The spring equinox opens the veil between the physical and the spiritual so that resurrection in our lives can be inaugurated. — Ted Andrews
On the second Friday of March I packed a bag with clothes, and my portable office: my laptop and planner, in another. We drove south for 5 hours to the border, and stopped just before crossing it, in a little place called Grand Forks. Julien’s Aunt and Uncle welcomed us into their sweet cabin home, and indulged us with voracious entertainment and delicious food.
Julien took me for a walk to the nearby woodcrafter, a vibrantly happy man in his late 60’s, who looks like the spirit of the forest. Brimming with child-like enthusiasm, Julien showed me the woodcrafter’s museum: hundreds of chain-saws of every size and from every era. I smiled and tried my best to be fascinated for at least 5 minutes.
I woke up the next morning in that cabin in the woods when the mountain mist was still hanging low. I walked out of the guest room into the kitchen, picked up a glass and filled it with pure spring water straight from the tap. I drank that water in deeply.
I went to the bathroom, washed my face, braided my matted, slept-on hair and changed into my favourite pair of leggings and a cashmere sweater that a generous stranger gave me when I first arrived in Canada.
Back in the kitchen a steaming cup of coffee straight from an Italian macchinetta was squeeze into my hand. I topped it up with fresh organic cream from the nearby dairy that was sitting on the breakfast table. After breakfast: crusty bread toasted over the fire, eggs, cheese, jams, fruit, berries and homemade yoghurt, I helped clear up the table.
The men went outside to dig a trailer out of the snow. I set off for a walk amongst the firs and birch trees. As I walked I felt the most happiness and burst of joy I have in a while.
On the way back I met a woman who had been waiting for me. She said she had seen my tracks in the snow. She didn’t recognize them and was wondering whose they were. We introduced ourselves and she accompanied me part of the way, enthusiastically revelling in my stories of travels that span our planet, and love that brings you home.
“This is it” I thought. “Magic really is subjective. I’m discovering it everywhere.”
Three days later, we drove on. In the afternoon we arrived in Nelson (with the same name as the town we lived in, in New Zealand). My friends, Rachel and Ricky, live downtown above a boutique clothes shop in a spacious one bedroom apartment with high ceilings and arch windows. They offered us a futon on the floor. When we knocked and opened the door and there they were, these two creatures from so long-ago that it almost feels like a past life to me, with warm hugs and open hearts.
Ricky made us peppermint tea and we caught up on the many travels that had taken us on all our various paths. Julien started making his infamous refried beans and an hour later set out all the ingredients. The best burritos I have ever eaten were made and devoured in that home.
The next day everyone left early: Ricky went to work, Rachel and Julien went to conquer the slopes, and I pottered about getting ready to find a local coffice (cafe = office). I had one of those rare days of incredible productivity in the Empire Cafe, sipping on soy chai and overhearing other people’s conversations. They ranged from thoughts on what fairies live in the valley, to two men discussing their falling out with incredible emotional maturity. If I had been either one of them, I would broken down and cried.
Julien picked me up at 4pm and off we went to the next place: a little cottage outside of town, to see an old school friend of his. We introduced ourselves and hugged and they made us homemade tacos and we shared a bottle of wine.
That night Julien took me curling. His best friend and childhood next-door-neighbour lives in Nelson and had invited us to her staff party.
Essential it’s this: you walk on an ice-rink with slippery shoes, then you crouch down in front of a wooden starting block and gracefully lean on a stick and glide yourself forward into a low “warrior one” yoga position out into the ice, whilst pushing a giant, concrete block in front of you. That concrete block is supposed to hit a target at the other end of the ice rink, and if it’s too slow, two of your team members who are ready and waiting have to rapidly and repeatedly “sweep” the ice in front of the concrete block to make it move faster. If it’s too slow, you lose. If it’s too fast, you lose.
It’s weird. And hilarious. And painful. I have big purple and yellow bruises to prove it.
We stayed in that cute cottage in the snow for two days.
On Wednesday we took off again. I’m learning to drive a stick-shift and it was my turn, so I drove with Julien gently encouraging me, through the misty fog and the endless rain, past the most surreal scenery that evoked memories of reading the Brothers Grimm fairy tales before bedtime.
I pulled over in Nakusp to stop for lunch, but the place we had seen on the side of the road was closed. I was tired and we swapped places and Julien gave me his phone “find us a place to eat”. I looked up “diners” on Google Maps and found a place called Nick’s, and directed us there.
