Joyful Surrender in the Season of Shedding

Every plant and tree that cycles through the seasons knows that at some point, it is time to return inward and be held by the Earth. They don’t fight it and continue pouring their energy into their fruit until they know it’s time to turn inward or die. They surrender fully to the season and even continue expressing themselves and growing. The land has been whispering that there’s much more to surrender and it doesn’t always mean giving up. Surrendering can be joyful, even pleasurable. 

Fall is a season of contractions helping us descend into Winter. Similar contractions are present during Spring. However, the essence and energy of each contraction phase differ significantly. In the Springtime, the season of the Maiden and the curious air element brings contractions to push us up and out from the underworld into the first blooms of the season. It’s an expansive and seductive time that is the portal that pushes us out through the underworld. 

On the opposite side of the seasonal wheel, we have the Autumn Equinox, another season of contraction that pulls us down and into Winter, back into ourselves and the underworld. It is a season of surrender and shedding. Yet, it is also full of pleasure and fullness. It’s simply a different flavor than the Spring Equinox, and why wouldn’t it be? There’s a distinct difference between rising versus descending into the underworld. Both are sacred and needed. 

Listen to this post on my podcast here.

As I’ve sat with and observed the guardian Hawthorne tree that lives outside of my home over the seasons, I’ve watched her push her blooms outward in Spring and am now slowly watching her berries redden and ripen as the weather cools. Her energy in this season is still one of expansion, but it is different. It is not the “look at me” energy of the maiden with her seductive flowers. The energy I receive from Hawthorn this season is “look at all that I can hold” and “look at how much love I can give.” Her round berries mimic the fullness of this season, the fullness of immense holding, giving, and joyful surrender. 

The Hawthorn tree outside my home is not the only place I’ve seen and felt this energy. I can see it in the ripening apples, the browning grain, and the plants drooping closer to the earth below them. The easiest way to drift into the underworld is to surrender to it. In a society that, by and large, avoids the underworld and is generally death-phobic, consciously surrendering to seasons of slowness or stagnation might feel strange and difficult. It certainly has for me and continues to be a place of careful awareness. As usual, the earth, which you and I are a part of, offers constant examples of how we might do this from seasons, the moon, and our plant and animal kin. 

In this share, we’ll dance with the theme of surrender and ways to find more joy in it. I’ll share reflections on the water element and a simple practice to connect with water and the theme of surrender. I’ll also discuss the importance of struggle regarding surrender and a simple plant infusion to help you ease into the season.

Some seasons can feel more present than others if you are spiraling through a similar personal season. This season, as a mid-life mother with small children and a caretaker, feels P-otent. If you find yourself in a position of frequent caregiving, whether that be for your children, elders, or community, you might, too. It is helpful to name how seasonal shifts affect us differently depending on your current phase. Of course, part of this is being able to name and be with the phase you’re in. I’d like to offer you a moment to pause to think about what season your life seems to be spiraling through in this transitional time. Are you in a phase of discovery and exploration, radiance and expansion, giving and caretaking, surrender, and reflection, or somewhere else? Understanding where you’re in your sacred cycle might help you better understand and relate to the transformations happening in the land and seasons. Of course, there are always cycles within cycles, above and below, within and without. All is connected, so I trust you’ll find some meaning and medicine in this share, even if it doesn’t align with your season. 

Let’s begin our dance with surrender by exploring the element commonly associated with this season: water. 

Lessons from water on surrender

Water is the element that many associate with the cardinal direction West and the season of Autumn. Early in my practice, I didn’t understand the connection between Autumn and the element of water. Autumn reminded me of leaves drying and dying. It seemed like the opposite of life-giving water. Over several years of working closely with water and themes of death, I have a more holistic understanding of water. Water is a life-giver, but water also asks us to be in flow with and surrender to change, including changes we might not always desire. Water reminds me that I do not need to love the changes themselves, but I can learn how to love myself in them. Water can be gentle, forceful, and everything in between. While walking in Autumn and water, you can surrender to her lessons by choice, or they can be forced on you. 

As much as we humans like to think we have complete control over our lives, we don’t, and water can be a potent reminder of this lesson. Water can and has swallowed us up in a moment with floods and sudden downpours. It is a reminder that the feminine creative forces are not always soft and gentle. They can and need to be forceful at times. Surrendering to where and how water chooses to flow requires deep trust. 

