When the Goddess sleeps in
The quiet power of what grows unseen
I hope you noticed the bright, almost daring sunlight around February 1st -Imbolc / Candlemas - this year.
That sweet whisper of spring carried through the cold midwinter air.
I felt the sun almost like a physical touch, after a long absence.
Perhaps for Nature - the goddess I am speaking of here - it was a bit like Sleeping Beauty, kissed in her dream.
And while awakening slowly takes place this year,
The Dream Continues
Gently kissed by new sun’s rays,
the goddess still lies deep in sleep,
for nature’s rest is far below this year.
Gently held by dark embrace
of Mother Earth’s womb.
Watched by ancient Mothers.
Mothers to the land and to the fate,
of birth and death,
and new becoming.
—
For a moment, it felt as if she stirred,
as if she blinked toward the light
and then chose otherwise.
Pulling Grandmother’s snowy blanket
closer around her shoulders,
she drifted back into dreaming.
—
And yet—she has been touched.
For beneath the frost, between the roots,
deep in the deeply frozen ground,
a movement—almost silent—
has already begun.
A deeper layer of the fairy tale
The moment when the prince finds Sleeping Beauty is the moment when the sun’s rays grow strong enough to touch Nature in her deep winter sleep.
It is the touch of the divine - awakening pure potential,
It is creation - stirring what lies dormant deep within.
This hero does not arrive with a fire that burns away. He does not come with rude command or blunt desire, nor does he sneak his way in with clever tricks.
He comes with presence - a presence to which nothing can resist being touched.
It is the gentle kiss of love resting on her cheek, given with grace - determined, yet patient, with trust.
A kiss of remembrance.
A ray of light and warmth,
a touch so sweet,
it finds it's way
though deepest sleep.
Somewhere deep inside
the utmost softest place is touched
by the smallest drop of water,
yet ripples it create.
An echo sounds in ancient halls
something has been moved.
The loom of life begins again
a new thread spun
and the mothers weave again
From darkness beneath frost,
a new life begins to form.
A silent revolution like,
felt long before it is seen.
The promise of the darkest hour
has finally been kept.
The light returned,
and life renewed.
The mirror of the fairy tale in us
In many tellings, change arrives as conflict: light must conquer darkness, summer must defeat winter, life must overcome death.
But this is not how the oldest stories speak.
They tell us that transition is rhythm - a flow.
Winter is not the enemy of summer, nor is darkness a failure of light.
They belong to one another, as all life is born from darkness in the womb.
About us children
In winter, nature sleeps
as we do each night,
wrapped in peace
beneath white blankets.
A potential,
yet becoming.
In the deepest winter, we are invited to travel downward into the halls of Mother Hel, where all that has been is remembered and all that will become is gently prepared.
Here we meet the wisdom of the lineage - the grandmothers and great-grandmothers, keepers of memory, fate, and continuity.
The deep feminine wisdom that keeps the line unbroken and weaves possibility into reality.
Dear ancient Mother
As our soul sinks deep
into the void of winter’s darkness,
you gently guide our dreams of warmth,
of union with the beloved sun
who promised to return.
And when the time is right,
the morning kiss received,
we will rise with you again
in beauty, green and gold,
in sap and song,
in all the colours,
grace of spring.
With patience
Perhaps, like Nature herself this year, we too are invited to “snooze” once more - trusting the old Mothers, choosing a little bit more sleep, a little bit more dreaming, a little bit more listening.
To feel those tiny movements deep within.
To sense the slow, deep currents gathering in the dark.
When it’s time to wake
When silent movements
naturally come to rise.
Let us rise as well
from our dreams.
Let us be strong,
for all the dancing,
laughter, sharing, love.
Life
About the Mothers
In the old Northern world, this time of stillness was marked by Dísablót - a winter rite. It was an offering to honour the Dísir (or Idisir for the germanic tribes), the ancestral Mothers of fate, fertility, and continuity.
Dísablót is not a rite of awakening, it is a rite of trust. Held when the ground is still frozen and nothing yet dares to rise, it honours life exactly where it is at that time of the year - a potential still unseen.
The Dísir “the Ladies,” are Mothers of blood and land, keepers of lineage, fertility, and fate.
They appear under many names and faces:
- some are the Valkyries
- some are the spirits of ancestors, of families, of land or tribe
- they are the Norns, the weavers of destiny
- as those who stand at thresholds - of birth and death, of descent and return.
Different for all the distands gods they live close to us — close to the body, close to the land, close to the memory carried in bone and soil. They are also known as Fylgjur or Hamingja - like guardian spirits tied to a person or lineage, sometimes appearing in animal form, not unlike the totem spirits of other indigenous cultures.
Beings one keeps a good relationship with.
Even today, echoes of this remain.
The Disting, still held in Uppsala in early February carries echoes of these ancient gatherings, where ritual, law, and seasonal rhythm once met.
It is a reminder that
life cannot be rushed.
and fate cannot be fought.