Friday, 9 March 2018


Winter became a slide into not-doing. I had a brief flurry of turning outwards with enthusiasm, just after Christmas, when the jolly and the new yearness of it all sparked something out of rhythm, but mostly I have not been doing.

I have not been taking flower essences. I have rarely been using essential oils. I have not done Reiki. I have not meditated. I have not sat in my sit spot. I have exercised but not as much as I could have done for real benefit. I have not eaten well. I have not kept a journal. I have not taken vitamins. I have not used the SAD lamp. I lost interest in social media, despite attempts to downsize and re-entrance myself. I have not walked. I have not painted. I have not sewn. I have not gardened. I have not really read. Slowly but surely, every single bit of self-care dropped away.

It was replaced mostly by a virulent form of self-criticism. How rubbish am I?

I ground. To. A halt.

Last week we had The Snow Day. For us it was no inconvenience, just an excellent reason for not going anywhere. For not doing. I took my mother to do some pre-snow shopping. I did my father's version of same for him. Bought logs for us and went home to the next day's snow and the quiet. At dusk on The Snow Day I went out into the lane - which wasn't being a lane, it was just white and joined up with the fields - and watched the crows coming into roost in the copse. Rooks and Jackdaws. Their noise was the only noise. No distant hum of the main road a couple of miles away. No nothing but crows. And then silence. It was a full moon and the light off the snow was magical. It reminded me of another magical place - with weeks of snow days - I lived in for a while back in the 80s. The beauty here, and remembered there, brought me to tears.

There is something about water, especially weather-y water, that speaks with me. I get it in mist and fog, downpours of rain, and snow. Maybe it's because the conditions stop 'life' and all the other input, allowing me to hear what's going on; I don't know. But I hear things in mist and snow. I know things.

The next day the snow went, and with it the knowing. But I keep thinking about it. Keep reaching for the message.

Last night I was out in the garden, thinking about how the non-evergreen plants and trees would be waking up soon after their sleep. Their hibernation, and months of not-doing. Oh. Wait...

So I've decided to stop with the criticism and instead recognise that I am simply in rhythm. I withdrew and withdrew. My sap dropped. I had no leaves nourishing me or flowers creating new life, but I certainly did go deep into my roots and spend time taking stock; assessing my self as it is now after all this change. I have felt utterly weak and drained, and then slowly felt life returning. Not much yet, but it's there. It's stirring.

Just as it should.


  1. Oh yes. And so beautifully expressed.

  2. yes, ohmywordyes. naturally. :) xoxo

  3. Rhythms, cycles and the truth xxx