Find a quiet space where you can be undisturbed. If possible, create a small altar with a blue or indigo cloth. Place upon it a bowl of water, a stone or crystal that feels heavy in your hand, and something that represents hidden potential—perhaps a seed, a geode, or a closed flower bud. Sit comfortably on the floor or in a chair with your back supported. Allow your hands to rest palms down on your thighs, grounding you to your physical form. Take twenty-four slow, deep breaths—one for each day that has passed in this month—allowing each exhale to be longer than the inhale, creating space within. If your body wishes to sigh, allow it

Air a' cheathramh latha fichead den Mhàrt,Eadar meadhan an earraich,Agus gealladh an t-samhraidh,Tha mi a' dol tro dhubhachas.A Mhàthair na talmhainn, lorg mi anns an dorchadas.

On this twenty-fourth day of March,Between spring's middle,And summer's promise,I move through depression.Mother of the earth, find me in the darkness.

Feel the complex energy of late March—the twenty-fourth day—when spring's awakening is well underway, yet not all parts of nature unfold at the same pace. Some seeds remain dormant while others sprout, some buds stay tightly closed while others bloom. This mirrors the experience of depression amid collective brightness—the feeling of remaining in shadow while the world seems illuminated. Notice the quality of light around you, how it contains both brilliance and shadow. Visualize your depression not as a failure or flaw, but as a different kind of vision—one that perceives depths and nuances that brighter states might miss.

Tha dubhachas mar uisge domhainn,A' glanadh nithean a tha falaichte.Tha e a' teagasg dhuinn èisteachd ris an t-sàmhchair,Mar a dh'èisteas an talamh ri ùrnaigh freumhan.

Depression is like deep water,Cleansing things that are hidden.It teaches us to listen to the silence,As the earth listens to the prayer of roots.

Place your hands on the bowl of water before you. Water is the element of emotion and the unconscious—it holds, it reflects, it cleanses, it transforms. Touch the surface of the water gently with your fingertips, creating small ripples that expand outward. This is the touch of the Mother Earth, who knows that even in stillness, subtle movements continue.

Now, bring your awareness to your body. Where do you feel the heaviness of depression? Perhaps in your chest as a weight, in your limbs as weariness, or in your mind as a fog that obscures clarity. As you locate these sensations, acknowledge them without judgment, just as the earth accepts both drought and flood as part of its experience. With each breath, imagine the Mother's compassion flowing into these spaces—not to instantly transform them, but to accompany you in their depths.

A Mhàthair na talmhainn, teagaisg dhomh,Mar a gheibh mi gliocas anns an dorchadas,Mar a chì mi bòidhchead ann an làmhan slaodach.Stiùir mi tro na h-uisgeachan domhainn,Chun a' ghliocais a tha a' feitheamh anns an doimhneachd.

Mother of the earth, teach me,How to find wisdom in the darkness,How to see beauty in slow hands.Guide me through the deep waters,To the wisdom that waits in the depths.

Take the heavy stone or crystal in your hands and close your eyes. Imagine yourself walking through a forest in early spring twilight. The canopy above filters the fading light, creating a soft blue-green glow. Unlike the bright, obvious beauty of full daylight, this half-light reveals subtle details—the intricate patterns of lichen on tree trunks, the delicate structure of decaying leaves on the forest floor, the complex network of roots visible at the edge of a stream bank.

In this sacred space of gentle shadow, you sense the Mother of the Earth approaching. She moves slowly, deliberately, her steps in perfect harmony with the rhythm of your breathing. Her face holds neither the forced brightness of false cheer nor the emptiness of despair, but a deep, gentle attention that sees and values everything it beholds.

"Depression is not separate from me," she speaks, her voice like water moving over stone. "It is one of my seasons, one of my teachings, one of my faces. When you honor it with presence rather than resistance, it reveals gifts that no other state can offer."

She guides you to sit beside a small pool of still, dark water. "Look into the depths," she invites. As you do, your eyes gradually adjust to see not just your reflection, but layers upon layers beneath the surface—rocks, plants, small creatures, patterns of sediment—all invisible to casual glance but revealed to patient attention.

"This is the gift of depression," she explains. "It slows you down enough to see what speed and brightness miss. It takes you deep enough to find foundations that joy alone cannot reveal."

She places her hand over yours where you hold the stone. "Feel the weight of this stone," she continues. "In your culture, heaviness is often seen as a burden to be eliminated. But I know that weight creates stability, that pressure transforms, that resistance builds strength. The heaviness you feel is not only burden but also ballast—keeping you grounded as you navigate difficult waters."

She then shows you the seed or closed bud on your altar. "Depression often comes when something new is gestating within you—something not yet ready to be revealed. Honor this slow, hidden growth. Do not force it into premature light."

Feel her wisdom permeating your being, creating spaciousness around your depression. Remain in this connection for several minutes, breathing deeply.

Take a moment to contemplate:

What might my depression be showing me that I couldn't see in a lighter state? What slow, patient work might be happening beneath the surface of my awareness? In what ways might this difficult passage be preparing me for a deeper relationship with both shadow and light?

Tha mi a' toirt taing dhut, a Mhàthair na talmhainn,Airson do ghliocais dorcha agus do làthaireachd.Mar a bhios tu ri mo thaobh anns an t-solas,Mar sin bidh tu ri mo thaobh anns an dubhar.Tha mi a' giùlan do shealladh domhainn leam.

I give thanks to you, Mother of the earth,For your dark wisdom and your presence.As you are beside me in the light,So you are beside me in the shadow.I carry your deep vision with me.

Gently return the stone or crystal to its place. Touch the seed or closed bud, acknowledging the hidden potential it contains. Finally, touch the surface of the water once more, this time observing how it not only reflects what is above but also holds what is below—both aspects equally real, equally valuable.

Rise slowly, carrying the earth's deep wisdom within you. Know that on this twenty-fourth of March, as spring unfolds at its own pace—some aspects racing ahead while others develop more slowly—you too move according to your own necessary rhythm, neither rushing nor judging the unique path of your becoming.