Meditation: April 3rd, 2025

Physical Setting & Preparation

Find a quiet, dimly lit space where you can sit undisturbed, preferably near a window where you can glimpse the sky or outdoors in a sheltered area. Bring a small bowl of dark soil and, if possible, a stone that feels heavy in your hand. Sit in a comfortable position, perhaps with your shoulders slightly curved forward as if carrying a weight. Place your hands palms down on your thighs, connecting to the earth below. Take three deep breaths, noticing how the inhalation requires effort and the exhalation brings a moment of release. Feel the contradictions of early April—the brightening days alongside lingering cold, the promise of growth amid the reality of still-bare branches

Opening Invocation | Fosgladh

Fàilte ort, an treas là den Ghiblean, là de mhùthadh is dìomhaireachd.
(Welcome to you, third day of April, a day of change and mystery.)

A' Mhàthair Talamh, tha mi a' tighinn thugad le mo chridhe trom.
(Mother Earth, I come to you with my heavy heart.)

Air an là seo, tha mi a' sireadh do ghliocais ann an dorchadas.
(On this day, I seek your wisdom in darkness.)

Close your eyes and visualize the landscape in early April. Beneath the surface activity of spring, there are still shadows—late frosts that damage new growth, hungry times for creatures as winter stores are depleted but new food is not yet abundant, seeds that struggle to germinate in soil still cold from winter. The earth knows these times of struggle are not separate from but integral to the cycle of renewal. The depression of early spring is not a failure but a necessary depth from which new life emerges in its own time.

Body of the Working | Corp

Tha earrach a' tighinn, agus tha mise ann an staid de dh'ìsleachadh.
(Spring is coming, and I am in a state of depression.)

Ged a tha an saoghal a' dùsgadh, tha mi fhathast ann an geamhradh mo chridhe.
(Though the world is awakening, I am still in the winter of my heart.)

A' Mhàthair Talamh, cuidich leam ciall a dhèanamh den ìsleachadh seo.
(Mother Earth, help me make meaning of this depression.)

If you brought soil, touch it, feeling its cool density. If you brought a stone, hold it in your palm, experiencing its weight. These elements—earth and stone—represent the solid foundation beneath all growth, the necessary resistance that gives strength to what emerges.

Visualize yourself walking in a forest at dawn. The light is gray and diffuse. Mist hangs between the trees, which stand bare except for the smallest buds. The ground is damp and yielding beneath your feet. A light rain begins to fall, not the cheerful shower of later spring but a steady, soaking rain that penetrates deep into the soil. You take shelter beneath a great oak tree, leaning your back against its trunk.

Allow yourself to feel the heaviness that resides within you. Like the early spring rain, this feeling has depth and purpose. It slows your pace, turns your attention inward, and connects you to deeper currents beneath the surface of everyday awareness.

The Deep Working | An Obair Dhomhain

A Mhàthair Talamh, tha do dhoimhneachd a' teagasg dhomh mu m' dhoimhneachd fhìn.
(Mother Earth, your depth teaches me about my own depth.)

Mar a dh'fheumas sìol cadal sa gheamhradh mus fàs e, tha brìgh san ìsleachadh agam.
(As a seed must sleep in winter before it grows, there is meaning in my depression.)

A' Mhàthair, fosgail mo shùilean do na sochairean a gheibhear bho dhoimhneachd.
(Mother, open my eyes to the benefits found in depth.)

Place one hand over your heart and the other on the earth or floor beneath you. Feel the steady, enduring presence of the Mother Earth, who holds both darkness and light, both struggle and ease, in her vast embrace.

Visualize the Mother of the Earth in her aspect as Cailleach, the ancient one who knows winter's wisdom. She moves through the landscape, her hand touching barren fields, frozen streams, dormant creatures. Where she touches, she does not force awakening but honors the necessary time of rest and gestation. She sees beneath the surface to the slow work happening in darkness—roots strengthening, seeds preparing, new forms taking shape in unseen places.

Feel yourself held in this wise, patient presence. The Mother Earth is not discouraged by your depression; she recognizes it as a fallow time, a necessary phase in your own cycle of growth and transformation. There is no need to force joy or pretend lightness. The heaviness you feel has its own intelligence, its own gift to offer if you can be present with it without judgment or resistance.

Afterthought | Smuain Dheiridh

Take a moment to contemplate:

What wisdom might be available to me only through this experience of depression? What deep roots might be strengthening in me during this time that appears outwardly barren?

Closing Blessing | Beannachd Dheiridh

A Mhàthair Talamh, taing dhut airson do làthaireachd anns an dorchadas.
(Mother Earth, thank you for your presence in the darkness.)

Mar a chumas tu an talamh domhain ann an geamhradh, cum thusa mo spiorad domhain.
(As you keep the earth deep in winter, keep my spirit deep.)

Tha mi a' giùlan do ghliocais leam, a' Mhàthair, eadhon ann an ìsleachadh.
(I carry your wisdom with me, Mother, even in depression.)

Gun robh beannachd doimhneachd na Màthar còmhla rium, an-diugh agus gach latha.
(May the blessing of the Mother's depth be with me, today and every day.)

Gradually become aware of your surroundings once more. Feel the ground beneath you, solid and supporting even in darkness. Listen to the sounds around you. When you are ready, open your eyes, carrying with you the understanding that depression, like all phases of the natural cycle, has its own time and purpose in the greater pattern of your life.