Joyful surrender offers a portal into being present and at peace with the unknown. I see the element of water as a wise teacher in this realm. 

There’s an easefulness that lives in surrender. It can be found in the waning moon, flowing water, an exhale, and the transition from Summer to Fall. Life is change. But, like the moon, who changes every night, she is still the moon at her core. You, too, will embark on endless transformations throughout your life but will remain you at your core. How would you move about the world if you surrendered to the unknowns and constant changes, both within and outside of you, knowing that you will remain you in the end? 

Of course, some of this is a personal belief and may not resonate because I believe in reincarnation and the soul. Like the moon, who dies each month, or the water, who cycles through different states of being, I trust that my essence will remain intact and carry on in some capacity. 

So how can we be more like water and surrender to our own cycles and others? It’s much easier to find the joy in any cycle when we surrender. Be with, watch, listen, feel, and commune with water. Here’s a simple practice I like to do in collaboration with water. 

Surrendering with water practice

I like to lean into this practice and the element of water when I struggle with surrendering to something and want assistance. You can practice this at home or a nearby creek or stream. I love doing this near flowing water, but if that is not accessible, visualizing or thinking about water works just as well. 

1. Open your practice in a way that you are comfortable with. For me, this looks like greeting, thanking the four elements and directions, and connecting with the earth. 

2. If it’s available and makes sense in your practice, orient yourself to the West, the home of the water element, and ask the water if you can bring your struggle to it for help. 

3. How you engage with water now will be unique to you. I like to imagine the water gently flowing through my body, including my struggle. If you are near flowing water, the sound or feel of the water can be helpful if it’s accessible to listen or touch the water. If you are not near water, you can visualize the water flowing around you, imagine how it would feel, or even dictate to yourself what it would be like. 

4. Imagine the water gently softening and soothing your struggle. You may notice the water slowly start pulling parts of it away, parts of your struggle that it’s time for you to release. You might become aware of how it feels to let go of aspects of your struggle and notice other sensations or knowings under the struggle. 

5. Stay with the water for as long as you’d like. When you feel complete in this practice, thank the water and consider giving an offering to the water. You might also want to write down anything that surfaced during your experience with water. 

All this said, joyful surrender is not always easy for me and might not be for you. I still struggle often. But I’ve learned to accept the struggle as part of the surrender process. I also think it has a lot of wisdom to offer. 

The Medicine in the Struggle

The relationship between struggle and surrender is, I believe, much of the medicine this season has to offer. I find the struggle is what gets me to a state of surrender. Sometimes, I have long periods of struggle. Sometimes, they’re short. I see struggle often in deathwork for the dying and their loved ones. There’s often a denial of impending death, but there will come a moment when that denial no longer serves. The time one sits in the struggle will be different for all, but it has value. 

Struggle can be found in the dance of fire and can illuminate what needs or wants to be tended. In the struggle, you can see what’s most important. The struggle is necessary. I do not share these reflections on joyful surrender to imply that it is better than being in the struggle. Being in the struggle is hard. But the struggle also has the power to illuminate. I don’t see the struggle as the problem, but it’s often our lack of resources to be with the struggle that prevents us from being with it. There’s nuance here, too. We all have different relationships and experiences with struggle. My prayer for myself, for you, and all of us is that we can have the presence to know when it’s time to stop being in the struggle and step into surrender, maybe even joyful surrender. Whether that surrender looks like asking for help, walking away from someone, acceptance, or something else will be unique. 

One of my favorite writers and speakers is Dr. Bayo Akomolafe, who often speaks of “fugitive spaces.” If you haven’t listened to Dr. Akomolafe, I highly recommend it and will link some of my favorite podcasts in the show notes. He’s featured on the For the Wild podcast and SAND often. I find his words and ideas to be a healing salve in these times. He speaks to “fugitive spaces” here and says, “We need trickster approaches, we need ways of dancing away, or dancing to, fugitive spaces; dancing to sanctuaries where we can shape-shift. Grieving, mourning, even allowing ourselves to partake in pleasurable activities in the face of the storm.” I feel these fugitive spaces are areas of play that do not insist on knowing or constantly striving for all the answers and instead offer a space to marinate in the mystery. When I think of fugitive spaces concerning climate change, I think of having conversations outside of how to curb climate collapse and instead focusing on how we might learn to love each other in climate collapse. I find this requires a great deal of surrender and often think of “fugitive spaces” when I think of joyful surrender and how surrendering can yield new possibilities found only in unknown spaces. 

