Spring, Rebirth, and the Art of Starting Again

Spring has long been a symbol of rebirth, resurrection, and renewal across spiritual traditions and mythologies. After winter's deep slumber and stillness, Spring arrives not in a quiet whisper but in a crescendo of color, new life, and song. The earth thaws, flowers push through soil, and everything dormant begins to awaken.

In Christian tradition, Easter marks the resurrection of Christ, symbolizing the ultimate rebirth after death. In Earth-based Practices, the Spring Equinox (often referred to as Ostara) celebrates balance and the fertility of the land. Eggs, hares, and seeds symbolize potential, abundance, and the return of life. Among many Native traditions, Spring is a time of ceremony and renewal. For the Mohawk Nation, the Maple Ceremony marks the first harvest of maple sap—a gift from the Creator and a symbol of life returning to the land. Like the budding earth, this ceremony celebrates new beginnings, gratitude, and the reawakening of spirit after winter's completion.

No tradition skips the part where something dies.

Something must fall away.

Descent always precedes return.

For women, Spring's invitation is not merely to bloom. It is to integrate, emerge, and rewrite. The journey of rebirth often demands a descent into shadow, into grief, into the lost parts of our Self that were silenced or disowned. The winter of our lives—whether marked by heartbreak, aging, illness, an identity shift, or transition—asks us to surrender, to compost the old. Only then can something new and true emerge.

Healing is not just about mending. It is about making room. The parts of us that were once exiled can return home. And when they do, we don't just "bounce back."

We Rise differently, with deep roots, richer wisdom, and beauty shaped by our integration into wholeness.

This kind of rising isn't polished or pristine. It is textured with story, shaped by seasons, and etched with the marks of a life well-lived.

Here, the spirit of kintsugi meets us, the Japanese art of mending what is broken with gold. It reminds us that healing doesn't erase the past; it illuminates it. Our cracks become part of the story—not something to hide, but something to honor and celebrate. It teaches us that our fractures are not flaws but places of grace and power.

"Even when things are broken, if you repair them with care, they become even more beautiful." Junko Edahiro

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There comes a moment after the long dark after your soul has whispered its truths into the cold, dormant winter when something within you begins to stir.

It doesn't happen all at once.

Maybe it starts with a deep sigh, a spark, a single green shoot of desire poking up through the cracked earth. Perhaps it's the scent of the wind that reminds you of who you used to be before the world taught you to play small. Maybe it's the quiet knowing: I can't live like this anymore.

Spring doesn't just arrive. It emerges from the dark of winter, shaped by the unraveling, the emptying, the necessary pause.

This is how your life returns to you.

You are not rushing to bloom. You are honoring the rhythm of your body and life. You are composting old beliefs, letting go of outdated roles and protective strategies, and tending to your garden's soil.

It's Messy. Beautiful. Holy. Necessary.

You may not know exactly who you are becoming, but you feel it... a new Self is growing in the dark, fed by truth, watered by grief, warmed by the faint light of your becoming.

And when you are ready, you will Rise.

Not because you forced your way into the light,

but because the light within you refuses to be dimmed.

So let the thaw come. Let the petals unfold. Let the parts of you that went underground find their way home.

You are not behind.

You are not broken.

You are not late.

You are becoming.

And Spring, my love, Spring waits for no one.

Yet, it always returns.

And so will you.

Are you ready to Rise?