Spring Equinox — The Balance
I did not rush the thaw. At Imbolc, I made a quiet agreement with myself: to soften at my own pace, in my own way. No forcing. No performance of becoming. Just the slow, sacred return of warmth. And now, the wheel turns. The Spring Equinox arrives not as a demand, but as a balance point— light and dark holding equal space, neither rushing the other off the stage. This month, I have lived inside that balance. I have stood in uncertainty—unemployed by choice, unsteady in identity, learning to sit with the question marks instead of frantically trying to turn them into answers. And still— life moved. Not in sweeping transformations, but in small, undeniable proofs of aliveness: A wheelbarrow assembled with laughter and Jeopardy in the background. The simple satisfaction of being useful, of being in rhythm with another human. A “lost” wallet found in plain sight— a reminder that sometimes what we are searching for has not gone anywhere at all. A kitchen filled with food made for ot...
