Marching In Like a Lamb, baby!
There’s a little agricultural folklore around March. In like a lamb, out like a lion. Or In like a lion, out like a lamb. Lion: stormy, windy, cold. Lamb: warm, gentle, mild. (also SO cute) As a rural farm girl growing up… this mattered to my family. Farming is highly intuitive. 🌱☀️⛈️ 🌾 I was always in awe of how my father and grandfather would read the almanacs and lean on their internal nudges. We lived on the barren prairies. You could see the weather coming for days. Haha. Or watch your dog run away for days. Haha. I remember mornings when my father would shift his entire day based on the colour of the sunrise sky. It was this knowing of the land, of what moved through the air and across the horizon, that captivated me. A bit of a sidebar, but the sky shaped me. I have a theory about prairie folk. I’ll share that another time. Back on topic. There were times they made the “wrong” call. And it was often followed by, “I knew I should have…” What I’ve noticed over the years is this is usually how we feel about the decisions we later question. We saw the sign. We felt the nudge. And we went against it. That, too, is part of life. If we got it all right, that would be kind of boring, right? Can I get an amen? Rejection is redirection. Through the lens of non-dual philosophy, which informs how I teach Yoga Nidra, there isn’t right or wrong. There is only what is. So as March moves in like a lamb, I’m taking this gentle energy to tend my internal soil. My heart is mending. Eclipse season feels like a time to observe the compost. To re-up life. Reorganize. Rest. Restore. Replenish. Reiterate. Redefine. Realign. You get where I’m going. So I’m asking, and inviting you to ask too: What richness has come from my wounds? What have my fears taught me? What part did I play in my pain? How can I take the compost, the garbage, the BS, and turn it into nutrient-dense soil so that when I plant spring seeds and give them what needs to be seen, they can weather the inevitable storms?