Introduction & Upcoming Shamanic Ceremony
Welcome to this week’s episode of The Thirsty Soul. Before we get into the episode, I want to share an upcoming event that I’m holding in Foxrock, Co. Dublin, on 9th February 2025. This will be my Imbolc shamanic “Burn Away Stagnation.” A few shamanic journeys have shown that this is about clearing away the heaviness that holds us back from making space for what’s coming.
It’s like the image of the snowdrop breaking through the winter soil to reach the light. It must crack through its own little seed and then crack through the earth—which, if you think about it, is like when we begin to move forward in a different direction: wanting to embody new ways of being, maybe explore changing careers, or being in a relationship.
We have the idea, the potential, the dream seed, and then for most people what happens is all of the stuff comes in: the doubts, the limitations, the fears, or the internal talk of “I’ve too many ideas and I don’t know where to direct my focus,” or “Who am I to do this?” or “You’re not good enough to do this.” All the overthinking gets in the way. This is an opportunity to start clearing the path, clearing up space so you can harness the energy of the tender possibilities, the bold beginnings, and whatever is within you that wants to start emerging.
You can work with the energy of Imbolc, Goddess Bridget, the beautiful energy of the snowdrop, and the blue lotus. Because the blue lotus is like the spring energy—the lotus emerges from the mud towards the light and blooms its beautiful petals, just as we too at this time of year can do. So this is an opportunity to purify your energy, rekindle that spark, and make way for whether it’s vitality, clarity of purpose, bold action, or just gathering your thoughts and feelings into the spaciousness within yourself.
This is the space for that transformation. All the details are on my website, or drop me a little DM on Instagram if you want details. Thank you for listening to that.
And one other little thing, as always, please do subscribe to the podcast. I’m hoping to get it onto YouTube eventually at some stage in the next month or so as well. But subscribe on Little Apple or the other places where you listen, and even leave some comments—they do all help.
A Moment of Pause Before Imbolc
Before we move into Imbolc, I wanted to take a moment for us to pause together.
For me, these last few days before we move into the season of Imbolc—though I always like to say it’s not just one day, because we can panic ourselves into thinking, “I’ve got to be feeling this way today”—span usually six or seven weeks, depending on when they fall. Imbolc is usually celebrated in the first of February, and the true date is the third of February this year. This has nothing to do with the fact that we have the bank holiday on our bridge days since a year or two ago; it’s simply where the actual true date falls. So we have this period not just in those couple of days, but you’ll find that there are lots of celebrations for a bridge day around then and Imbolc. We have this period of time from Imbolc up to the spring equinox, during which there is, of course, a gentle call to move out with ease—a topic I’ll go into more in the next podcast.
I want us to have these short moments to consider the days before that threshold. It’s like the way I describe it: you know the last few sips, especially that first—well, for me, it’s the first cup of tea in the morning, the last few sips of that cup of tea—and I really savour it, taking my time with it because the next cup of tea won’t taste like that.
Embracing the Transition
For me, moving from winter, from the winter solstice to Imbolc—even though with Imbolc we still associate with not being in the fullness of life—we’re not like the horses rushing out of the gates to go running. But can I let myself savour these moments? Sometimes we’re too quick to run towards the light. I can totally understand why these last few weeks have been testing, with snow, with lots of electricity issues, with the cold. I can understand why anybody would run towards the light or hop on a plane. But think of our being, our soul, our nourishment, our internal world. Sometimes we’re too quick, trying to get up again to that peak energy of a solstice, a summer solstice, and we can forget the richness of the darkness.
As we stand moving towards this threshold, it’s a lovely time to reflect—because you will never experience the same winter again, you will never be the same, and it will never be the same. How we meet it will always be different. That’s the beauty of walking the Celtic wheel—or, for me, my shamanic practice, walking the medicine wheel—is that every time I pause at a point, I’m different.
I can’t say I know everything about what a winter solstice is like or what the energy of Imbolc is. I know from my personal experience of 10, 11 years of walking the wheel how it has met me in all of its facades to date. We can let these little hints of spring call us forward. You look out the window—I can see just some of the green shoots of the daffodils, just the very beginning. On another path that I drive down, the snowdrops have emerged outside the little house that I always keep an eye on, because that’s when I know, “Okay, we’re moving, we’re moving, we’re moving in the direction of some light here,” and there’s a cluster of beautiful snowdrops together. To me, that gentle call forward is like following the sweet smell of freshly baked apple pie, like in the cartoons where Mickey Mouse would float up into the air and start following the smell. But we can allow ourselves to be in that first, initial taste of something sweet, of relief, while honouring the winter that we’re leaving.
