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You walk through the city, past a church, an old chapel, and think, “Another saint here to protect me.” But what if I told you that many of these saints were originally powerful, ancient goddesses and gods , just wrapped in a Christian guise? On today’s St. Brigid’s Day (February 1st), I would like to take a moment to reflect on the deeper layers of those roots . Welcome to the urban world of saints – where Catholic faith and pre-Christian magic collide. Saints with Ancient R

There’s a moment every year when the light changes. The air still carries winter’s chill, yet something within it feels softer — a promise rather than a warning. It’s subtle, almost secret: buds swelling beneath bark, the first birdsong returning, the faint scent of earth thawing. This is Imbolc , the festival of awakening, light, and fertility  — the quiet heartbeat between winter and spring. Etymology: “In the Belly” of the Earth The name Imbolc  (also written Imbolg  or Oí

In previous articles, we’ve already explored the idea of new beginnings—and the fact that the “start of the year” does not coincide with January 1st in all cultures (nor for all people today). Time is not experienced the same way everywhere. And change rarely follows a linear calendar. Personally, I have a rather ambivalent relationship with the idea of new beginnings. For me, they are not a clean cut, not a symbolic reset button, but a process unfolding in several stages. My

I move through the city’s tight, winding streets on the quiet dawn of December 31st, where the world seems suspended, holding its breath between the old and the new. The streets are empty, only the last glasses from the night before clink quietly in the backyards, and I savor this moment of calm. It is a transition, a breath between the old and the new, a pause that the hectic celebrations of the coming evening have not yet reached. But why do we celebrate this day, exactly?

There are so many stories, myths, and traditions surrounding the winter solstice that it’s hard to know where to begin. We all know the classic Christmas celebration with its lights, scents, and gifts – but how do those who follow nature-spiritual paths celebrate this mysterious threshold between darkness and light? Every family, every community, even every individual, has their own small rituals and magical moments. In our home, it looks like this: we pay attention to the st

also known as Mother's Night · Modraniht · Solstice Eve or Solstice Night Tonight, the city hums differently. Windows glow like small altars. Trams slide through the dark like quiet spells. Somewhere between a last email draft and the first candle flame, we cross into Mother’s Night — Modraniht , the Night of the Mothers. A threshold night. A night that does not glitter. A night that holds. For those of us who walk pagan, witchy, animistic, or intuitive paths, this night matt

The Rauhnächte  are not only a magical transition between the old and the new, they are also an invitation to consciously reflect, let go, and cultivate new energy. While the first article around that topic illuminated the origins, customs, and symbolic meaning, this section is all about practice: how to create your own Between-the-Years journal and use the twelve nights with intention. Why journaling during the 'Rauhnächte' is so powerful During this time, we stand in a

Before the year lets its final curtain fall, while the city slips into a shimmering winter dress and even the usually restless streets seem to breathe a little gentler, something shifts. The streets grow quieter, the flow of emails fades, and even the constant hum of everyday life softens. It’s as if the world holds its breath. Time suddenly feels different—denser, softer, more translucent. As though an invisible veil settles over the everyday world and wraps everything in a

The spiral carries an ancient meaning. As a feminine symbol, it is often associated with Mother Goddesses and with Earth herself. It represents intuition, trust, and our connection to the deepest parts of our being. In past years, I’ve written about the Winter Solstice and its many traditions, but today I want to share one that feels especially sacred to me: the walk of the holy spiral, or the sacred labyrinth. I love walking the spiral—whether purely as a mental, meditative

December holds its own magic. The city sparkles with a thousand lights, and yet there is something archaic in the air—something older than any string of lights. Between the asphalt and the snowflakes, we feel a longing for warmth, for meaning, for a light that burns deeper than mere electrical decoration. Did you know? In our previous article, we took a deep dive into the origins of Christmas —long before Bethlehem, long before Jesus. What we celebrate today was once the Wint

Christmas is one of those holidays where many act as if the history is clear — when in reality, it’s anything but. Beneath the fairy lights, the scent of pine, and the kitschy commercials lies a much older narrative, one that was celebrated long before anyone in Europe had even heard of Bethlehem. And the deeper you dive into history, the more obvious it becomes: this holiday was already sacred long before it became Christian. I don’t say this to take anyone’s tradition away

There’s a certain stillness that settles over the world this time of year — a quiet in the air, a slowing of rhythm, a reminder that even the earth is resting. And yet, most of us rush through these dark weeks as if light could be forced back by sheer productivity. But what if we didn’t? What if we made this time — the waiting before Jul/Yule, before the return of the sun — sacred again? The season leading up to the winter solstice has always been more than just a prelude to

When the nights grow longer and winter evenings arrive, I feel the call of a light.  Not the harsh neon, not the candles in shop windows – but a small, intentional ritual: my Vänt Candle Holder, guiding me week by week until the return of the light. The neo-pagan version of the Advent wreath, gently leading me through the weeks toward the winter solstice . A brief note on the origin of this tradition The Vänt Candle Holder comes from Scandinavia  and is a modern, neo-pagan ta

The first frost on a parked car. The hum of the city under a full moon. The faint green of moss reclaiming a wall. Even in the city, the cycles never stop. For many pagans and witches, life is not a straight line. It moves in circles — in rhythms, in repetitions, in cycles that echo the natural world. Observing these cycles isn’t about following rules or rigid practice; it’s about listening, noticing, and learning to move in harmony with life itself. In this article, I will n

When the fog rolls over the streets and the days grow quieter, a different kind of time begins — not one of loud celebrations, but of honest reflection.November is a threshold month.Between the golden glow of autumn and the deep stillness of winter, it invites us to turn inward.It ’s the time when nature dies in order to renew itself.And perhaps, we too are allowed to release what no longer belongs to us. Shadow work isn’t a dark or gloomy concept. It’s an act of self-care —

A Nature-Based Spiritual Perspective on Shadow Work Candles flicker in the window, somewhere the scent of pumpkin and damp earth drifts through the air. The world grows quieter – yet at the same time, some people feel uneasy. This season of darkness and introspection often reminds us of what we would rather not feel: our mortality, fear, ourselves, and the parts of our being we usually avoid. And that is exactly what the dark half of the year is for. Samhain – Halloween, All

There’s something sacred about this time of year ( okay, granted, I do say that about every season, but autumn to be as a person with SPS (Sensory Processing Sensitivity) autumn really is special to me) . As autumn deepens and the veil between worlds thins, nature invites us to slow down, to turn inward, to reflect. Samhain — the ancient festival marking the transition into the dark half of the year — reminds us of cycles, endings, and the quiet wisdom that comes with lettin

Some stories begin with an ending.I was about three years old when I first sensed that something could disappear without truly being gone. My great-uncle had died suddenly — my grandfather’s brother. I remember my grandfather bringing us the news. But I also remember the smell of autumn leaves, the heaviness in the adults’ voices, and the strange feeling that the world had both stopped and kept going at the same time.Maybe that was my first glimpse of the threshold — that fin

The Beauty in the Dark Half of the Year Most people write about the wheel of the year as a carousel of celebrations — the bursting...

I grew up close to nature, in a small town nestled by the edge of a forest — I’ve harvested wild herbs, picked berries, and known the...