W E A V I N G M A G I C

“Before landscapes die, they first vanish in the imagination.” - Bhavani Raman (2017)

In an otherwise grey landscape, this pocket of vibrant colour lifted my spirits and brought so much joy. The lush, velvety green moss, contrasted with the dry, fiery beech leaves (Marcescence) felt such a delicious contrast. 

It was a form of magic how this burst of colour and texture (a visual and physical delight) had such a visceral effect on how I felt. 

It’s hard to explain a feeling that feels older than words.

My heart craves the sunlight, sighing with contentment in the brief moments of blue sky that have momentarily appeared (there have been some, but blink and you’ll have missed them!).

If you work in a space without windows, or huddle up inside your mind, unaware of what's happening around you, it just feels like it’s been endless, endless grey, rain and an absence of sunshine.

Sunlight is a natural requirement for our well-being, having a profound biological effect on our cells, cardiovascular health, immunity, and hormones.

“A daily moderate dose of sunlight, without sunscreen, is as vital as food or water.” (1)

However, it’s always about finding a respectful balance. While we are aware of the dangers of spending hours in the midday sun to get a tan—and rightly so—we often overlook the risks of spending all our daylight hours indoors under artificial light. This can be equally detrimental to our health and longevity, though it’s less obvious and harder to manage.

This need for balance, or homeostasis, is what our body is continually striving to achieve. 

Ayurveda, the ancient Eastern science of life, understands this.

It teaches that all of nature—including humans—is made up of five elemental qualities: earth, water, fire, air, and ether (space). The dominance of any one element shapes certain behaviours or traits. When one element becomes excessive, we can restore balance by increasing its opposite quality. The photo of the moss and beech leaves reminded me of how beautiful this balance can be.

The recent excess of water and the scarcity of sunlight (fire) have been impossible to miss—whether you notice it in the world around you or feel it quietly within.

It’s been relentless: water everywhere, sunlight nowhere.

Roads and fields flood regularly, rivers overflow their banks, gutters spill over, and gardens remain soggy and heavy.

What unfolds in the environment often mirrors what happens inside us.

According to Ayurveda, we are now in the Kapha season, a time when the earth and water elements dominate. When these elements become excessive, they can bring feelings of sluggishness, heaviness, and dampness.

To restore balance, Ayurveda invites us to welcome the opposing qualities of fire, air, and ether—elements that help to dry, warm, and create space within.

Sometimes it feels like nothing really changes. Yet, when we look deeper—through our practices and patience—it’s amazing to see the difference even a week or two can make, let alone a month or more.

I had intended to write a blog for our January practice. I tuned into the energy of how we would practice and the theme of Embodiment. But the words didn’t come easily. Time and energy felt tight, and the blog remained half-finished on my computer.

Then, towards the end of January, subtle signs of Spring began to emerge: snowdrops and daffodil tips pushing through the earth, more birdsong, increasing light, and a gentle shift in the air’s energy.

Noting that Imbolc (a Celtic festival marking the threshold between Winter and Spring) was approaching, I felt a deep sense of not being ready. I recognised that I hadn’t wintered sufficiently, I hadn’t rested enough. Despite generally resisting winter and craving summer, I could tune into feeling that I needed more time to pause, rather than leaping into Spring energy.

Nevertheless, there is a fine line between resting and stagnating.

Last term I talked about how our winter practice is a fine line between the inwardness and rest of winter, and the need to keep our inner light and fire alive as we await Spring. 

Whilst I know I need rest during the winter, it has never suited me to adopt hibernation mode physically. I have always needed movement, activity and fresh air to keep me going. 

As the light returns I could see more clearly that I needed to make some subtle adjustments.

I started to create a few small boundaries: being kinder to myself, easing my expectations, allowing more sleep, and doing less. It felt like a gentle last chance saloon, a quiet moment to realign before rushing forward.

In doing so, I slowed down and began to gently return to practices that support me, practices which had slipped through the net whilst I had been so busy. 

This realignment, in harmony with the changing energy around me, has woven threads of light through my days—offering inspiration, renewed energy, and a deepening sense of connection.

Weaving a little magic into my days.

In recent weeks, I’ve been drawn to fine lines—like delicate threads—woven through the world around me: bare tree branches reaching across the blue sky, ivy tendrils clinging to trunks, and exposed roots disappearing into muddy earth.

These invisible threads remind me of how we, too, are anchored to something deep and unseen, much like those roots holding fast beneath the surface. 

In the same way that the scent of young elder leaves transports me back to childhood, feeding the goats. That listening to a piece of music resurfaces deep emotions and memories of loved ones. That reading Imbolc messages from mentors weaves me back into ways of thinking and practicing that inspire and enliven me. 

Yet, the intuitive insights that usually weave meaning from these observations have felt more elusive lately.

As some of you know, I’ve begun a part-time degree in clinical herbalism. This journey has required a shift—from the deeply felt, intuitive connection with nature I’ve known, to a more intellectual and critical way of thinking.

While the energetics of the plant world will be covered later in the course (thankfully), this year feels very different from how I’ve worked with plants over the past five or six years. It’s been unsettling—a sense of being a little untethered, as if I’ve lost my grip on something familiar.

When we’re in the dark, it’s not always clear where we are, where we’ve been, or where we’re going. We must simply feel our way forward. It is only as the light returns that we see the bigger picture.

That said, we are often conditioned to value only what can be seen, touched, or scientifically proven. Yet, much of life’s deeper meaning lies beyond what the eyes can grasp.

As the light returns, what we perceive will be shaped by how we navigated the darkness.

The transition from Winter to Spring can be a slippery time to navigate - not just physically in all this mud, but equally within ourselves. 

In these persistently wet conditions, trees exposed to excessive water around their roots can become unstable. Without strong grounding in the earth, some may even uproot. 

If we haven’t rested enough and we move into Spring too fast, we may find ourselves vulnerable to illness or exhaustion

We can help restore this balance through our yoga practice by focusing on asanas and pranayama that strengthen our ‘roots’—the foundation of our well-being and homeostasis.

By paying attention to the simple foundations of our practice and gradually building from there, we create strong stability—physically, mentally, and energetically.

This includes warming, strong holds that generate heat and kindle the fire element, helping to shift feelings of lethargy.

Pranayama and asanas that support the immune system are especially valuable now, as they help clear stagnant energy and physical congestion.

Practicing steadily paced sequences with long holds allows us to breathe deeply into new sensations, developing awareness and resilience.

Restorative asanas strengthen our adaptability and balance effort with rest. Savasana is not the same as sleeping—it’s a conscious rest that nourishes the nervous system and supports healing.

It never ceases to amaze me how marks on a page can connect people so powerfully. Words—whether printed or handwritten—have the ability to create vivid imagery, shift our moods, stir our emotions, inspire us, or even challenge us.

There is an invisible thread (sutra) that links author to reader… and from one reader to another, weaving a shared experience across time and space.

So, to end with a touch of magic, I want to share a small joy I’ve found recently: the bright yellow catkins hanging from the trees along the river. They instantly remind me of the floating candles in Harry Potter!

(2)

I hope these reflections help you weave a little magic into your practice and your days in the weeks ahead.

Om shanti 

🙏

Sophia

1 - https://www.brmi.online/post/2019/08/23/sunlight-and-its-bioregulatory-effects-on-human-physiology

2 - https://static.wikia.nocookie.net/harrypotter/images/7/74/Great_Hall_Pottermore.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20110830114309