In my day-to-day life, I don’t experience the idea of seeking fugitive spaces to disavow being in right relationship with the earth. Instead, I see it as an opportunity to shift my energy around the topic and my actions. For example, I am involved in local politics and often spend time canvassing for local candidates. I used to do this sort of work with a lot of anger. I’d be so mad that more people weren’t helping. I still do sometimes. More often now, I find myself looking for surrender in my political involvement. I still canvass, but I try to surrender to the parts of it that I love, like community building with like-minded people. I also don’t beat myself up if I can’t help as much as I’d like to. Perhaps there will be a tipping point when more and more of us will release the struggle of trying to force politicians, oil companies, and other people to care about this earth and, instead, lean into ways to love within it. That is the energy I am attempting to bring to my life, which is still a struggle sometimes. I still get angry and spin my wheels, thinking of ways to convince people to care about this earth and continue to change my own habits. But, more and more, I observe and ask questions like, “What or who am I truly struggling against right now?” “Is what or who I’m struggling with of my own making or out of my control?” “If it is out of my control, how might surrendering to it look and feel?” “Can I find any threads of ease or joy within what I’m struggling against?”

There’s medicine in our ability to surrender to the struggles of this current time. When we do, we can get a glimpse of what’s underneath them and perhaps even find new and beautiful solutions, love, and joy.

The joy available in surrender

There is beauty, magic, and deep wisdom in surrender. Surrender lives in the realm of the deeply rooted Wise Woman and the Crone, who trusts that there’s life and even beauty beyond the struggle. Surrendering isn’t giving up or accepting abuse. It’s choosing to sink deeper into the struggle to find the threads of love and creativity within it. It’s easier said than done. At least, it has been for me. I don’t have it figured out. I still get caught up in the questioning, fear, and anger. Sometimes, I overstay my welcome sitting in the struggle. Surrendering also doesn’t mean that everything I surrender to immediately feels amazing. Sometimes it doesn’t. Joyful surrender may not be the answer to the suffering of this world, but I see it as a powerful place to explore finding joy in the mess of life.

Plant allies for the season of surrender

Wherever you are in the world, plants are growing nearby to assist in this seasonal shift, whether you are experiencing Autumn or Spring in the Southern Hemisphere. The magic of our plant kin is that they are so deeply connected to the pulse of Mother Earth that they know what is needed in each season for all to thrive. Here in the Midwest of Turtle Island, Goldenrod and Aster are prevalent and serve as physical and energetic supports for our descent into fall. I invite you to notice which plants are appearing in your local environment and, if it feels aligned, to engage with them. 

I love making infusions, what some might think of as tea, with the plants and flowers. An infusion is simply soaking plant material in hot water for a certain amount of time, sometimes 30-minutes, or as long as overnight. After pouring boiling water over the plants I’m working with, I like to allow my infusions to rest in the sunlight or moonlight depending on the energy the plants ask for or I am desiring. I was inspired to make a fall infusion with seasonal plants in my area from Dr. Jacqui of Xálish Medicine and recommend visiting this post she shared on Instagram all about it. 

As always, before creating an infusion with any plant, ensure that they are safe to consume and that they are not contraindicated for you by confirming with your healthcare provider. If you have goldenrod and aster in your area, they are generally considered safe to consume, however, always be sure to make sure they are safe for you specifically. I also recommend harvesting by asking consent before taking and leaving offerings. I like to keep a flower essence with me while I’m out to give as an offering. 

I created my infusion with a combination of foraged and garden-grown Goldenrod, Aster, Chokeberry, Hawthorn berry, Boneset, Sage, and Yarrow. It was delicious and felt like such a potent way to ease my body, physically and energetically, into the season. You could easily create an infusion of just Astser and Goldenrod for a simple fall infusion. 

As the flowers wilt and brown and as leaves shift colors in preparation for winter, I can’t help but notice the joyful surrender in the landscapes around me. I see it in the ripening fullness of the berries on the Hawthorn tree, the lavender plants in my yard stretching their flowers out further and further to catch the sinking sun, and busy squirrels and chipmunks readying their winter harvests. As I reflect upon these changes, I remember that I, too, am part of these cycles. I do not need to know the course of what will be for me, my family, or the rest of us to continue to show up in fullness. Or, perhaps, if I slow myself enough, like the earth, I will feel its pulse and know that all will always be well. I can joyfully follow the rhythms of the earth’s cycles both within and outside. I can serve where I feel called, even when I don’t know how it will look, trusting that if I surrender to my season, I will be guided. I hope within these reflections, you’ve found any permission you may have needed to surrender to your current season and maybe even find the joy in it. 

