Find a place where you can observe fallen leaves or bare branches. If indoors, position yourself near objects that remind you of nature's cycles of release. Place your palms upward on your lap, as if ready to let go. Let your breath find its own rhythm.

Tha mi a' gairm air Màthair nan Uile (I call upon the Mother of All)

Ann am meadhan a' gheamhraidh (In the midst of winter)

Far a bheil gach rud a' leigeil às (Where everything lets go)

Mar na duilleagan mu dheireadh (Like the last leaves)

Observe how winter strips everything to its essence. The Mother teaches through this sacred emptying, this necessary release. Feel the space around you, clear and vast.

A Mhàthair, tha mo làmhan falamh (Mother, my hands are empty)

Mar gheugan loma nan craobh (Like the bare branches of trees)

Thoir dhomh neart (Give me strength)

Gus leigeil às (To let go)

Imagine yourself as a winter tree, releasing what no longer serves. The Mother stands beside you, her presence steady as you unfurl your fingers, as you name what has been lost.

Mar an sneachd a' leaghadh (Like melting snow)

Tha seann nithean a' falbh (Old things depart)

A' tilleadh dhan talamh (Returning to the earth)

Far am faigh iad fois (Where they find rest)

Let the Mother's wisdom show you how loss creates space for what is to come. Like winter's clearing, this emptiness has purpose.

Tha mi a' tuigsinn (I understand)

Gu bheil àite aig falamhachd (That emptiness has its place)

Ann an cuairt na beatha (In life's cycle)

Mar làn-mara is tràigh (Like tide and ebb)

Feel the peace that comes with acceptance. The Mother holds you in this space between what was and what will be.

As you sit with this experience of loss: What gifts might be hidden in this emptiness? Like the cleared winter ground, what new possibilities are waiting in this space?

Slàn leat, a Mhàthair nan Uile (Farewell, Mother of All)

Gu robh do ghràdh a' lìonadh mo chridhe falamh (May your love fill my empty heart)