 36th birthday. I saw the Black Madonna in the mountains of Switzerland that day and was given a rose gold onyx ring that belonged to my great great grandmother Madeline. I put it on my right ring finger and never took it off as if a silent vow had been taken.
Now, some years on, I am beginning to make out on the horizon the most beautiful blessings that have been woven in through the tugging and stretching of the heart. And as so often happens, I am seeing how it is the most challenging moments that have returned me more deeply to myself again and again.
The starlings returning to the reeds to sleep in the winter at Ham Wall, Somerset
Never before have I been more sure of the mystery than I am right now. Never before have I felt the tension of the opposites of life on Earth more than I have now. Never before have I felt so much love for humanity and so much sadness. Never before have I felt closer to and yet so far apart from loved ones. Never before have I felt so much love, compassion and holding from the Goddess for myself and humanity as a whole than I do today.
A couple of years back I said to a friend, the only thing I seem to be able to speak about in my workshops is flowers and the beauty of nature as gateways to the soul. And little by little this call to return to the earth, this descent to truly plant myself, ourselves here with urgency has been coming through stronger and stronger.
With every passing day the Grandmothers seem to be calling me to reach deeper and deeper into the sure soil of the earth. To realise that it is impossible to seed the future rose gardens that whisper within without the deep cloak of winter.
A frozen web woven in the ancient yew trees in Glastonbury
Writing has increasingly been my nectar the past few years, but I haven’t shared too much of it just yet as I have been so deep in my process. My book Returning is 80,000 words in but is still being woven and I think there is some more living for me to do before the threads all come together.
In the middle of its conception I began writing another book that had been with me for some years but the timing was not quite right. That book, which will now be my third, is called Letters to a Starseed and will be out in the world officially on May 18th!
It is an invitation to be home here. To plant ourselves here. To unlock the mystery of who we are as a soul, remember why we have come and to commit to being here.
It went to print last week and is my most favourite cover yet! I will be sharing more about it on Instagram in the coming weeks.
Snow drops in the Glastonbury Abbey
It has been a very long winter here in the UK. And, each morning as I wake, I can hear the flowers very faintly beginning to sing.
I do believe that this is a challenging moment for humanity. I also believe that never before has there been a bigger opportunity for us to return to each other, ourselves and the earth than there is now. That deep, lasting healing is possible. That genuine unity is possible amidst all of this, perhaps even because of all of this. And that you, me, we all chose to be here for this very moment in the timeline of humanity. So do whatever you need to to seed those future rose gardens and forests, be daring and plant them all the way in.
