Finally, the warm rays of the sun are stroking us awake. The birds are harmonizing their gorgeous songs, and the daffodils are showing their beautiful, smiling faces. Reminding us that Ostara has arrived and the New Astrological Year, has started. The time has come to lean into this beautiful time of hope, of fertility and new beginnings.

As I type this love letter I have no voice. There is no sound coming out of my mouth when I try to speak, and it is both incredibly liberating and oppressing at the same time. Not being able to communicate with sound is very strange, for it is the most instinctive way for me to express myself from the first moment I drew breath. At times it feels frustrating, I literally am silenced. Not being able to speak and express feels numbing, cut off and lonely. And it is also an invitation; a gentle calling to stay silent and listen. To really hear what is being said by others without giving a reply.  To hold space. To listen and hear the soft whispers of my own deepest yearnings.

As I have been living cyclically for many years, I am deeply aware of the connection and reflection of nature’s cycles on my own cycle. However, it hasn’t been until the last few years that I have been diving even deeper into the meaning of this. Trying to find the connections like the mycelium threads below the surface. It is here that I have found that the Gregorian new year does not reflect my calendar or cycle. For when I truly follow the wheel of the year I am still deep in winter. There is no need for me to wrap things up, get excited for or start reaching outwards again. For I am still in the darkness, still cocooning and processing all that winter has given me

For a long time, I have dreamed of weaving together all that I have gathered in my basket and creating a space that caters to women. I am in awe of women—our intuition, our cycles, our initiations, and our softness in strength; our fierce lioness hearts and deep knowing.

I love watching the leaves drop and the branches become bare. Fall reminds us every year of the art of letting go. The leaves show me what full commitment and ego death look like, a true belief that they will come back when spring announces herself again—a new version, born from spending time going inward, diving into the deepest shadows and meeting themselves there.