Meditation: May 4th, 2025

"The stones remember what we have forgotten; the trees dream what we have yet to imagine. In the silence between heartbeats, the oldest wisdom waits for those who listen."

Physical Setting & Preparation

Find a place where you can see the horizon, perhaps a hillside or an open field. If possible, position yourself where you can observe both the setting sun and the rising moon. Have a small bowl of fresh spring water beside you and a stone that fits comfortably in your palm. Remove any restrictive clothing and sit or stand with your spine straight but relaxed. Take seven slow breaths, each deeper than the last, allowing your awareness to expand with each exhalation

Opening Invocation | Fosgladh

An ceathramh latha den Chèitean, eadar Bealtuinn is Grianstad.
The fourth day of May, between Beltane and Solstice.

Air an latha seo, tha mi a' seasamh eadar an t-seann aimsir agus an ùine ri teachd.
On this day, I stand between the old time and the time to come.

Tha mi a' faireachdainn cumhachd an talaimh ag èirigh tromham.
I feel the power of the earth rising through me.

Mar a tha a' ghrian a' cromadh, tha mi a' gairm air spiorad an àite seo.
As the sun is bending, I call upon the spirit of this place.

A' fosgladh mo chridhe do ghliocas na Màthar.
Opening my heart to the wisdom of the Mother.

A' fosgladh mo shùilean don t-sealladh a tha timcheall orm.
Opening my eyes to the vision that surrounds me.

Take a moment to truly feel your connection to the place where you stand or sit. Notice how the early May light slants across the landscape, creating long shadows that stretch toward the east. Feel the ground beneath you, still warming from the increasing strength of the sun. Smell the green growth all around, the sweetness of new flowers, the earthy scent of soil awakening. Listen to birdsong as day creatures prepare for evening and night creatures begin to stir.

Body of the Working | Corp

Tha an saoghal a' tionndadh eadar an latha 's an oidhche.
The world is turning between day and night.

Tha mi a' faireachdainn an tionndadh seo nam fhuil.
I feel this turning in my blood.

Mar a tha a' ghrian a' dol fodha 's a' ghealach ag èirigh.
As the sun sets and the moon rises.

Tha an aon danns' a' dol air adhart.
The same dance continues.

The fourth day of May brings the continued unfolding of spring's promise. We stand now firmly past Beltane, the fire festival that marks the beginning of summer in the Celtic calendar. The world around us vibrates with possibility, yet this moment also calls us to experience both melancholy and curiosity—two emotions that seem opposite yet complement each other in this threshold time.

First, bring your awareness to the melancholy that can arise as the day wanes. Like the sun setting over the western horizon, there is a sweet sadness in witnessing the passing of time. Feel this melancholy as a gentle ache in your heart—not a sharp pain, but a soft recognition of impermanence. The blossoms that have just opened will eventually fall. The new leaves will one day turn and drop. The growing light will, months from now, begin to wane again.

Hold the stone in your left hand, feeling its ancient presence. Stones have witnessed countless cycles of growth and decay. They hold the melancholy of ages in their silent forms. As you breathe with the stone, allow yourself to honor this melancholy not as something to avoid, but as a natural part of the cycle—a recognition of the preciousness of each moment because it will not last forever.

Ann an tionndadh an t-saoghail, tha cianalas a' tighinn.
In the turning of the world, melancholy comes.

Chan e bròn a th' ann, ach gliocas.
It is not sorrow, but wisdom.

A' tuigsinn gu bheil gach nì a' gluasad.
Understanding that everything moves.

A' tuigsinn gu bheil gach latha luachmhor.
Understanding that each day is precious.

Now, while still holding the melancholy, invite curiosity to join it. Like the moon rising in the eastern sky, there is a bright questioning that illuminates the darkness. Feel this curiosity as a tingling sensation in your mind—a desire to explore, to understand, to discover what lies beyond the visible horizon.

Hold the bowl of water in your right hand, observing how it reflects both the fading light and emerging stars. Water embodies curiosity—always flowing, seeking, adapting to new forms. As you breathe with the water, allow yourself to embrace this curiosity not as mere distraction, but as a sacred impulse toward growth—a recognition that though all things pass, new discoveries always await.

Còmhla ris a' chianalas, tha neònachas a' tighinn.
Together with melancholy, curiosity comes.

