Spring equinox and metamorphosis
Exploring the fear to change, even when everything inside is pulling us another way.
Hello Lovelies,
During the seasons, I am so often in awe of the wilds ability to transform. How nothing is stagnant and still, but always merging, unravelling and reforming. This is so evident in spring, an obvious time of renewal, transformation and inspiring growth.
As I watch the bare lands colour in greens and yellows, the tight buds forming on bare branches, the hawthorn and hazel leaves unfurling and the smell of wild garlic and soft primrose etch themselves on the once bare forest paths, I stand in love and excitement with this earth.
In each autumn and winter, I forget something of what it means to be spring like, to be soft and open. I forget how it feels to reach upward, or what it is to be out of my skin and soil. For it has been delicious for me, to unravel, to dream, to rest and be still, to let myself compost away into a rich soup within my own quietude, and after while, I find it addictive.
But in these early days of spring, within the mud and rain, the early blossom and tender shoots, I begin to remember. Something in me stirs, something sexual, alive and creative, something which formed in the dark of the winter, in the blackness of my soul.
The sights and sounds of spring, the feeling that it infuses into my days, my heart, calls to me, like a blackbird in the dawn, reminding me that its time to head out of the darkness and into the light, for there is life to be tasted to be done and growth to begin.
Yet sometimes I feel an unsureness, as if Im not quite trusting in my own wild ability to grow and transform, it is as if I have stage fright.
And I am reminded of the caterpillar, and their journey into flight. There is such poetry, alchemy and magic in a butterfly or moths becoming, and it mirrors so well the inner journey of our own psyche when we move towards wholeness, change and growth.
All caterpillars, in their various get ups, some with tiny tufts of hairs and bright colours, some velvety and new looking, some like ancient white haired pipe smoking men, others like a walking moustache, first appear from a tiny egg, laid singularly or in groups depending on the species, upon a variety of different host plants.
A butterfly doesn’t deposit her eggs on just any old plant. She is very specific about finding the host plant or one of a range of host plants that will nourish her young. She uses scent, electromagnetism and sight to seek them out.
I often find the tiny eggs of the cabbage white, grouped together like tiny yellow moons on the back of my Kavolo Nero, and I have to look closely when picking nettles at a certain time of year, as the red admiral lays one singular orb like egg upon the surface of nettles leaf.
Born hungry, as many babies are, the first thing the caterpillar of the butterfly or moth will eat, is the remainder of the egg that held them, protected them and kept them safe, receiving the nourishment from what was, so they can start their journey ahead.
The soft bodied caterpillar shows no outward signs that they will one day be a moth or butterfly, yet within those little bodies, they all hold some rather magical cells.
These cells are called the imaginal cells, which have written inside them, the the recipe to becoming a butterfly or a moth. Imaginal cells are the only cells inside of a caterpillar that understand what the caterpillar is capable of, like a secret held within that the caterpillar isn’t even aware of yet.
For these cells in the beginning, are repressed by the caterpillars body, seen as a threat, a rebel and a mischief maker that is endangering their polite and known way of being, they do not recognise the cells as being in line with who they are, and so, the caterpillar represses them.
Although on the path of the caterpillars little life, they become stirred by these cells that ignite within, a felt impulse at a cellular level, that pushes the caterpillar to create their chrysalis from their own skin, or to weave a cocoon from silks, or create their cocoons under the earth, burying themselves in amongst old leaves, deadened stems and soft soil.
Once inside their pods of transformation and transition, the imaginal cells come alive, their voices becoming louder, the stirrings they create greater, yet still they are attacked as heretics by the caterpillar’s immune system, the rest of the catterpillar does not want to hear its stories.
But, although it tries to cling on, within the darkness, all the caterpillar thinks it knows is falling apart, their body melting and almost every cell, apart from the imaginal cells in a caterpillar’s system, start freaking out, because suddenly the system they thought they knew, is failing. Nothing seems to work, and it’s clear that everything the caterpillar understands about how their world works is now unsustainable and obsolete.
At this critical moment, the imaginal cells speak and sing even louder, despite the rejection they received, and through their courage and belief, the cells persist and multiply, creating more imaginal cells that also stay true to the beautiful wild knowing of wings and flight and beauty.
