I didn’t do anything special for the spring equinox this year, other than watch the sun and waxing crescent set with Venus, due west. Some time ago I stopped putting pressure on myself to have some elaborate celebration planned for every equinox, solstice, and holy day between to prove I’m spiritual enough or connected enough with the natural world. Of course I love any reason to celebrate, I love ritual, I love to set up a beautiful altar, and I love to be in circle with friends. The truth though is that it’s not always practical for me to throw together an elaborate (or even simple) ritual whether alone or with people, and I think it’s important to remember that it doesn’t make anyone less spiritual or less observant if you don’t do that.

In fact, in the past when I’ve efforted to celebrate every. single. sabbat. and moon. with hours long gatherings involving feasting and ritual I found that I actually felt more disconnected from myself and the natural world I was aiming to observe. I was putting in so much effort to be observant that there was no longer enough energy left in me to actually observe anything about the natural surroundings I was attempting to honor, let alone give space to check in within my own self, mind, nor body. I was burning myself out trying to visibly enact spirituality in order to be deemed spiritual enough within the community, rather than simply being spiritual by surrendering all performance.

So now, regardless of whether or not I build an altar, burn ritual candles, or paint eggs on March 20th (or 21st, depending on the year), I still am observing the gradual shifting of the land, the sky, the light, and the air, as well as the changes in movement of life within these layers, with each passing day.

For me, spring began emerging late January to early February, and so to say that this exact date of March 20th is “the first day of spring” (in the northern hemisphere) has always felt inaccurate to me, at least in the parts of the world I’ve lived in (Eastern NC and now in the western region of the states). Even when it snowed in Wisconsin last weekend (a few days prior to the equinox) while Dennis and I were visiting, I could still see visible signs of spring having already begun there. Snowdrops and other flowers began emerging and growing buds weeks prior in Dennis’ babushka’s garden, animals had already become more active (as revealed via babushka’s shared videos of squirrels, birds, and rabbits in her garden), and though the earth was covered in several inches of snow during our visit, the air was no longer the piercing cold we experienced when we visited for Christmas. This is due to the sun’s arc having shifted more northerly in the sky since we were there for the winter solstice.

I see the spring equinox more as mid-spring, or the “height of spring”. This equinox, to me, based on my observations in the parts of the world I’ve inhabited, is the peak activity of emergence before spring unfurls further into the abundant colors, flowers, fruits, and lively activity that the summer shiftings bring. Right now things are still springing forth, still very new. The first of the babies are being born and there are very many more to come but right now it is the “height” of this beginning phase of the wheel of northern hemisphere seasons. Peak newness.

Simultaneously, the spring equinox has always felt like the true New Year marker to me. This is the time of year associated with birth and renewal as well as the eastern direction where the sun rises. On a macro scale, we calculate the beginning of a new astrological age by the sidereal constellation the sun is in on the eastern horizon at the spring equinox (which, in case you’re curious, is not yet Aquarius). On a more micro scale, your life story, divinely written in the stars, begins its tale on the eastern horizon at the time of your birth. Therefore, falling somewhere between these two orders, it only makes sense to me that at dawn on the spring equinox we would observe a new year of the solar wheel calendar being born.

I’m aware of the ongoing debate amongst pagans, witches, astrologers, and other nature oriented folk about whether Samhain (Nov 1st), winter solstice, or spring equinox are the true beginning of the year. While I’m perfectly fine with folks observing the year however best suits them, I personally have never resonated with Samhain, which is often considered the “Witches’ New Year”, as the New Year marker. I’ve always questioned the decision to celebrate the birth of a new year at a time when the seasonal tide is flowing into the declining of things. To me this choice feels like we’re bypassing the sacred dying phase of life with a grand celestial new beginning. Is it our human instinct to fear and avoid death that prevents us from being able to observe the season of death and properly lay the current cycle to rest without rushing to begin a whole new one?

So no, Samhain does not speak to me as the starting point for a new year. Rather, autumn equinox through Samhain is a time when I harvest all the fruits and meat that I can from my labors of the present year. Literally and metaphorically speaking, I enjoy some of these fruits fresh, I make preserves with what I can, and I release what I can’t preserve back to the earth to decompose and nourish the soil I’ll later plant seeds in. I honor the life of what I end up laying to rest and I spend this season in appreciation and gratitude while properly prepping for the inevitable dormancy ahead. Late autumn through winter is a time that teaches us about darkness and grief and how, as well as why, to move through it. But modern society dangles all sorts of shiny, glitzy baubles before us that too easily distract our attention from these wise teachers.

