The Same Sun
Photo Credit: Amico Biswas
“I have been educated in the rhythms of the mountain, rhythms in which change was never fundamental, only cyclical. The same sun appeared each morning, swept over the valley and dropped behind the peak. The snows that fell in winter always melted in the spring.” ~ Tara Westover
This week’s musings blog lands on the first day of Spring in the Northern Hemisphere, when a global astronomical event causes nearly equal lengths of night and day all over the world. The snow has not melted here in Winnipeg. There are no clear signs of spring. But an energy is stirring inside me as surely as it is in the earth, of growth and vitality and renewal. It is trying to take root, but there are dark forces, frozen ice-sharp shards, piercing and obstructing the process.
In truth, I’ve been present to the Spring energy of new beginnings since the birth of my grandson last June, the birth of my granddaughter in November, and a long-awaited, long-prayed for reconciliation with my daughter in December. Yet even as these delicate seeds take root in the fertile soul of love, dark Winter energies are manifesting too. I feel the weight of an accelerated pace, of a greater intensity in vibration globally and in my own little life. I yearn for Spring’s promise of hope and renewal while feeling weight as high and vast as the piles of snow outside my window. Then I see that same sun shining upon me, and I step forward into the light.
I’ve just returned from a three-day trip to Victoria this Monday. I’d made the commitment back in December, to go and do the necessary and difficult work of healing and reconciliation with my daughter. I’d left Thursday when airline delays turned a half day of travel into a full day and robbed me of my intention to prepare a home-cooked meal, made with love, for my mother and daughter upon my arrival. I woke up at four thirty Friday morning, still on Winnipeg time, the world black and silent. My strength-building FaceTime with Mister was overwhelmed by news of our brother’s health crisis. I had to dig deep and find my centre to show up in the way I knew I needed to for the work I needed to do to take root and grow into something more.
When I saw my daughter walking towards the car, my heart skipped a beat, at her beauty and vulnerability, and the newness and preciousness and miracle of it all. But we didn’t have time to dilly-dally because I’d booked us massages at a restorative and relaxing spa in the beautiful tranquility of Bear Mountain to begin our journey and we barely had enough time to get there. After our treatments we met in the lounge and dove right into open and honest conversation.
So much was said, I can hardly remember it all, but regardless, the content is a private affair. What I can share is that I was in awe of what transpired. The two of us were in the energy of what I call the cross, the intersection where the transcendent energy of the spiritual world and life as it unfolds on earth meet. It felt magical. It was almost eleven when we finally turned out the light, completely emotionally drained and physically depleted, but alive with the knowing that we’d done amazing work and it was okay to rest and recover, to honour our sacred pace.
We spent the rest of the weekend engaged in our healing process. My heart felt like it was being flooded and drowned, so many tears held back, because I couldn’t cry and hold on to presence and listen with all my focus and attention, which I was committed to doing for my daughter. As she opened up and released the mountain of bone-crushing trauma that was trapped inside her, our tears turned us into puddles of skin without bones. We drank tea. We held one another.
We pushed ourselves beyond our limits, conscious of our time restraints, praying we would have the resilience to pull through unscathed, but it wasn’t possible because the trauma we were making space for was so horrific and huge. It triggered and propelled us, especially me, out of Goddess-warrior strength and into dysfunction. I made so many missteps in my communication. I saw myself jeopardizing the amazing progress we’d achieved, but was frozen, unable to stop.
From a place of love, I’d taken on too much when I committed to my Mom for my daughter and I to come over and prepare her lunch on Sunday. It ended up getting drawn out, as things tend to do, and my daughter and I didn’t leave until five. She had to transition back to her “real life,” including work the next day, and there was no time to repair in the way I’d hoped. I was so completely exhausted, when we got back to my hotel to gather her things, I de-regulated and lost all access to my coping skills. I lost emotional control because I hadn’t taken care of my basic needs for sleep and nourishment and rest. I hadn’t honoured my sacred pace, or hers.
We had so little time to repair, but it was vitally important to do so, because I couldn’t leave it as it was and be okay. I did some deep breathing exercises and I prayed and whispered mantras and I managed to regulate myself. We achieved a rush job repair. She found it in herself to forgive me. I drove her home. I wanted to vomit. I wanted to cry. I wanted to sob. But instead, I hugged her goodbye. I drove myself back to my hotel, ate an uninspiring meal and tucked myself into bed, hoping to find some solace in sleep.
The next day I was departing for home. I’d hoped to squeeze in one last visit with my Mom, but a change in my itinerary made that impossible for me to achieve, so I had to settle with being grateful for the little time we did share, three generations of women who’ve suffered through so much gathered at a table to share a meal and healing connection. It was indeed a blessing worth celebrating, not a time to berate myself for not being enough. Because I was and I am. If I could only remember. If we all could only remember that we’re all doing our best, whatever that looks like. Winter energy is cold and hard. The Northern winds bite our skin and freeze our bones. Even with our parkas closed tight, mittens and boots on hands and feet, and scarves covering the delicate skin of our cheeks, it’s brutal. Every step forward is a win. We just have to keep moving, no matter the season, towards that same sun shining in that same sky, forward, towards the light.
COMING UP…
Books & Projects:
· In December 2025 I signed a contract with Austin Macauley Publishers for my manuscript, The Trials of Alex Anderson, a character-driven novel that explores the relationship between mental illness and trauma. I am now on the road to publication, with an expected release date near the end of 2026. I’ll be posting regular updates here on my blog and on social media, so stay tuned for exciting new developments.
· The Rogue Scorpion is available online at Amazon, Chapters-Indigo, and Barnes & Noble. You can also find it at select Chapters-Indigo and El Hombre de la Mancha bookstores.
Reviews & Interviews:
· You can read, listen, or watch a large selection of reviews and interviews on my website.
Events:
· There are no events currently scheduled in my calendar.
YouTube Channel:
Watch The Rogue Scorpion trailer