Take the time to digest and integrate what’s been revealed to you, and be honest in your answers, because we learn from it. Have I truly let myself drink from the well of winter? Have I truly let myself want it? We may think that means we have to be locked up in our house 24/7, sitting with a candle and blankets on while reading a book—we have stereotypes of what that looked like. But if we’re working full-time jobs and have family, kids, and other things to do, how was my winter amid all of that? Did I allow the replenishment of that winter energy to find its way down into my core, into my bones, even as my bones might crave heat at the moment? My bones were also craving rest, restoration, solitude, stillness, quietness, rejuvenation, dreaming. So, have you drunk from that well? And if not, what happened that didn’t manifest in that way? And again, this is never to blame or shame ourselves—because things happen. I mentioned in the very last podcast at the end of last year that I got so far ahead of myself and then, when things beyond my control happened, I got sick for a week and then straight away we lost electricity for three days.
Learning from Winter
So, my big plans for a lot of different winter experiences didn’t fully happen in those couple of weeks, and that’s okay—I got it in other ways. And similarly, these last few weeks, we’ve lost electricity again at different stages during storms and other events outside of my control. Yet, within all the chaos, we can still find time to rejuvenate and replenish our being.
What occurred that maybe you’d like to do differently next year? What got in the way? And it’s okay too. Yes, I overextended myself again. Oh, actually, yes—I did. I said I wouldn’t say yes to everything, and yet I did say yes to everything. I said I wouldn’t attend every party that was going on, and actually, I did attend every party. I wish I hadn’t, because maybe I’m exhausted at this stage. If you’re exhausted at this stage—and it’s not just physical exhaustion—and you just want a little bit of spring energy, vitality, to taste that life force coming back, know that I said, “I am done. I am full to the brim. I am frustrated, burnt off, and I’m snapping at people.” That usually tells us that we haven’t even rested or taken advantage of a little bit of wondering.
So just acknowledge what got in the way, because that is information for what can be done differently. Have you let yourself really sink into the soil, into the holding of Mother Earth, and let yourself be held? Can you let yourself—this applies to different parts of life, whether our whole being or specific aspects—sink into that rich soil of rest, of dreaming, of tending to yourself until you feel the pulse of life calling you forth? That requires an understanding of how we work as individuals because we are all different, and an understanding of our own little things that get in the way, our own internal chatter and limitations.
It means that I’m not trying to force an awakening or push myself to create or bring to life something that isn’t there yet. Just because we’re moving toward a breakthrough doesn’t mean we should rush; it’s about understanding what season you are in, in different parts of your life, so that you can work with them. But as I said, we also know how to trick ourselves the best. We might say, “Oh yeah, no, I don’t really feel that pulse because I’m a little bit afraid. I don’t really want to start that there. Part of me does, but another part doesn’t.” We’re tricking ourselves into believing that we’re not feeling that call outward, that desire to emerge.
The Celtic Wheel as a map for our lives
So, did you let yourself be held by the earth? How did it feel to rest deeply in her arms? Did you surrender to her, or did she have to pull you in—drag you by your hair into the hibernation cave, into the cocoon—or maybe she tried to get you in and still, you did not cross the doorway of the cave?
If we can learn to surrender to winter—not just the season of winter, but the winters that appear in our life when we’re called to descend rather than ascend, when we’re called to face our shadows, when we’re called to do the deep work of truly and honestly looking at ourselves and bringing healing to the parts of ourselves that we’ve hidden or suppressed—that is the beauty of working with the cycles.
It’s not just about seasons; it’s about how seasons relate to our lives and what they teach us about being. We can be with all parts of ourselves, both internally and externally.
Were you able to fall back and be held by winter? Or did you resist it? And if you did resist it—if you pulled and pushed and maybe eventually gave in, or maybe you just kept going because there was so much on your plate—acknowledge that resistance and honour the chaos that didn’t allow it to happen.
People are spinning many, many plates, sometimes all alone, and we’re never looking for perfection when we’re dancing with the seasons. We’re looking for experimentation, curiosity, learning, and growing—we’re not looking to get it right because that’s impossible.
We’re simply observing how we are in it. And maybe even if you’ve been walking the Celtic Wheel along with me or in different ways, consider:
- How has your relationship with winter grown or changed?
- How do you meet it now?
- Can you meet it differently?
- Can you open your arms toward winter?
- Or are you still going, “I bloody hate that—hate winters, hate those dark nights, hate that cold weather”?
Because that can give us insight into how we meet our winters internally.
I used to hate winters—I was such a cold creature, hating them. Then I learned that I wasn’t appropriately prepared for them. Physically, I was not prepared. I learned about baseliers, about merino wool, and about beautiful Icebreaker gear. I learned that you can be outside and not freeze to death. That allowed me to develop a different relationship with the outside world. I could be outside all the time in winter. I might not be extremely delighted when the snow is teeming from the heavens on top of me, or when I’m out walking or running, but I can go out prepared.
Preparing for Your Next Wintering
So, how could you prepare for next winter? Not in a catastrophic kind of way, but actually—what would you need? What resources would you need to be able to meet it differently, to navigate it with more ease, more grace, more fun, more pleasure?