Furthermore, Winter Solstice as the marker for the start of the New Year also doesn’t resonate. In the heart of the darkest season it does not flow naturally at this time to birth a whole new baby year. This is the womb, the fertile hole in the composted soil that we sprinkle seed into. This is when we rest to allow space to dream of what could be next, but we do not make haste to bring it into the material just yet. It takes time, patience, and great care to grow in the womb and birth into the world.

In early February when I observe early spring, pagans and witches celebrate the holy day of Imbolc. Imbolc can be translated as “in the belly”. This is when I sense the New Year “in the belly” of Mother Nature. Not yet born but showing visible signs that it is soon to be.

Ultimately what you call the seasons and when you decide the new year begins doesn’t really matter one iota in the grand scheme. To mark and label these days is really only useful for us humans wanting to observe patterns, keep time, and maintain a sense of control and order. I myself enjoy observing patterns and time, and order is beneficial for making things happen as long as it doesn’t become too rigid. However, I’m also wary of getting too bogged down in the debate of right timing only to forget to actually live in these precious moments of our lives in the few years we are given to have them. It is but only a blink.

The spring equinox is one of two balancing points between the “light” half of the year and the “dark” half of the year where the daylight that has been gradually lengthening since the winter solstice now overtakes the darkness, and warmth, growth, and life prevail. At the autumn equinox, darkness, cold, dormancy, and death prevail as the sun’s arc sinks lower in the sky and daylight further diminishes with each passing day.

As we observe spring, the wisdom it offers to us is in this emergence from darkness. We may not feel ready for this emergence. The light may feel harsh to us at first as we’ve grown accustomed to the cold and dark. We may feel the need to shield ourselves from it, lest we be blinded or burned. But this movement toward light is necessary for our well-being as staying too long in too much darkness withers us. You may not feel willing to take this medicine, but once you step out of the shadow, allow your eyes to adjust, and bask in the sunlight on your skin, more likely than not you’ll feel more yourself again, more clearheaded and energized to take part in the co-creation of life itself.

The wisdom of spring emerging out of winter reminds us year after year that creation does not happen without rest, a dark period, dormancy, or even death.

Last year I started writing again after a long dormant period of severe “writer’s block”. We could call this my years-long Writing Winter. The only way through it was to finally face it. To face it I had to accept a truth about it that I was avoiding: that the only thing to do to move onward in this was to accept that I’m responsible and take action. From a psychological perspective, this is known as “facing the shadow” and is what all the fairytales and myths of descent and ascent are talking about, e.g., Inanna’s Descent, Persephone’s Abduction, Dante’s Inferno, Christ’s resurrection, Alice in Wonderland, etc.

While navigating through this Writing Winter I discovered that there wasn’t an external block to be removed. What I mean by this is, when we say “writer’s block”, at least for me, I always sort of envisioned a block in my mind, that wasn’t really part of me, that needed to be removed. I blamed this block for my pain as if it had come in from some outside source to prevent me from writing. I would say things like, “Oh, I have major writer’s block so I can’t write right now”. In reality the block was me, caused by my unwillingness to face myself. Thus, I was keeping myself in perpetual winter instead of taking action to move through it, be transformed by it, and emerge with renewed creative energy. Last winter I faced myself. I took action to discover why I was so resistant to writing and established a regular writing practice for myself. This was not easy to do, but neither is the winter season easy to move through. It took a lot of fortitude and determination. However, this introspective period brought me into a deeper relationship with, and understanding of, myself. The old version of myself that was strangling my growth had to be cut away, and I emerged from this winter with a renewed writing fervor.

We can look at the seasons as mirrors of our own internal cycles. We all have winters, springs, summers, and autumns inside of us. Usually we don’t like our winters and try to distract ourselves from them. Or we take too much (often unconscious) comfort in them and linger there too long. By intentionally observing the outer seasons of our world we can learn from nature the wise way to move through our internal seasons and come to understand how each one is essential for balance and flow.