Tidal Transitions
I missed you, and I needed so much space. I wanted to reach out, but I was all out of life-giving energy. So I contained what resources I could and tried to get by.
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Once a year, we get to have water straight from the source. It comes filtrated and remineralized. It’s sweet, and it pours from the maple trees. It must be below freezing at night and a balmy 40 degrees or hotter during the day.
It takes all winter to cultivate this sweet water; in the quiet of the day, in the dark of the night, and in the cold freeze of the air and the earth.
And I wonder, are we like the maples at this threshold between winter and spring?
Winter, of course, is an analogy for a quieter season. Often with harsh conditions. It’s a time in which we use the resources gathered in earlier seasons to work through, or surrender to deeper challenges. Sometimes chronic.
You may have experienced your own versions of winter (covid burnout, isolation, grief, exhaustion, sun deprivation). My winter has been years of deep sleep deprivation, and a desperate attempt to fix it. I’ve experienced a disappearance of sorts.
As we round a corner from winter into spring, you may feel like me, “Bring on the warmth and the color! Please bring change and signs of life!”
When I get a night of sleep, or an inkling of inspiration, I want to hold onto it and never let go. I want it to be a straight path toward spring. As I come back to life, I feel little bursts of remembrance coursing through my body. It feels amazing. Dreams and visions begin reemerging.
And, like the maples, we too need a freeze after the thaw. It can feel devastating, like rolling backwards toward the exact thing we were trying to avoid. It can be immobilizing, and induce a feeling of “inescapable.”
But the maples have a reminder for us:
The returning freeze is not a backwards movement. It is a reminder of where we came from. The thaw is the inspiration of where we’re going. The freeze reminds us of the depth and wisdom we’ve gained when no one was looking. The thaw shows us how we can integrate and share it.
This pendulating allows us to gather the sweet water tidally and with great appreciation as it’s only available at the threshold of a new beginning.
So here’s to taking a pause, slowing down instead of rushing a transition, and receiving the deep nourishment that comes before the colors, the warmth, and the light.
The wisdom is overflowing. It’s nourishing and sweet. Drink it in.
With deep gratitude,
Sarah
PS- If you want to distill it more, light a fire, let the water boil down to its essence. It can become a physical and metaphorical syrup that integrates and adds to almost any future offering.
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