“Winter is not the death of the life cycle, but its crucible.”
It’s February. The middle ground between the beginning and the ending of winter.
It’s at this time when I become restless to move in one direction or another. Let the cold of winter stay and cover us all in ice or let it thaw away so the sprouting can begin.
And I think about these same times in my life, when I seem to be neither coming nor going. Feeling pushed and feeling pulled. Not advancing. Not retreating. Just cold, pained, rigid, and dangling between two cyclical periods.
It’s in these moments — these winters of my soul — when I’ve realized the futility of my desires for change, my wishes for something new, my longings for something old.
Because this was exactly where I was needed and where I needed to be.
This was a divine moment appointed for me. I simply needed to abide in it and cease struggling to back away or run forward. Just rest and remain so that the change happening underneath my frozen soil could have its full effect.
And then, my soul would be ready to awaken again for the next seasonal rhythm.