This year, more than any other, January has felt to me like an inbetween time. Not only the inbetweenness of limping from winter towards spring, but also the experiences of continuing to deal with Long covid and having emergency work on our drains.
Each of these situations – my ongoing convalesecence, the uncertainty with the house, my relationship to winter – have highlighted the ongoing issues I have around inbetween times and the discomfort of that. I can feel the strong urge to ignore things or just get through them. Being pulled into another space where relief might exist – detaching from what is here, either by looking back and retreating into the comfort of happier times, or planning ahead and revelling in the fantasy of what could be. But, as decades of this sort of thing has taught me, these coping mechanisms don’t really ease things right in this moment. And, I so desperately want to be able to be ok right now, as I am, as things are. To find acceptance in this place and learn to live through the difficult spaces, rather than rush to exit them.
Yesterday was the celtic festival of Imbolc. As I grow into my relationship with the rhythms of the light throughout the year, acknowledging and marking the solstices and equinoxes, I am also intrigued by the stepping stones between those solar festivals – the earth days of Imbolc, Beltane, Lughnasadh and Samhain. I feel less of a natural connection to these days. In years gone by, when life was busier and I was more focused on work or education, these less distinct celebrations were easier to overlook, unless something else drew my attention to them, like going to Calton Hill for Beltane in Edinburgh, or listening to the choir at Magdalen College and watching Morris dancers on May morning in Oxford. But now, as I notice the influence of the sun on my wellbeing, and a growing affinity for the moon, I also find I am looking for a connection to what is below my feet as well as above it.
This moment in the celtic wheel of the year marks the transitionary time from winter into spring, the re-emergence into the world after the hibernation and dreaming of winter. We are still in winter, but the green buds are coming out, the light of the day is building. It’s a time for noticing the yearning towards things, the energy that might slowly be returning. Personally, this is a dangerous time for me as I navigate my relationship with seasonal affective disorder. That pull towards spring can feel so appealing, but I don’t have the ability to act on it. Those tiny shoots of bulbs are too tender and can’t survive the cold that is still around. So, this year I am focusing on what I can see around me, what I notice within me, and I’m trying not to expect to be anywhere else. I am not wishing winter away. It will go in its own time. What I would love is to one day be able to live with winter and see it as a benign companion, could I even dare to say a friend?
So, in this inbetween time I’m asking myself questions that don’t rely on looking back or forward, that just enquire within right now:
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What is here in me, today, that needs attention?
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Where can I find moments of joy, wonder, peace, acceptance, contentment today?
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And, if I can’t, how will I hold the tenderness of disappointment that might emerge?
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Who might I need to connect with today to find ease, comfort, humour, inspiration?
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What can I feel stirring, beginning to take form?
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How can I nurture those inklings in a way that is gentle and without expectation?
Are you in an inbetween time at the moment? Perhaps in your creative practice or any other relationship or interaction in your life. How do you feel about this inbetween space? How do you normally respond? Is there something you’d like to do differently this time? Or maybe there is a resource you have that you need to reconnect to? What could ease things for you in this moment? Or offer a new perspective?