Once upon a time there was a little, young spring, who dreamed of being a river. Merrily she sprang from a crack in the rock and let her water flow down the mountain. But as soon as the water reached the earth beneath the rock it drained away without a trace. The young spring continued to bring her water through the crack, letting it flow downwards for it to vanish again in the earth. It went like this year after year: water through the crack, down the mountain, draining without a trace. Until the young spring turned to the sky rather discouraged.
"Father Sky", she said, "I want to be a river with all of my heart, but whatever I do, my water drains away. I can't go on like this."
But Father Sky replied: "My dear young spring, you can be whatever you dream of. A river, yes, even a lake or the ocean! And although you can't see it yet, your water doesn't flow in vain. Be brave, go on and don't give up!"
And so the spring followed the sky's orders and continued to let her water spring from the crevice. She sent it down the mountain, where it disappeared shortly after. But it didn't take long and the spring noticed something: a gentle ditch ran through the rock that had been formed by her water over the course of time, almost not recognizable. And then, one day, the water began to collect on the foot of the mountain. The earth was saturated from the drained water and now ready for the river the spring always wanted to be.
That's how I feel right now. I'm the young spring that sends her water down the rock and always reaches the point to ask herself if her flowing has any purpose. Maybe I sound bitter or frustrated and although those two emotions have been present every now and then over the last few months, there's so much more to it, because I have rediscovered the magic.
I thought it gone. Not that I wasn't doing well, on the contrary. I felt really good by the end of last year. For the first time in my life I was able to follow my need of taking a winter break like I had been wishing for for years. Already at the beginning of last year I planned on taking a break come next winter and honestly, this hibernation mode is still ongoing even though the sun tries to seduce me to a spring awakening, but I keep telling myself that we are only in the middle of winter.
During this winter break I realized that I have actually been "wintering" for a long time. Not that I wasn't busy those past years. I worked a lot, I planned and dreamed, I built something and I failed a lot, I abandoned ideas and I started many new things. But I also took a lot of pace out of my life, like I had wished for when I quit my job in 2020. I had to first learn how to become slower. It took me years and still I don't always succeed. But the rhythms of nature always show me the way and I believe that life and life chapters, too, follow their own rhythm that correspond to the one of the seasons. The last life chapter, those last three, four years, I dedicated to winter without being aware of it. And it's exactly this non-awareness that prompted me, like the young spring in my story, to address the sky. I flowed and flowed, I brought offering after offering into this world and more often than not what remained was a sense of failure. My water drained because it wasn't time yet. Because the earth wasn't saturated yet. I don't want this to sound ungrateful, because those last few years were unbelievable. This blog - which I re-named magazine by the way - the rituals and retreats, the yoga classes, all of it has fulfilled me immensely and I'm so grateful that you're here to read these lines.
Over the last couple of months I have spent a lot of undisturbed time in nature, away from social media, away from my work. I reflected, I let go, I closed and I started to align myself to something new. To this new year, but also to a new chapter. I can feel the seed inside me that has been slumbering and resting for years. Underneath the surface it has already started to sprout and now it's ready to break through the earth with all its might in order to become the plant it always was meant to be. It is the spring waiting with patience until she finally discovers the first traces of her water ingrained in the rock. Of course I don't have any idea what this year will bring, that's the way life is, but I can feel clarity in me. I want to dedicate my time to writing and rituals. Perhaps this will change again and I also don't really know how I can make writing and organizing rituals my full-time job (because yes, also a simple life needs money). But my inner flow leads me strongly in this direction and I can't ignore it anymore. In the end it's maybe exactly like Father Sky said: "Although you can't see it yet, your water doesn't flow in vain. Be brave, go on and don't give up!"
And so it was by the river that I rediscovered magic. She had been showing me glimpses over the past weeks, mostly in the shape of birds. In the forest, but also in my garden at the bird's house I hung there, they brought me a little sparkle of magic. But her full extent waited for me like a well-meant punch in the face at the river. Every day I watched the ice presenting itself as nature's greatest work of art. It changed daily and I was hooked. And then I heard the water whisper. In the same way it whispered during my first summer here in the mountains. Gentle, but assertive. And it told me the story of the spring that wanted to be a river.