The Nurturing Mother of Late Summer

The golden glow of summer is present but slowly fading. Fruits are ripe as the land continues to give, and the Earth’s love for us can be seen, felt, and tasted. There’s much to celebrate and much to grieve. Burning land, displacement, and smoke-tinged air offer potent reminders of where we are. It feels like too much more often than not. Then I remember these cycles, even human-created, will continue with or without me and that soft spaces are needed. The Nurturing Mother of late summer holds out her bountiful arms to nurture our grief. Soft spaces exist to grieve and be held but sometimes need to be cultivated from within. 

In this month’s Seasonal Magic and Medicine, enjoy reflections on the Goddesses Ceres and Demeter, a short writing about our need for soft spaces, a guided journey meditation to connect with Nurturing Mother of Late Summer, and a ritual to connect with plants in your local environment. Click here to join my newsletter to receive these monthly Seasonal Magic and Medicine articles in your inbox. 

Ceres and Demeter

The presence of the Greek Goddess Demeter and Roman Goddess Ceres, who many believe are one and the same, move to the foreground during this season. Ceres and Demeter are Mother Goddesses of the harvest, grain, nourishment, protection, grief, and fertility. They help to ensure and protect a bountiful harvest while providing a warm lap for the impending grief of winter. 

L’ete, Ceres – Jean-François Millet (1864-1865). Wikimedia Commons.

In the case of Demeter, she knows her daughter, Persephone, who some view as an aspect of Demeter, will soon return to the Underworld for six months during the dark half of the year. Persephone returns to the Underworld by choice each year, rather than force, as a necessary aspect of the birth-death-rebirth cycle. Monica Sjöö references this in The Great Cosmic Mother, “As the Grieving, determined mother she descends to the Underworld–into social rebellion, role-reversals, personal madness, the dark journeys of introspection and disintegration that precedes creative, visionary power–to rediscover her own soul, retrieve the joyous daughter of self-determining life.”

Ceres was an especially beloved Goddess of the common people of Rome because she offered protection from the Roman empire and more closely resembled the original regenerative Earth Goddesses. I feel this protective essence of Ceres especially potent this season, in the land, and for the masses (human and more-than-human) demanding a liveable future. 

We see in these Goddesses an opportunity to be nourished by the land and be held in our grief as we honor cycles of death in the land and ourselves to “rediscover” our “own soul,” as Sjöö puts it. 

Creating Soft Spaces

Earth’s cycles persist. Embrace or ignore them, but know they won’t stop because you are them. Where’s your soft space, the unconditional embrace that helps you dance through these bright, burning unknowns?

Soft spaces exist. Flowers bloom, and trees fruit amidst climate collapse as their kin die, burn, or drown. They don’t hide away til it’s done. They lean in to be held and nourished from within and around. They allow it because they know they‘ll have a soft place to land, right here in the land. Swallowed up and held tight by the Great Mother’s embrace, all to rise and do it again. 

Who holds you, dear one, when you realize the soft spaces were paved over? Where do you lay your grief and gather your love, or do they lie dormant and stagnant within you? 

The cycles will persist, with or without you, and whiteness and money will never be enough to save you. Mother Earth will forever continue to birth, dance, and die.

Every phase has its place in her warm embrace, readying for death and rebirth to continue. She’s breaking the pavement of soft spaces paved over.

Where does it leave you, us? The soft, warm lap of the Great Mother, the Earth, whoever you call them, offers this respite and the wisdom to remember. Their love can be seen in weeds weaving through cracks and Orcas fighting back. Each example a reminder that cultivating soft spaces together makes us much safer. 

Is it time for you to allow or to come out from hiding? When we build soft spaces together, they’re much harder to crack. The flowers do not struggle to bloom or do it alone. They take their time, roots connected to all. Taking cues from above and below, guiding them to grow, dance, and die. They know their blooming signals an eventual return to the soft space of compost, yet they move right along. Maybe that’s why we deny our own mysterious callings. We know it’s a surrender to eventually going back home. 

So, I ask you again, who holds you, dear one, when you realize the soft spaces were paved over? Where do you lay your grief and gather your love, or do they lie dormant within? Perhaps, we can create soft spaces together, held in the warm embrace of a Great Nurturing Mother. 

