A Year From the Bin

It’s early, early morning on the 19^th March.

I step out of the patio doors at the back of the house and into a frost encrusted garden.  The sun, which is rising to the front of my home, is tinting the world a gentle ochre hue.  It makes my garden look like a scene from a 1980’s photograph.  The sun’s elevation is not quite high enough yet to set the frost a-sparkle, so it gives the garden a slightly faded look which adds to the retro vibe.

I’d like to say that the stillness and quiet is absolute, but I can hear the sounds of the city thrumming away, even at this pre 6am hour, I do live in the suburbs after all.  I haven’t realised my dream of living at the foot of a mountain, yet.  And with this flicker of realisation a little spiral of grief and yearning knot together in my chest.  It is quieter than through the day though, and the sounds of the natural world reach my ears with less interference.  I breathe. The feeling passes.

I walk a few meters up the patio, stealing myself for what I’m about to do.

I’ve been in the routine of doing a cold water plunge or an outdoor swim every day now for the last two years.  The prospect of immersing myself in a vat or body of icy water, mere moments after rolling out of my cosy, warm bed, has not become any more seductive during this time.  I have to have a little chat with myself every morning to remind myself why I do this.

The cold water has many benefits, but that’s not for now, I’ll go into that some other time.  The reason I mention it here however, is because this daily commitment I have made to myself has been a real vehicle for me to further enhance my practice of connecting with the world around me.

I remove my towel, place it on the back of the garden chair in front of me, and step up onto the seat in order to get up and over the lip of the bin.  Yes, you read that right… no fancy recovery pod, barrel or metal bath for me.  Instead, when I started this journey, I chose a bright blue wheely bin as my water receptacle of choice.  I guess I didn’t know just how big a fixture of my life this would become, so didn’t want to invest too much in it.  If I had known back then what I know now, I might have chosen something a little more glamourous, but I’m sort of glad I didn’t.  I’ve grown to love this sanctuary space, it has a certain ‘no-frills charm’ about it that puts me at ease. It’s functional in all senses of the word. It doesn’t need to be pretty.

I’m in.  And after the initial gasping and “jesus, f*ck”-ing, I bring my breathing back under control and tune in.  Plunging in this way focuses my mind on the present moment in a way that I have not been able to replicate any other way, despite years of mindfulness practice.  My bin is not a place for rumination but a space to connect with what is, right here, right now.

With my newly sharpened focus, I cast my eyes on the world around me and take in what I can see.

I welcome the blackbirds with their melodic song.  This pair are a couple and I imagine they will be building a nest very soon, if not already. But it would appear there are no eggs to be sat on right now at least.

I welcome the scent of the ivy that creeps up the fence to the side of me, and watch the tiny spider spinning a web amongst it’s leaves.  I notice the hellebore has bloomed in the flower bed opposite.  The tree in a neighbouring garden still looks like an ivy clad mythical beast in it’s current leafless state, but I imagine it won’t be long now before the beast is swallowed up by a lush green canopy. And, the snowdrops and crocuses are on their way out and swiftly being replaced by daffodils.

Greeting each of these at the start of my day feels like making contact with close friends. Some fleeting visitors, some who stick around. I have learned this last two years their idiosyncrasies, and what to expect from each.  I feel a warmth towards each of these more-than-human beings that I could not have imagined possible.  And as I connect, I feel stitched into the world.

Each turn of the earth brings a new development, an old friend returning from a long absence, or a familiar face that reminds me some things rarely change.  Each change has an impact on me, which I feel more keenly these days.

As I grow in my noticing of the ebb and flow of the world around me, the cycles repeating, the fixtures which help me chart my path through life, I become more keenly aware of my own ebbing and flowing.

I can more skilfully recognise my own internal familiar patterns, and new developments and work with them rather than being oblivious and frankly, sometimes, subjected to them.  I understand myself better, because I pay attention to the ecosystem that I am stitched into and my responses to it. As a result, I can resource myself much more effectively and life has taken on much more of a flow to it than I have historically experienced.

Here is just one of the benefits of embracing seasonality.

Now, I’m not advocating that everyone should take up this (in some people’s eyes) slightly bonkers practice of mine, but I hope I am conveying that paying attention to the world around us has some very potent and very personal benefits.

This practice is my personal version of connecting with the earth, and it’s not the only one I engage with, there are myriad other ways of tuning in. If you are tempted to explore, doubtless you will find your own versions. You will be in the act of building a close and personal relationship with the world around you after all.

My exploration of seasonality started in 2011 when I started trying to follow the teachings of the Wheel of the Year. These teachings are an invitation to pause, and tune in to the rhythms of nature at eight specific points throughout the year.  I found they made a good framework for me to base my fledgling exploration around, and I still tune in with them to this day.

Tomorrow is Ostara.  I will be starting my day with a shared outdoor swim with a lovely friend. We will welcome the sunrise from the water.

I will also spend a little time in quiet reflection with my journal in the evening.

The themes around Ostara are:

• Emergence
• Recalibration
• Expressions of authentic vitality

These are the prompts I will be using for my reflection:

• What is it that I thought I wanted for this year back at the turn of the year and what is emerging for me now? Are these in harmony with each other or do I need to tweak / course correct in order to steer towards something which feels more in alignment with me today.
• What did I learn about myself last winter that I was not aware of at this time last year? And how might I use that information to support myself to live in a more aligned way?

If you’re interested in exploring seasonality for yourself, maybe give these a go and see how you get on.

Bright Ostara blessings – May the new life of spring open your heart and support you to flow into the world, aligned and at ease.

If you’re curious and would like some support to get in touch with your own seasonality, drop me an email to rachel@ramblingpsychotherapist.co.uk to book a discovery call and let’s find out if working together might suit you.