Settle into a comfortable position,
Whether that's seated or lying down,
Allow your hands to rest wherever feels natural,
Perhaps opening your lap or maybe even gently resting over your heart.
If it feels comfortable,
Softly close your eyes or lower your gaze somewhere steady,
Perhaps a candle flame or a still point in the room.
There is nothing you need to do right now,
Nothing you need to become,
This time belongs entirely to you.
Take a slow breath in through your nose and a long easy breath out and again.
Breathing in a little more slowly,
Breathing out a little more fully.
Let each exhale carry something with it,
The busyness of the day,
The weight of the week,
Anything you carried here that you no longer need to hold.
Allow your body to settle,
Heavier with each breath,
More supported with each exhale.
We begin by honouring the four directions,
Turning first towards the north,
The direction of earth,
Of deep roots,
Ancient bones and the ground that has held us all winter long.
We honour the darkness that kept us safe,
The stillness that asked nothing of us,
The earth that never once let us fall.
Turning to the east,
The direction of air and new beginnings,
Of dawn,
Of first breath,
Of the question that arrives before the answer.
Tonight the east feels close,
We are standing at its threshold,
We honour the rising light and all it is quietly returning to us.
Turning to the south,
The direction of fire,
Of warmth,
Of courage,
Of the spark that keeps us alive kept glowing even in the longest nights.
We honour the life force within us,
The part that endured,
The part that is beginning to remember its own brightness.
Turning to the west,
The direction of water and feeling,
Of intuition,
Emotion and the wisdom that lives beneath words.
We honour what we have felt through this winter,
What has moved through us,
Shaped us,
Softened us.
And finally we come to the centre,
The place where all directions meet.
Your body,
Your breath,
Your presence here,
Your breath,
Your breath,
Your breath,
In this moment.
Take one more slow breath in and out.
Now gently allow your awareness to travel downward,
Down through the soles of your feet,
Down through the floor beneath you,
Down into the earth below.
Cool,
Dark and endlessly patient.
Feel how much there is beneath you,
Layer upon layer of soil and stone,
Roots weaving through the dark,
The long slow memory of 10,
000 springs before this one.
The earth has been through all of it,
It has held the seeds through every winter,
It has never once worried that spring would not come.
Let it hold you now in the same way,
Without condition,
Without fear,
Without urgency,
Simply held.
Feel the weight of your body surrendering into that support,
Your spine settling,
Your shoulders softening,
Your jaw unclenching.
You are held,
You have always been held,
Even when it didn't feel that way.
And now,
From that place of deep rootedness,
Allow your awareness to rise,
Slowly,
Gently,
Up through the earth,
Up through the soles of your feet,
Up into your body.
Imagine that you are now in the centre of the universe,
Imagine it is just before dawn on the morning of the equinox.
You are standing somewhere quiet,
Open ground beneath you,
Cool air on your skin.
The sky is the colour that comes before colour,
That deep held blue that exists only in the moments before light arrives.
Everything is still.
The world is pausing as if it is too holding its breath.
At the very edge of the horizon,
The first thread of gold.
Not bright yet,
Not demanding,
Just present,
A quiet announcement.
Watch it and let it come at its own pace.
As the light begins to spread,
Something in you recognises it.
Your body knows this light,
It's been waiting for it,
Perhaps without even knowing that it was waiting.
Notice where you feel at first,
Perhaps a softening somewhere in your chest,
Perhaps a loosening in your belly,
Maybe just a small,
Quiet exhale.
As if something inside you says,
Yes,
There it is.
The light grows slowly,
Unhurried.
Gold,
White,
Blue,
Green,
Purple,
Purple,
Green,
Purple,
Green,
Warming into rose,
Warming into the pale clear blue of a spring morning.
And as it does,
Notice that you are not swept away by it.
You are not pulled off your feet.
You remain exactly where you are,
Rooted,
Steady,
Feet on the ground.
The light is rising and so are you.
Both things are true at once.
Grounded and opening,
Still and alive.
This is what Astara asks of us.
Not to abandon our roots in our excitement.
Not to dim our light in the name of staying safe.
Both.
The deep earth beneath,
The rising light above.
You were made for both.
Stay here for a few breaths in the image of this first light,
In this moment of perfect balance.
Notice what you are carrying with you into this new season.
It doesn't need to be named.
It doesn't need to be understood yet.
Just notice that something in you is willing to rise and that the ground beneath you is not going anywhere.
When you are ready,
Begin to feel the room around you returning.
The sounds of the space,
Maybe your own breath,
Gentle light,
Warmth in the air.
Feel the surface of the earth beneath you,
Solid and present.
Just notice how your body feels connected to this surface.
Take a gentle breath in and let it go slowly.
And when it feels right,
Let it go slowly.
Softly begin to return your gaze to the room,
Opening your eyes if you had them closed.
Carrying with you the steadiness of the earth.
Carrying with you the quiet hope of the rising light.
Both are yours.
Both have always been yours.
Welcome back.
