Spiralling; the ebb and flow of living

I’ve been drawn to spirals, to kin that open and close lately. To ferns that coil themselves tightly when it’s dark, and unfurl and bask in the light. To snail shells that spiral and protect, that enable the mollusc to reach out when it is safe to do so, and retract back when there is a threat. To seeds of various types, with their different qualities allowing freedom of movement (by wind, animal, momentum) and safety until they are ready (hard shells, tight pods, prickles). ⠀

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They remind me of our inner processes. The way we can make ourselves smaller, or not share our feelings or thoughts, beliefs and desires or act in a way that doesn’t feel “OK”. Coiling ourselves up tightly for a whole multitude of reasons. And how there is an inner part of us often also wanting to spread out, to take up space and be seen as we are. How we can sometimes feel the need to open up and share everything, and what that then means for the part of us that needs to curl back in sometimes. ⠀
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I think of the dual process model of grief and how the flow between the two processes naturally occurs in its own way, and both are needed. ⠀How grief doesn’t only occur when someone dies, but how we can grieve lost opportunities, lost parts of ourselves, lost certainties and dreams. Just as every time we make a choice to do something new we open up possibility and the opportunity to gain something, every time we make a choice, we also lose what may have been from the choice(s) we did not make. We are experiencing a range of losses and the potential grief that goes along with those throughout life. Sometimes we hardly notice the impact, and sometimes we feel an intensity of pain.

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I also think of labyrinths, symbols humans have created for hundreds of years across the world. A continual path in and out. Space to pause in the centre, and then make our way back out again. ⠀
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Then there are tides and the lunar cycle, our breath in and out, ripples, mandalas…. ⠀
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