Embracing Transition Through Loss
“That which I loved the most, became a greater loss than I have known, because of my own hands.” — Wendy
Wendys Healing Compendium Daily
Physical Setting & Preparation
Find a quiet space where you can sit undisturbed. If possible, choose a location where you can see or sense the outside world—near a window or outdoors if weather permits. Place before you a small bowl of earth, a dried leaf or twig, and a feather or other light object that can be carried by the wind. Sit comfortably on the floor or in a chair with your back straight but not rigid. Rest your hands palms down on your thighs, grounding you to the earth. Close your eyes and take nine deep breaths—one for each day that has passed in this month—allowing each exhale to be slightly longer than the inhale, symbolizing the release that comes with loss.
Opening Invocation | Fosgladh
Air an naoidheamh latha den Mhàrt,
Eadar geamhradh a' dol seachad,
Agus earrach nach do thòisich fhathast,
Tha mi a' seasamh ann an àite eadar-mheadhanach.
A Mhàthair na talmhainn, cuidich mi gus mo chall a ghabhail thugam.
On this ninth day of March,
Between winter that is passing,
And spring that has not yet begun,
I stand in the in-between place.
Mother of the earth, help me to embrace my loss.
Feel the unique energy of early March—the ninth day—a time of profound transition when winter loosens its grip yet spring hasn't fully taken hold. This liminal space mirrors the experience of loss—the threshold between what was and what will be. Observe the quality of the air around you, neither wholly winter's chill nor spring's warmth but something distinctly its own. Visualize your loss as a mist that surrounds you, not to obscure your vision but to remind you that all forms eventually dissolve and transform.
Body of the Working | Corp
Tha call mar an duilleach a' tuiteam,
A' tilleadh don talamh às an do dh'èirich e.
Tha e goirt, ach tha e nàdarrach,
Mar an geamhradh a' gèilleadh don earrach.
Loss is like the falling leaves,
Returning to the earth from which they arose.
It is painful, but it is natural,
Like winter yielding to spring.
Place your hands on the bowl of earth before you. Earth is the element of foundation and transformation. All that is lost returns to the earth to be transformed into new life. Feel the texture of the soil—its coolness, its weight, its potential. This is the body of the Mother Earth, who understands loss as part of the great cycle of existence.
Now, bring your awareness to your body. Where do you feel the weight of loss? Perhaps in your chest as a hollowness, in your shoulders as a burden, or in your throat as words unsaid. As you locate these sensations, place one hand there while keeping the other on the earth. Feel a connection forming between your body's holding of loss and the earth's capacity to receive and transform it. With each breath, allow a small portion of your loss to travel through your hand into the soil, knowing the Mother Earth receives it with compassion.
The Deep Working | An Obair Dhomhain
A Mhàthair na talmhainn, gabh uam mo bhròn,
Chan ann airson a chur air chall,
Ach airson a thionndadh gu luachair ùr.
Teagaisg dhomh an dòigh anns a bheil call agus fàs co-cheangailte.
Mother of the earth, take from me my grief,
Not to discard it,
But to transform it into new growth.
Teach me the way in which loss and growth are interconnected.
Take the dried leaf or twig in your hands. Close your eyes and imagine yourself standing at the edge of a forest clearing. The trees around you are mostly bare, their branches etched against a pearl-gray sky, yet here and there buds are beginning to swell with nascent life. The ground is a mosaic of last year's leaves, slowly being incorporated into the soil.
In this sacred space, feel the presence of the Mother of the Earth approaching. She wears a cloak of moss and early wildflowers, her face bearing the serene wisdom of countless cycles of loss and renewal. She extends her hands, inviting you to place your dried leaf or twig—a symbol of your loss—upon them.
As you do, the leaf begins to glow softly, then gradually dissolves into a fine, luminous dust that sinks into the Mother's palms. She then kneels and presses her hands to the earth. Where her hands touch, tiny green shoots emerge, nourished by what was once your loss.
She looks up at you and speaks without words, her message flowing directly into your heart: "Nothing is truly lost, only transformed. The pain you feel is the breaking of a seed coat, necessary for new growth."
Feel her wisdom permeating your being, creating a spaciousness around your loss, allowing it to exist without consuming you. Remain in this connection for several minutes, breathing deeply.
Afterthought | Smuain Dheiridh
Take a moment to contemplate:
What wisdom might my experience of loss be offering that I cannot receive in other ways? How might surrendering to this natural cycle of release create space for unexpected new growth in my life? In what ways am I like the March landscape—visibly marked by what has been lost, yet secretly preparing for renewal?
Closing Blessing | Beannachd Dheiridh
Tha mi a' toirt taing dhut, a Mhàthair na talmhainn,
Airson do chomhfhurtachd agus do ghliocais.
Mar a thèid geamhradh a-steach gu earrach,
Mar sin thèid call a-steach gu ath-nuadhachadh.
Tha mi a' giùlan do bheannachd leam.
I give thanks to you, Mother of the earth,
For your comfort and your wisdom.
As winter passes into spring,
So too does loss pass into renewal.
I carry your blessing with me.
Gently return the dried leaf or twig to the earth. Take the feather or light object and hold it up, allowing your breath or the air to move it slightly, a reminder that what seems most insubstantial often carries seeds to new shores. Place it down gently beside the bowl of earth, symbolizing the partnership between release and grounding.
Rise slowly, carrying the earth's transformative wisdom within you. Know that just as the ninth of March stands between seasons, you too stand at a threshold where loss creates the necessary space for what is yet to come.
I love the way you put things, like “what seems most insubstantial often carries seeds to new shores”. Thank you for your words of wisdom and of hope!