It was perfect, from to the neon sign outside to the worn down wooden floors and simple grandma-diner furniture. Julien ordered us the house-burger and ham-and-pea soup to share. We rarely eat meat anymore but this was one of those cultural experiences that I am always asking for. It was delicious. The cook teased us for inhaling our meal and offered to make us more. We declined and wrapped ourselves up again before stepping back out into the rain.
“Let’s go swim at the hot springs!” Julien suggests. We drive and park and there we are. Soaking in those minerals, easing my aches and pains from curling. I could forget all the rest of the world exists in moments like these.
I felt so relaxed I forgot my favourite pair of leggings and my gifted merino-wool sweater there.
That night we make it to our final destination: Julien’s Dad’s friend has a house in Revelstoke, a town famous for its skiing slopes and cuteness. She had offered use her spare room. In a text she tells us she won’t be home but her housemates John and Kevin would be. When we knocked on the door, a dishevelled-looking man appeared. Julien peered inside “Are you John and Kevin?”. “No” he replied looking around confused. A strong waft of cannabis drifted out to us. Then, almost as if he had only just remembered, he opened up the door “Oh! John and Kevin! Yep, that’s us.”
They showed us to our room and we watched a movie and drank tea.
It was Thursday when we woke up, packed the car and explored Revelstoke. We found bakeries with treats we could barely unglue our eyes from, a strange bookstore run by an anti-social shopkeeper, and a natural clothing store where we spoke to a man about glass blowing and sunshine.
I saw signs for a local winter market “look, it’s on today!” and we followed them to the library. We bought fresh free-range eggs and raw honey and tasted veggie jerky and apple slices.
That whole day I felt exhausted and I really just wanted to go home.
Back in Kamloops I helped unpack the car, put on a few loads of laundry and then showered and climbed into bed. My moon-time was due soon. I am accustomed to listening to my body and working with my cycles, so I gave in and rested.
On Friday I still felt really low. “It’s nothing” I thought. “It’ll pass.” I stayed in bed for most of the day, slowly answering emails and catching up on work. In the afternoon I went outside for a walk. After 10 minutes my body ached and throat started to hurt and I knew: I was coming down with a cold. Back home and back to bed, I hoped that I’d caught it soon enough to get the rest I needed for it to go away.
On Saturday, I gave in. Being sick is necessary sometimes. But a part of me has been wrestling with it. ‘I have so much to dooooooooooo!” my mind screams at me. She’s right. I do.
My London workshop has just been announced.
My 8 week course (the sequel to my free 7 day manifesting course) Manifest More launches in a week. And I am not ready. I haven’t done any of the things I had planned to do for marketing it. All I know is that doors to the course open soon and the content is amazing. Spectacular even. But I’m not ready. And this sickness of mine, is wanting to teach me something around that. To trust and let go.
It’s a strange kind of sick that makes no sense but seems to be saying to me: “Be very still and quiet. Things are changing and you have to stay out-of-the-way and allow them to.” It feels like a paradoxical push-pull — inside my body — outside in my life — where life is fracturing and falling apart and at the same time rebuilding and holding a new framework of reverence and divinity.
It’s both confusing and enthralling. A part of me wants to return to my old defence mechanism: RUN. Another part of me knows that this is exactly where I’m meant to be, even though it’s so super uncomfortable.
A friend of mine said “You are on the edge of total breakthrough… Be patient: the answers come as you know… you look safe, and your light is shining bright”.
Yesterday we drove to a park, it’s an island in the middle of the river. Julien showed me the path for me to walk on and I snapped at him, and quickly apologised. “I’m not feeling myself.”
I started walking and watched the old folks joyfully pass by and the ducks playing on the river edge and kid learning to ride her new skateboard. Suddenly I started speaking to myself. It was strange, I had no control over it. All these words came tumbling out about the past, and my mother, and all the things that hurt. I started breathing deeply and speaking incantations on all of the things I wanted to let go.
When it stopped I looked around I felt relieved to see that I had made that part of the walk all alone. I felt strange and lighter and also wonder. “What on earth is going on?” I was acting like a crazy person and yet it all was so real and raw and needed.
I woke up this morning at 5am and realized it is the Spring Equinox today: a powerful period of releasing in preparation for the transition into Spring. It’s my first real Spring in more years than I can remember. Lying in bed watching the sun rise through the cracks in our blinds my mind started showing me more things that are being let go of and. I was seeing where I’ve been trying to control the process and the results and “oh my god”how it’s all coming out into the open.
Something crazy-amazing is going on. I feel like I’m breaking through the mirror glass.