Mar a' ghealach a' soillseachadh na h-oidhche.
Like the moon illuminating the night.

A' faighneachd: Dè tha an dèidh seo?
Asking: What comes after this?

A' faighneachd: Dè tha a' feitheamh orm?
Asking: What is waiting for me?

Feel the balance of the stone in your left hand and the water in your right—the melancholy of what passes and the curiosity about what comes. These emotions intertwine like twilight itself, neither day nor night but a magical threshold between. The Mother Earth holds both simultaneously: the falling away of the old and the emergence of the new.

The Deep Working | An Obair Dhomhain

A-nis, cuir an clach sìos air an talamh.
Now, place the stone down on the earth.

Dòirt beagan uisge air a' chloich.
Pour a little water onto the stone.

Faic mar a tha an t-uisge a' dannsa air a' chloich.
See how the water dances on the stone.

Mar sin tha cianalas is neònachas a' dannsa còmhla.
Thus melancholy and curiosity dance together.

As the water meets the stone, watch how it transforms—catching the last light of day and the first light of stars. This is how melancholy and curiosity interact within us, each changing the nature of the other.

Melancholy without curiosity becomes heavy grief, trapping us in what has passed. Curiosity without melancholy becomes shallow distraction, disconnecting us from depth and meaning. But together, they create a powerful alchemy—a wise wondering that honors endings while embracing beginnings.

Close your eyes and imagine yourself as the landscape at twilight. Part of you is in shadow, holding the memory of the day that has passed—this is your melancholy. Part of you is illuminated by the rising moon and stars, reaching toward what has yet to come—this is your curiosity.

Tha Màthair an t-Saoghail a' teagasg dhuinn:
The Mother of the World teaches us:

Gu bheil cianalas a' toirt doimhneachd do neònachas.
That melancholy gives depth to curiosity.

Gu bheil neònachas a' toirt solas do chianalas.
That curiosity gives light to melancholy.

Anns an eadar-sholus, tha an dà dhiubh a' coinneachadh.
In the twilight, both of them meet.

Tha iad a' coinneachadh annamsa cuideachd.
They meet within me as well.

Feel these emotions flowing through your body now. Where do you physically experience melancholy? Perhaps as a heaviness in your chest, a softening of your shoulders, a deepening of your breath. Where do you physically experience curiosity? Perhaps as a lifting of your gaze, a slight leaning forward, a quickening in your mind.

Allow these sensations to mingle and dance within you, just as the water dances on the stone. Neither fighting the melancholy nor clinging to the curiosity—simply witnessing their interaction as the natural wisdom of twilight.

Mar a tha latha a' dol gu oidhche,
As day turns to night,

Tha solas a' dol gu dorchadas.
Light turns to darkness.

Ach anns an dorchadas, tha solas ùr a' tòiseachadh.
But in the darkness, new light begins.

Anns a' chianalas, tha neònachas a' tòiseachadh.
In melancholy, curiosity begins.

Is anns an neònachas, tha tuigse a' tòiseachadh.
And in curiosity, understanding begins.

Afterthought | Smuain Dheiridh

Take a moment to contemplate:

How might the dance between melancholy and curiosity be serving you at this time in your life? What wisdom lies in the melancholy you sometimes feel? What possibility waits in the curiosity that arises? How can you honor both emotions as teachers from the Mother Earth?

Closing Blessing | Beannachd Dheiridh

Tha mi a' toirt taing dhan Mhàthair airson teagasg an eadar-sholuis.
I give thanks to the Mother for the teaching of twilight.

A' giùlan cianalas is neònachas mar thiodhlacan prìseil.
Carrying melancholy and curiosity as precious gifts.

Mar a tha an latha a' crìochnachadh 's an oidhche a' tòiseachadh,
As the day ends and the night begins,

Tha mi a' cuimhneachadh an gliocas seo.
I remember this wisdom.

Gum beannaich an talamh mo bhrògan.
May the earth bless my shoes.

Gum beannaich a' ghealach mo shùilean.
May the moon bless my eyes.

Gum beannaich na reultan mo chadal.
May the stars bless my sleep.

Gus an coinnich sinn a-rithist.
Until we meet again.

Slowly open your eyes. Take a moment to observe the landscape around you, noticing how it has changed during your meditation. The stone and water before you serve as reminders of the dance between melancholy and curiosity. Carry this balanced awareness with you as you return to your daily life.