This spring season is calling me to clear out stagnant and unwanted energies from the nooks + crannies of our home and the corners of my mind. I’ve been weaving more moments of pause to burn herbal smoke and radiate my intention for clarity outwards. The reality of spring is it is a liminal season, a season of transition, a season of anticipation. There are new journeys on the horizon, new gardens to plant, revising reworking and dreaming up our house building plans, and I’m writing a book,

Collectively, how can we welcome our long held winter dreams + spring visions more prepared?

time and space

My partner, AJ, is gifting me with unfettered time, silence, and space so i can hear my inner whisperings. A treasured something I’ve been desperate for, but pandemic life has made that much harder to carve out for myself in our daily routine.

The mental exhaustion and constant chatter is becoming increasingly heavy, and so I keep asking myself how can I rejuvenate my spirit so I can continue to show up and be fully present for these moments I want to savor. I find multiple realities coexist in motherhood, I can relish the children’s little voices weaving stories and be utterly overcome by the banging of blocks building worlds. I can hold on tighter to their sweet little hands in mine knowing the moment is so fleeting and also be touched out. I digress.

After a long winters stagnation there is build up in our sacred spaces. We hold so much in our bodies, our minds, our spirits and our homes. Our sacred spaces crave movement, rearranging + clearing out in spring. I call in the elements fire, water, air to shed and shift the layers. The waning moon phase supports release and refinement, spells of removal, making space and opening up.

nourishing our internal ground

I gravitate towards nourishing infusions and tonics, ritual salt and herbal baths to purify my body. Working out in the garden, chasing children around the yard, deep breaths of spring air in my lungs moves stuck energy, nourishes and purifies.

Our bodies, our home and the earth are one in the same: the ground from which we build the foundations of our lives. Digging, preparing the soil, clearing the detritus of seasons past. Sweeping out the dust + mopping the floors with the windows open. I add a couple drops of lavender essential oils to the bucket. These movements are sacred rituals we undertake season after season, year after year.

I burn the last of the dried lavender + sage inside the home and it works twofold, to clear the air that carry thoughts through the rooms in our minds and our homes of old stories, resentments, and ancient fears. This ritual a reminder at any moment we can write new stories + choose to invite in fresh energy. As I strike the match, I realize there is so much more in my control to burn up + away on sacred smoke. Spring carries the fire energy of aries season, what more can i alight to begin this season with a fresh slate?

listen before we leap

There are stories told in the dancing smoke, signs and songs. Part of what I need to cultivate in Spring is patience. This ritual helps me invite in a spirit of deep listening before I jump, before I spring into action, the steps towards my journey.

In spring, I walk slow circles around my newly awakened garden, listening to the mourning dove coo from the power lines as I watch robins hop on by as they hunt for earthworms in the warming soil. I plan the garden in my mind. I erase it, then start to sketch again because nothing yet is carved in stone. The possibilities are still open, I want to stay open too.

I scan the garden for the first signs spring greens: nettle, dandelion, and violet leaves I can make into things to sip and nibble on, to cleanse and clear my physical body. I take a mental note of what has returned to the garden, moved, or did not make it through the long winter.

empty out

I might even pack away our winter clothes, heavy winter coats and boots reminiscent of the physical, emotional, and spiritual layers i am ready, ready, ready to shed. There is a power in identifying unwanted items, outgrown pieces to share with friends and our community. A recognition of “ah, this is no longer for me” This process brings space, which feels lacking after the long winter months, back into our tiny cottage,

I’ll wait though, for a couple reasons. one because winter always makes one last appearance even though we are all too ready to say goodbye. And two, this time is for me. There is a battle waged within once I finally have long awaited space to myself. I intentionally or unintentionally fill it up with “things” left undone until I have no time left. I wonder am I actually fearful of this space alone? Of what I might find here in my emptiness… whatever the answer I’m holding onto the void for a moment longer.

Tomorrow, I’ll leave it until tomorrow, to sort through the clothes that no longer fit, toys that don’t spark joy and books that are now a bore because we’ve grown. Creating space for us to fill up again, a very human ritual that happens season after season.

But for today there are still stories here in the silent anticipation waiting to unfurl, wanting to be told here in the smoke. In spring, when I’m impatient for the daffodil + tulip buds to rise, impatient to get seeds into the ground, I can still listen.