Then the cells, old and new, begin to resonate at a similar frequency, until the story of flight and alchemy is felt as a vibrational pull and the new story overtakes the old. The body of the caterpillar forms into a soup, disintergrating almost into a nothingness, just keeping the basics needed for their next life.
In the darkest hours, the imaginal cells not only inspire others with their beleif and ancient knowing, but they can guide, create and execute a plan to make the future more beautiful. And slowly, the butterfly or moth is born out of the old.
In the caterpillars journey, twice, the new self, used the old self for nourishment and food of becoming, the egg and the nourishing bodily stew, was the compost the new form grew from, the taste and story held within it, they were fed and supported from.
Just as spring is born from winters decay and compost, just as we learn from what we let go of, just as we spring from our old forms.
This story of change and transformation is for me, a mirror to my own journey, where change can feel like madness, alien, scary, frightening and impossible. Even though I feel the tug, the pull, the persuasion of the soul, I can still struggle to both let go and become, as I don’t know if I believe I’m capable of the growth it brings.
But still, in all of us, the wild soul, our integrity, knows what we are made from, and what we need to move towards for a meaningful life, and it will keep pushing, tugging, speaking up and awakening, knowing we have the ingredients and the know how to alchemise and transform.
I used to cover the voice of my soul and the tug it brings, with alcohol, sex and self harm, trying to shut the very essence of it down, just like a caterpillar, but with more tools of suffocation at my disposal.
In these recent years however, I have slowly learnt to listen, to undo those habits that stifled my inner knowing’s wisdom that desired growth and wholeness.
It has been a beautiful thing, a rebellious and tenacious thing, to become intimate with the wider and wilder knowing within. Yet still, I can still struggle to follow its/my instructions, still not quite able to completely trust, but I hope over time, it will become less edgy, more easeful.
And as we tip into the spring equinox, we see the beauty that was created from the plant and tree world giving themselves, or parts of themselves, to be turned into the blackened fertile soup that supports new life, tender greens, soft yellows, bright yellows, creamy whites and pinks which are now unfurling.
This time of the equinox, is a time of in-between, a time of balance between inner and outer, light and dark. It asks us to honor and believe in both
Thank you for reading Connection with Brigit Anna McNeill. If you enjoyed it, feel free to share if with someone else you feel may like it too via text, email or social media.
Book news
My coming book has a title………………
‘The wild within’
It feels so right to me as it is a book about the wild spirit and soul in all things - plants, earth, trees and humans, and its ability to be the alchemist, the restorer and the guide.
A book woven with small parts of my own recovery journey, my own trauma held and blended together with writings on growth, transformation, plants, forests, seasons and soil.
Things of interest
For March - Lia begins with the equinox and ends with the phases of the moon. Zoe explores the mythology of seaweed and we visit a very special island in North Wales. Also in Wales, we hear the story of Blodeuwedd and Gwilym plays a very old love song, 'Lisa lân'. Lia goes back to seventeenth-century England to tell the little-known tale of the Diggers, and Alice heads underwater with her hydrophone.
When wolves sing - Discover the rituals performed in the animal kingdom for love, life and death. Did you know painted wolves sing to vote for the next alpha couple? Neither did we. This behaviour was documented for the first time ever by the crew working on BBC Earth’s latest landmark. We explore the weird, and occasionally dark, acts that characterise crow funerals, how birds brandish themselves to potential mates and the awe-inspiring tale of witnessing a mass-baptism at the Blue Nile
Our first online meeting
Next Sunday the 26th March at 4.00pm is our very first online monthly gathering.
Grab a warm brew, a place to snuggle down and let’s say hello.
I’m really looking forward to meeting with all of those who can come to this online gathering. I’m aware I haven’t given you much notice, sorry! but, from this meeting on I hope to always give two - three weeks notice for each monthly gathering.
For this one, we will have a little share to say hello to each other, and then we will move into exploring a theme and some writing together based around the season and our own journey of being human.
It would be good if you can have your camera on, at least for the sharing part, so we can all get a sense of being with a group of folk.
The link and sign in details will be sent to all paid subscribers later today.
Thank you for reading.
Much warmth and wild beauty to you
Brigit x
Beautiful…thank you. Do you know the name of the last moth (the caterpillars and moth photos juxtaposed)?The patterns are like the most beautiful weaving ❤️
So beautiful thank you
Imaginal cells!!!