The balance of the spring equinox and what the egg teaches us about new beginnings

Today, we reach a moment of perfect balance. Day and night are exactly equal. In the rush of city life, we often overlook that this astronomical turning point—the equinox—is the true starting signal of life becoming visible again. As the world around us begins to bloom in brighter colors, we find ourselves searching for the magic of this moment. For balance.

Beyond Myths: Why I Choose the Equinox

In earth-based, neo-pagan, and witchy circles, the spring equinox is often referred to as Ostara. Within the Wiccan Wheel of the Year, it is considered one of the eight seasonal festivals—a celebration said to be dedicated to the Germanic spring goddess Eostre. A beautiful symbol, admittedly. But when you start digging a little deeper, things become… blurry.

Much of it is less ancient than we like to believe—more romantic projection than documented tradition.

In fact, there is no ancient source that confirms a distinct, widely practiced festival at this time of year. The figure of Ostara/Eostre itself ultimately traces back to a single mention in the 8th century by the monk Bede, followed by later interpretations from scholars such as Jacob Grimm, who expanded on the idea.

Now, a lack of sources doesn’t automatically mean something never existed. We know that many Germanic cultures left little written record—much was passed down orally. And still:We have to be honest and admit that we simply don’t know whether this goddess—or a festival held in her honor—ever existed in this form. For that reason, I personally don’t celebrate Ostara. Not because I reject it—but because I don’t need it. The stars are enough. The equinox happens regardless of what we call it.

But let’s be careful here: dismissing a celebration because it isn’t “ancient enough” isn’t any better than valuing it only because it supposedly is. In the end, every ritual carries exactly the meaning we give it.

So if you are someone who celebrates Ostara with intention—then do it.Celebrate it in a way that feels true to you.

And maybe you don’t even need a ritual at all. Maybe your ritual is your first coffee in the morning sun on your balcony.A walk without a podcast.Opening a window after a long winter—internally and externally. Or maybe you light a candle, pull cards, place flowers on your table and call it Ostara. All of it is valid—as long as we don’t claim it to be an unbroken, ancient tradition.

So… what’s the deal with eggs?

Now that we’ve cleared that up, let’s talk about eggs—the painted kind. Because the symbol we most strongly associate with this time of year—alongside rabbits—is the egg. And long before Christian reinterpretations, the egg was a universal seal of creation.

• The earliest traces: Archaeological finds in South Africa show engraved ostrich eggs that were decorated as far back as 60,000 years ago. In Sumerian graves in Mesopotamia and in ancient Egypt around 5,000 years ago, painted eggs were precious offerings symbolizing transition and rebirth.

• Magic, not decoration: Originally, painting eggs was a ritual act. Red earth pigments—symbolizing blood and life force—were used to “activate” the egg. It was a form of sigil magic: symbols like sun wheels or wave patterns were believed to protect and bless the life within.

The Cosmic Egg

The so-called Cosmic Egg is one of humanity’s most fascinating archetypal images. It appears independently across different cultures and creation myths—from Orphic traditions to Egyptian and Finnish mythology (Kalevala), all the way to the Vedas. Again and again, the same idea emerges:

In the beginning, there was… potential. Unformed. Undivided. Full of possibility.

In Chinese mythology, a cosmic egg contained chaos until it split apart, separating the lighter elements (heaven) from the heavier ones (earth), with Pangu growing between them.

In Greek Orphic tradition, a primordial being emerges from an egg—Phanes—representing light, life, and creation itself.

And in the Vedic tradition, the universe is born from a golden egg—Hiranyagarbha—again, a container of everything before it takes form.

When we paint an egg today in a city apartment, we continue something deeply human. We honor life itself.And that fragile, unstoppable potential that is just about to break through the hard shell of reality.

When I reflect on all of this, it becomes clear:This isn’t really about whether a tradition is ancient or newly created. Because—let’s be honest—for the universe, even the oldest tradition probably happened… yesterday. What matters is whether it connects us. To ourselves. To nature. To that quiet sense of renewal slowly pushing through the cracks of the city. Between concrete and blossoms. Between deadlines and sunlight that lingers just a little longer.

The equinox doesn’t remind us to be perfectly balanced. It reminds us that balance is a moment—not a permanent state. A transition. A breath between extremes. And when the shell of the egg breaks open, when what’s inside begins to unfold, remember this: Chaos is not the opposite of order. It is its beginning. Because in that exact moment—when everything is still unformed, when nothing has fully decided what it will become—that’s where the greatest potential lives.

And maybe that’s the real magic: Not the festival. Not the name. Not the perfect aesthetic. But the moment you pause. The moment you notice something shifting. That it’s getting lighter.

Not just outside. But within you.