And what was revealed to you during winter? What did you meet within yourself?
I mentioned this in an Instagram post I did during the week. I was chatting about how my mother, during Christmas on numerous occasions, looked at our side window, which allows us to see up the Lough Foyle. We have one window that allows us to see down the Foyle, and the other one up the Foyle toward the Derry. And she said—’I can see clearly now. It was great to be able to see’.
She was standing there looking at the window and said, “It’s great to be able to see,” and then she would gesture toward the trees—without those trees there. Our lovely neighbours are landscapers, so they have these fabulous gardens, but these trees, when they’re in spring—not too bad—but by summer, almost to the end of winter, they’re full. You can see out our window, but you can’t see through the trees; you can’t see up the Foyle.
There’s nothing wrong with my mum’s eyes, but it’s usually the trees that block her view. I thought it was an interesting turn of phrase: it’s great to be able to see, because that’s what winter allows us in our lives—to see clearly, because it strips us back and invites us to lay ourselves bare.
Without the fullness of summer or the distractions of all the doing, without the almost protective busyness—“keep busy, keep busy, keep busy”—we’re left with only ourselves, which sometimes can feel raw, vulnerable, and exposed. We’re like, “Oh Christ, can I not just put on a few more layers and hide?” And then we get to really see our tender hearts, or maybe our tired bodies, or our inner child—the quiet truths that we hold within us, the dreams and the parts of us that can easily go unnoticed as we rush through life. These parts come to the surface during winter, and they ask to be seen, to be felt, to be honoured.
It might be uncomfortable, but it’s a sacred gift, because I see our winter seasons reveal what has been hidden, suppressed, abandoned, or avoided—or that which has stuck within you and may be driving and directing your life without you even realising it.
It reveals the patterns, the stories, the pain that prevent you from stepping into your authentic self, which is what our life’s journey is asking us to do: simply to be ourselves, our authentic self. And that is not about how we look or appear or what we do; it’s about knowing deep within that I’m not going to do that—without all the layers of what society, family, lineage, etc., wants us to be. So maybe you have noticed what has been layered over you during your winter—maybe you’ve caught a glimpse of who you are beneath it all.
That is the beauty of winter—when we can start seeing winter through different eyes. We look for the beauty in it, the mystery in it.
- How have you been shaped?
- How have you been protected?
- How have you been shaped by the winter?
A winter can harden us, it can harden us against life in a way that makes us close ourselves off, or it can teach us resilience—where we learn that we can move through challenges, that we don’t have to do it alone.
We can move through challenges, meet life, navigate it, walk it, and adapt. A winter season in the internal world varies very differently, almost like a scale: there’s an easy winter, and then there’s a winter that truly strips you bare.
The easy winter is like a cold breeze blowing through, clearing out some cobwebs; the other kind is where the call comes and gives you a good slap in the back end to get you moving, while also making you look deep within yourself. But how have you been shaped by the winter, by the darkness?
Because that’s what our winters do—they shape us into who we are, and they provide a contrast so we can see the true beauty in life.
I can let myself truly receive the gifts, the growth, the happiness, the joy, the pleasure that life offers when it is happening. If life were always a perfect 10 out of 10, would I become numb to it? The contrast allows us to experience the fullness of life.
Stepping into your winter
And one final question: how would you like to step into your winter differently when you meet it next year?
What would you like to be different about it?
For me, it’s nearly always about maintaining a little—or a lot—of space: space to dream, to adjust my foundations in whatever way is needed; a space to craft, to make things, to play with things, to experiment; and a place just to sit beside the fire and not have to think. That’s what’s important to me in winter—but what’s important to you? Take note of it.
As you go about your day—perhaps journaling all those questions or pondering them as you walk—see what comes to you so that you can carry forward the wisdom. When we winter, it feeds our Imbolc energy, our spring equinox energy; it feeds the rest of the cycle, because the spiral—every part feeds the next, every part forms the next.
If I can winter, it allows me to be clear on where I want to direct my energy, my focus, my attention, my precious life force in the coming weeks and months, because it cannot be directed at everything and everywhere. At different stages in life, different parts of us or our world need more energy. Our winter helps prepare the inner soil for the seeds of growth so you can truly hear the whispers.
So, whatever you may remember from this podcast—from listening to the questions or whatever you’ve jotted down—place it somewhere safe. Maybe mark it for the autumn equinox, something toward the end of autumn, maybe mid-late September, mark it in your diary or your Google Calendar so you can come back and remind yourself how you want to approach your winter this year. Then you can begin, in essence, to plan or work towards it around that time. But as always, we leave space for what it needs to be.
Many blessings to you. I look forward to connecting with you in the next episode for Imbolc.
Thank you.
Links
Join our Imbolc Ceremony