Find a space near an open window or outdoors where you can feel the late spring breeze on your skin. If possible, sit against a tree or on a stone that connects you directly to the earth. Have a small bowl of fresh soil or a potted plant nearby to touch during your meditation. Allow the scents of blossoming flowers and fresh greenery to reach you. Remove your shoes to feel the ground beneath your feet.

Tha mi a' gairm air spiorad an earraichI call upon the spirit of spring

A' gairm air cumhachd nan lusan a' fàsCalling on the power of growing plants

A' gairm air gliocas na talmhainnCalling on the wisdom of the earth

Air an latha seo de Ghiblean, tha mi 'nam sheasamh eadar saoghalOn this day of April, I stand between worlds

Take three deep breaths, feeling the burgeoning energy of late April. Notice how the earth is fully awakening, pulsing with new growth. The days are lengthening, and everywhere life pushes upward toward the strengthening sun. Feel yourself at this threshold of seasons, poised between spring and the coming summer.

Tha mi a' mothachadh air mo chorp, freumhaichte anns an talamhI notice my body, rooted in the earth

Tha mi a' faireachdainn blàths na grèine, a' nochdadh measgachadh de dhòchasanI feel the warmth of the sun, revealing a mixture of hopes

Tha mi a' tuigsinn an aon-fhillteachd sònraichte agus an iom-fhillteachd mhoitheachail na beathaI understand the particular simplicity and the sensory complexity of life

Allow your awareness to settle on the growing anxiety within you. Like the tightly wound spring buds about to burst, there is tension in this moment of becoming. The natural world knows this feeling well—the trembling anticipation before transformation.

Feel how this anxiety connects you to all growing things. The sapling that must push through soil feels resistance. The bud that must break open its protective shell experiences momentary vulnerability. This anxiety is not separate from the natural cycle but integral to it.

Now, allow your attention to shift toward melancholy. Feel how this gentle sadness is like the morning mist that still clings to meadows in the early hours. There is wisdom in this melancholy—a remembrance of winter's necessary rest, even as we move toward summer's abundance.

The earth herself holds melancholy in her depths, in the fallen leaves being transformed into soil, in the quiet decomposition that nourishes new life. This melancholy is not depression but rather a sacred honoring of what has passed to make way for what is coming.

Tha mi a' leigeil le m' iomagain agus m' aonaranachd a bhith mar phàirt de m' shligheI allow my anxiety and melancholy to be part of my journey

Chan eil iad nan nàimhdean ach nan tidsearanThey are not enemies but teachers

Mar a bhios flùraichean a' fàs tro chreagan, bidh mi a' fàs tro dhùbhlainAs flowers grow through rocks, I grow through challenges

Visualize yourself as a tree with roots spreading deep into the earth. These roots reach through layers of soil, stone, and underground streams. Your anxiety is like the tension in your branches stretching toward the sky—necessary for growth, creating the very structure that allows you to reach higher.

Your melancholy is in your roots, connecting with ancient stones, with the bones of ancestors, with the memory of glaciers that once covered this land. This melancholy gives you depth and stability.

Feel the Mother Earth cradling your roots, offering healing through connection. She whispers: "Your anxiety is my creative tension. Your melancholy is my depth of memory. Both are sacred."

Imagine the energy of the earth rising through your roots, up through your trunk, into your branches and leaves. This energy transforms anxiety into alert presence, melancholy into profound wisdom.

Tha mi a' gabhail ri mo nàdar ioma-fhillteI accept my complex nature

A' tuigsinn gu bheil gach faireachdainn na pàirt den t-slàinte iomlanUnderstanding that each feeling is part of complete health

Take a moment to contemplate:

How might your anxiety serve as a signal, directing your attention to what matters most, just as a plant's tension guides it toward the sun? In what ways does your melancholy connect you to deeper wisdom and compassion, like the rich humus that nourishes the forest floor?

Tha mi a' tilleadh don t-saoghal làitheilI return to the daily world

Le freumhan nas doimhne, le tuigse nas mothaWith deeper roots, with greater understanding

Gun stiùir Màthair na Talmhainn mo cheumMay the Mother of the Earth guide my step

Gun toir i dhomh a neart ann an làithean dorchaMay she give me her strength in dark days

Gun toir i dhomh a sìth ann an amannan luaineachMay she give me her peace in turbulent times

Biodh e mar sinSo be it