Nurturing Mother Meditation

What are you grieving this season? Let’s cultivate a soft space within to give it a home. Join me in a live circle to grieve and be held by the great Nurturing Mother of Summer by clicking here. Or, follow these steps to have a meditation journey of your own. As always, modify as needed. 

Before you begin, bring something to mind that feels tender and needs grieving. You might decide to have a physical representation of what you are grieving. If so, you can have that with you for meditation, but it is not a necessity.

1. Create a sacred space for your meditation in line with your practice. There are many ways to do this, like lighting incense, a candle, calling upon guides, and honoring the four directions. You might also like to play soft drumming music, or nature sounds that help you meditate. 

2. Begin to focus on your breath and body. Spend as much time here as you need to feel aware and embodied. 

3. Close your eyes or gaze softly ahead and begin to visualize with your mind’s eye an environment that feels safe. If you work with any guides or allies, you can connect with them here and invite them on the journey. 

4. Notice a door appears, and if it feels aligned, walk through it. 

5. Out ahead, you see a great stone circle. Walk in through the East to the center. From the center stone, orient yourself towards the Southwest and notice a warm golden glow. 

6. As you exit the stone circle and walk towards the warm glow, become aware of how the environment looks, smells, and feels. 

7. With the warm sun overhead, call upon the Great Mother with your grief in hand. She will appear uniquely to all, perhaps as a person or not or as the land itself. Allow yourself to be guided in how you interact with her. 

8. Offer your grief to be held, again allowing your intuitive connection with her to guide you. 

9. Spend as much time here, perhaps sitting in her lap, weeping, or noticing the beauty and nourishment of the season. 

10. When you feel ready to go, thank the Great Mother, and head back towards the stone circle to the center stone. Pause at the center stone before exiting out the east and heading back to the doorway. 

11. Once through the doorway, thank any guides or allies who accompanied you. Open your eyes and return to your space as you are ready. Consider journaling your experience, looking around your room, and having food and drink to help reorient you to your physical environment. 

Plant Connection Ritual

This ritual is an invitation to connect deeply with a plant(s) in your local environment as a form of gratitude and nourishment. The plant world’s ability to continue to give fruit amidst our quickly changing world holds wisdom. 

This ritual does not require receiving anything physical from the plant (although it could) and might come through as an insight or simply through being present with a plant’s beauty. 

Vervain, Verbena Stricta.

You might find it helpful to take some time before committing to this ritual to become more aware of the plants growing in your local environment and notice if any particular plants call to you or if you notice some more than others. 

You’ll need:

• 20-40 minutes

• offering (smoke, water, stone, anything that feels aligned with your practice)

• plant(s)

1. Based on what is accessible to you and your body, go for a walk or find a place to sit where there are plants. Doing this does not require a lush forest or prairie and can be done with plants in your yard, community, or even a shopping center. 

2. Once you’ve decided on a location, find a plant you feel called to connect with and sit with or near it. Before connecting with the plant, consider asking permission to connect with it. If getting close to a plant is not accessible, you can perform this ritual as a meditation by visualizing the plant within your mind’s eye. 

3. Notice how the plant supports life and gives to its local environment. Does it have fruit, flowers, or seeds? Are there bugs, birds, or bees on or around it? Is it protecting the soil? Notice the plants, leaves, fruit, or flowers. What do you find beautiful about them? 

4. Consider asking the plant questions. Some to consider might be, “Tell me about your essence?”, “Who do you nurture?”, “What bring you joy?”, “Can I do anything for you?”, or “Would you like to give anything to me?”. Answers might come through as inner knowings, feelings, visuals in the mind’s eye, or inner dialogue.

5. Act accordingly, and as you can, if you receive invitations to give or receive from the plant. For example, if you feel the plant wants water, bring it. If you feel the plant wants to share itself with you in some physical way, allow yourself to receive it (of course, do not ingest anything unless you know it is safe to do so.)

6. Thank the plant for its energy and give your offering. 

As late summer slowly yields to fall, its beauty and bounty feel especially transient and tender. Our ever-turning cycles are a constant reminder that nothing lasts forever. Fortunately, lasting forever is not a prerequisite to savoring the fruit of the season, the joys of life, or the beauty of the earth. May your grief give way to soft spaces that allow you to be nurtured enough to descend into your own personal underworlds.