There is always something good somewhere, even in hard times, even in hard lives. "Stop to smell the flowers" has become a cliche, but we said it so much because it's useful.
In Taoist and Buddhist traditions they have the concept of the yin and yang, which are depicted always having a tiny spot of their opposite inside. Like the good in Darth Vader (lol, sorry, I'm such a geek I couldn't resist.) Heathen philosophy doesn't put this concept so starkly in a visual symbol, but in our mythology the entire universe was generated out of the dynamic combination of two opposites, the runes fehu (primal fire) and isa (primal ice.) So everything we see around us is both matter and energy, both power and pattern, both potential and the universal laws of physics that make potential reach its physically manifested form.
Key moments in the lives of plants do not always tie in to the standard eight festivals. Yes, the snowdrops flower at Imbolc and hawthorn blooms around Beltain and the grain is generally ripe for Lugnasadh, but these are just a few plants. Many other plants come into their own at other times in the year. A real relationship with the plant life of the UK calls for more attention than just festival plants. If you are not in the UK, your seasonal plants will be different and I think it’s really important to engage with what’s around you, not what comes from the history of the festival.
One of my favourite April wildflowers is the Kingcup – they tend to bloom once it starts feeling warm and springish. Large, exuberant yellow flowers, often occurring in great profusion. Kingcups favour damp places, canal edges, riverbanks, ponds and streams.
The power of symbolism--specifically, flower symbolism--really hit home for me on Monday.
My uncle, one of thirteen children, died last week. His funeral was Monday, and it just so happened my husband had July 2-4 off for the holiday, so we were able to attend.
Spring rituals mean for me that it's time to get outside and in the fields. I've not lived on my family farm for nearly forty years but every spring when the snow melts away but we still have the ice in the breeze, I want to be on the land.
This year, I was driving to work and saw the farmers out with their huge tractors discing (not as invasive as a plow) the soil. The gray which I relate to winter was replaced with the rich dark coffee color which means it's time to start planting. There's a smell in the air which I have never been able to describe but it is spring.
This is without a doubt the month I find hardest to be positive about. Samhain with all its spooky joys is now behind us. The winter stretches ahead. The cold has its teeth in and will likely keep chewing for months to come. The ground becomes slippery and treacherous, the days short and dark. Everything is harder. And I’m one of the lucky ones; I have a home, I can afford to heat it and I can afford to eat.
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