Rebirth at the Time of Imbolc
Today is February 1st, the midpoint between Winter Solstice and Spring Equinox - a time called Imbolc in old Celtic tradition. Here in Portland, OR we are on the heels of a winter ice storm that shut down most of the city for a week and caused much damage, frustration, and grief. The storm caused burst pipes, business closures, fallen trees, and death. Yet today, there is no remaining ice on the ground, the sun is peeking out, and I can see green shoots of bulbs venturing out into the world after their deep sleep underground. Life continues as we mourn the losses from a hard winter and tend our broken hearts.
At the time of Imbolc, we are in the darkness right before dawn. It is a time of quickening hope - a tentative awakening. A nascent time when things are not quite fully formed but the potential is quietly showing its naked self. When we get real still, we may sense that there is a shift occurring deep in the belly of mother nature and within ourselves. It feels like a tiny new flame flickering precariously into life, one that must be sheltered and protected.
“…I am hope, potential, rebirth and promise. I am the kindling breath which transforms the flicker of inspiration in your creative core into a blazing torch...” - Imbolc, Caroline Mellor
Tuning into the natural ebbs and flows of nature is one way that I practice letting go, opening up to what is next, and trusting within uncertainty. Admittedly, I personally find this time of year challenging and disorienting. We are still in winter - let's not be fooled that it is over yet! - and in some climates, we are in the sticky mud of early spring. Gray and cold one day, sunny and full of bird song the next. I feel winter sleepy, like a bear woken too soon from hibernation in a cozy cave, and also hungry for what is next ...maybe also like a bear woken from hibernation! I want to sleep longer and I want to get out into the world and experience something new.
“….there is a hard truth to be told: before spring becomes beautiful, it is plug ugly, nothing but mud and muck. I have walked in the early spring through fields that will suck your boots off, a world so wet and woeful it makes you yearn for the return of ice. But in that muddy mess, the conditions for rebirth are created. I love the fact that the word humus - the decayed vegetable matter that feeds the roots of plants - comes from the same root that gives rise to the word humility. It is a blessed etymology. It helps me understand that the humiliating events of life, the events that leave “mud on my face” or that “make my name mud” may create the fertile soil in which something new can grow…” - Let Your Life Speak, Parker Palmer
Whether we can see it or not, this is a time of uncomfortable expansion. Stepping into something new. A new beginning. But we do not yet know what it is that we are stepping into and that is scary. Imagine being a crocus, blindly emerging from the ground, driven by intuition and called by the light, but unsure what is awaiting above ground! Our human minds resist this kind of transition and the unknown. It will take humility, forgiveness, and courage.
“Beginning well or beginning poorly, what is important is simply to begin, but the ability to make a good beginning is also an art form. Like picking up a new and unfamiliar musical instrument, the first necessary step involves taking the time to get a simple clear note, usually the simple clear note of forgiveness that comes in allowing yourself the right, at this stage, not to know anything at all…the parts of us too afraid to participate of having nothing new to offer, are let go, with all the accompanying death-like trauma…the very last fight occurs, a rear-guard disbelief that this new, less complicated self, and this very simple step, is all that is needed for the new possibilities ahead…” - Consolations, David Whyte
From now until spring equinox, I hope to take a slowly-does-it approach. I will find comfort with simple cleansing, clearing my space and mind to receive the new stirrings of life. Tidying the piles of notes on my desk and the piles of books waiting to be read around my office chair. I will rededicate parts of my week to creativity, feeding that tiny flame of inspiration. And I will find moments to rest and restore in preparation for what is to come.
“...What if the task is simply to unfold, To become who you already are in your essential nature: Gentle, compassionate, and capable of living fully and passionately present?…What if you knew that the impulse to move in a way that creates beauty in the world Will arise from deep within And guide you every time you simply pay attention And wait. How would this shape your stillness, your movement, Your willingness to follow this impulse To just let go And dance?” - What if There is No Need to Change, Oriah Mountain Dreamer
Tell me, how will you unfold this Imbolc? Which parts of you will you let go to start a new beginning? Will you dance or will you return to the slumber of the winter dream cave?
