When you feel scraped raw, when your heart is splintered and jagged, when the ghosts of scarcity choke your throat and cloud your sight, when gnawing emptiness threatens to consume you, may you dare to stand a bit apart from your own illusions. May you remember that time is an ocean, a circle, a snake, a tree with branches and roots growing in all directions at once. May you allow the memory of love to nourish you now; may you allow the joy and satisfaction of the future to reach back and fill you now. May gentle waves of love soothe and smooth your harsh edges. May you allow the most broken parts of yourself to be touched and held by the vastness and wisdom that you are, by the circle, the tree, the ocean that you once were and will be again.

While there is breath, there is hope.

While there are tears–of grief or joy–there is love.

While there is a heartbeat, there is a way back, an echoing call, a song summoning us once more to the great dance of communion with the wild.

May you find the magic mirror–the chalice of tears, the unblinking eye–that will perfectly reflect all your daggers, spikes, and spears of self-hatred turning them, with the exact same ferocity, persistence, and unerring precision, into healing instruments of love.

When you stumble and fall headlong into a whirlpool of pain and terror, self-blame and helplessness, when you cling to the sharp rocks and jagged driftwood that pierce through your tender skin, holding tight for tear that letting go would hurt worse, would rip you apart, when you lash against yourself again and again, angry howls of shame and hate, riven by impossible desires, may you trust that there is a grace that follows you even to the most tangled, broken places. May you trust that invisible witnesses accompany you wherever you go, holding you in their vast, wise gazes, pouring forth love that surrounds you even when–especially when–you cannot find love for yourself, anymore than you can find a way out of the maelstrom. May you allow this deep, accepting love in, past all your spikes and walls and harsh shells–may you breathe through the searing moments of recognition that follow, allowing the rhythm of your inhales and exhales to steady, soothe, and enliven you. And when you can once again see the serene blue that is the deepest ground of the sky, always present underneath no matter how the clouds may rage and spit, when you find yourself walking with a bit more certainty, back on familiar land, may you have the courage to forgive yourself for your fall. May you wash yourself in the warmth of the infinite love burning within you, remembering that everyone stumbles, that detours and slips seem to be somehow essential to our paths. May you remember that there is nowhere you can go where love cannot find, that there is nothing you can do that will permanently mar the glow of the star pulsing within you.

When the pain and fear of all the injustice that is and was and might be is just too much and all you want to do is crumple and give up, may you remember: the sense that no transformation–no other world–is possible is the first lie, the oldest hex of domination systems. May you remember that hope is a weapon, a seed, a spark of defiance with the power to set this world ablaze and birth another.

Whatever you have done or not done, however long you have wallowed in despair or disconnection, however many times you have retraced the same wounding grooves in your mind, the dawning of spring invites you to step into the dance of transformation. The wind whispers in your ear, urging you to begin again, to breathe life into the sparks of inspiration and hope that, however improbably, have endured the long winter of your self-hatred. The earth longs to feel the tremor of your feet dancing upon Her. And, no matter how much you fear that it is too late, no matter how tightly you cling to the stale nightmare that insists that you are too broken to change, no matter how unworthy you feel, may you know this truth: the weight of all that pales in comparison to the love that awaits, the flames that even now reach towards you, as vast and bright and all-forgiving as the sun. May you allow yourself, as much as you can bear, to feel the caress and inspiration of those flames. May you open to the voice that sings: wake up, come back to life, we need you, we miss you, come back, rise bright and fresh as the flowers.

May you find the footings and foundations you need to build your loftiest aspirations, brick by brick, moment by moment, breath by breath, in this world. May you step into the version of yourself who knows how to call up all the treasures and allies and resources necessary to do this work. With fierce integrity and relentless clarity, may you craft a blueprint for how you will scale your personal mountains and build the epic temples only you can: a detailed concrete plan for bridging the gap between the heights of ambition and the solid ground of reality. And as you enact that plan, as you lay the groundwork for the life you hunger for, may you feel the solidity within you with each step you take, with each brick you set in place. May you draw strength and joy from the way your bones are mountains, the way your breath and limbs and heart are forever aligned in wholeness, the way your spine already stretches, a proud pillar, between earth and sky. May this inner solidity blossom out through the work that you do, the masterpieces you create, the excellence that you embody.

May you remember the myriad ways of marking the rhythms and seams of time; may you trust that a new beginning, a fresh vantage point, a chance to reset your intentions and focus and trajectory is as near as the next season, the next new moon, the next week, the next sunrise, the next hour, the next breath.

In the darkest stretch of the year, when night swallows up so much of the day, may you turn and gaze deep into the well of the sky. May you catch sight of those strange and distant glimmers that can only be seen in thick darkness–the stars, the embers, the shimmering omens of other worlds. May you dare to follow these lights wherever they lead, on epic journeys through new worlds within and beyond yourself. And may you carry the brilliant wisdom you discover wherever it is needed, passing on torches of inspiration, courage, and truth.

When you fail, when you falter, when your efforts and strivings slip from your fingers and crash or crumple, may you open yourself to this possibility: even the prayers that dissolve into choked sobs, the seeds that die stillborn and curled in on themselves, the weavings that tangle into hopeless knots do serve some mysterious, necessary purpose. Resting on this paradox, may you return to your altar, your garden, your loom and begin again. May you begin again and again.