Spring Lessons, by Molly M. Remer

And, so,
April arrives 
all at once 
to enliven the land, 
trailing cool breezes 
and the first blush of pollen possibility 
across fields and forests, 
fence rows and farms. 
She blankets open spaces 
with purple clover and violets,
with chickweed and dandelion. 
When we pause to listen, 
we can hear the laughter of awakening rippling behind her. 
She brings an invitation into healing, 
into extending outward and reaching up. 
She offers wild promise 
and tender hope 
and the sweet, fresh breath of change. 
Let us soften into spring, 
into this invitation,
into restoration and reclamation. 
It is now that we choose. 
Let us be content to be here, 
witnessing the changes, 
leaning into the wind,
and savoring the blooming. 
Let us trust the cycles
of retreat and renewal
alive in both the land 
and in our hearts right now 
as the melody of belonging 
continues to serenade us 
and we follow April’s determination 
to create and shape 
this world anew.

I have been writing for Feminism and Religion for 13 years. This past summer, I compiled a post with 13 summer lessons from 13 years of posts here at FAR. I bookended that post with a Winter Lessons post as well. Now, here are thirteen lessons to share from past spring posts:

Lesson One: Honor the Motheredness of the World

“We were all held, touched, interrelated, in an invisible net of incarnation. I would scarcely think of it ordinarily; yet for each creature I saw, someone, a mother, had given birth….Motherhood was the gate. It was something that had always been invisible to me before, or so unvalued as to be beneath noticing: the motheredness of the world.” (Naomi Wolf)

Lesson Two: Our Bodies Know

“Your body is your own. This may seem obvious. But to inhabit your physical self fully, with no apology, is a true act of power.” (Camille Maurine)

Lesson Three: Love the Land You Come From

There is ash, Carolina buckthorn, cedar, cherry, dogwood, elm, hackberry, hickory, honey locust, mulberry, red oak, white oak, Osage orange, persimmon, pine, plum, poplar, redbud, sassafras, and walnut. They’re a beautiful palette of meaning and a gift of love. A portable altar of the forest.

Lesson Four: Savor Small, Wild Adventures in Your Own Backyard

A friend once laughed to hear me describe picking wild raspberries as a “holy task,” but it is. A task earthy, embodied, mundane, and miraculous at once. Each year, I sweat and struggle, am scratched and stung, but I return home once again with my bounty.

Lesson Five: Kneel and Kiss the Earth

In the dark silence we hear the sound of water dripping steadily. I make my way further into the cave, acutely aware that this is a living cave and being careful not to step on the fresh, wet, cervix-shaped beginnings of new stalagmites on the floor. At the back of the cave, I find her. A Madonna-like stone column, glistening with water. In the silence of the cave, I quietly sing Ancient Mother to her, as tears well in my own eyes.

Lesson Six: Share Your Stories

Stories are validating. They can communicate that you are not alone, not crazy, and not weird. Stories are instructive without being directive or prescriptive. It is very easy to take what works from stories and leave the rest because stories communicate personal experiences and lessons learned, rather than expert direction, recommendations, or advice.

Lesson Seven: Gather in Sacred Circle

We then passed through a birth canal of our joined hands whispering, “I believe in you” to each woman as she passed through, re-entering the dimming light of the electricity-dark living room. After singing again, we gathered our belongings, exchanged hugs, and slipped out into the deepening dusk, humbled and awed by the visceral, direct, and responsive presence of the elements within this circle of hands, hearts, and bodies.

Lesson Eight: Keep Looking for Beauty

Then, I remember the white skeleton in the leaves, the way the last icicles of winter hung from the wet stones, chilled and dripping though the temperature today reached sixty degrees. I remember the sound of spring peepers rising full-throated into the air around me and the red-shouldered hawks turning in broad circles across the sky, screeching. I remember how my five year old son, frustrated about something recently said: life is never amazing and I told him, honey, if there is one thing I will stand up for until the end of time, it is that life is almost always amazing.

Lesson Nine: Marvel at Where You Are

And, now, as I sit there in the woods, holding my precious antler in front of my face, smelling its faint hint of calcium and dirt, I feel a sensation of completion, the “graduation” ceremony of something that began with a flickering firelight meditation seven years ago. I am, in fact, embarking on a new chapter, antlers in my hands.

Lesson Ten: Don’t Argue with Reality

The sacred is not logical, and neither is the world itself, but we pretend that it is, and then we get disappointed when we see reality. I originally learned the phrase “don’t argue with reality” from self-help author Wayne Dyer. There can be a whole range of potential experiences that are beyond objective reality or the reality that people sometimes insist is all there is. Jeanette Winterson, in her book Lighthousekeeping writes: “I do not accept that life has an ordinary shape, or that there is anything ordinary about life at all. We make it ordinary, but it is not.”

Lesson Eleven: Keep Your Promises

I leaned my head against a pine trunk and a tiny rainbow danced in the sunbeams across my face. I was witnessed in my declaration by tree and cloud, sunshine and wind, stone and wing. The Earth holds me without question as I commit myself to myself. I am in devotion to my own life, to being here for it all. I will not override my own knowing.  I will not abandon my own wholeness. I am here. I am whole. I have everything I need within me to live the life I choose. I will honor my promise. I will keep my vows. 

Lesson Twelve: Leave Wide Margins for Magic

Sometimes I feel as if I’m always waiting for the chance to get to enjoy my own life, caught up in to-dos and have-tos and taxes that are due. Something that I explored in my book, Walking with Persephone, was that we need margins for magic. We need “white space” in our lives in order to step through and into the magic of our place, our own spots in the world’s web, on this earth we all share. Something that I explore in my newest book, Replenish, is that our sense of longing is the doorway, our invitation to connect.

Lesson Thirteen: Keep Showing Up

When we return home, I see a meme on social media that says: “Ten minutes online will show you everything that is wrong with the world. Ten minutes outside will show you everything that is right.” I think about the students and professors, each one alight with enthusiasm, with passion, for their work, their projects, their art, the contributions they are making. This is what we need. We need to see, spend time with, and BE people who are involved, connected, committed, and passionate. People who are creating instead of destroying. People who are connecting instead of controlling. People who are reaching out to offer what they can, who create and care, and who show up.

Happy Springtime, everyone! May we continue to connect, listen, and learn.

In a world both burning and blooming,
may my heart stay soft and brave.
When my candle goes out,
may I remember I can rekindle the flame,
begin again,
and keep living my magic
right where I am.