For everything there is a season,
and a time for every matter
under heaven:
a time to be born,
and a time to die…
Book of Ecclesiastes
In the sphere of the un-news news, the seasons are making an annual shift. Spring arrives for those of us in the Northern Hemisphere, and Autumn, if you live below the equator. While seeming opposites, these seasons seamlessly connect. They ebb and flow, cycle after cycle. For example, the essence of the bulbs that I planted in October quietly germinated and steadily grew through winter. Now they usher in spring with deep sunrise-colored blossoms. Their life pattern will continue spiraling along with the seasonal shifts.
This past week, lizards seemed to be as abundant as the spring blossoms, butterflies, birdsong and other invitations to emerge and revitalize the world. If I had missed all the other signs that there now is more warmth and light to the days – as though someone had added logs to the fire of the Sun – the lizards likely would have sparked my attention. I don’t think I could miss their presence. In places where there has been no movement, other than the waving of the leaves in the wind, lizards now dart across the ground with agile swiftness. Similarly, if I take a pause when I’m out walking, often there is a lizard, not scurrying, yet blending in perfectly with the color and stillness of the rock.
Just in their behavior, I feel the lizards offer a few simple reminders for navigating life and its challenges: keenly observe before acting; move with acuity; and, fully rest. Of course, lizards, with an ancestry much longer than that of my humanness – an estimated two hundred million years versus one of approximately three hundred thousand years – have more experience syncing with the universal rhythms. They have learned to pause and assess before moving at lightning speed. They eat only when needed, regenerate through shedding, and fluidly move between the bright sun and the dark crevices.
Overall, lizards – and the rest of our nature-kin – live in a harmonic relationship between the seeming opposites of activity and stillness. Their existence is reflective of the living dynamic of the seasons of the flurry of growth springing up from the quiet germination of winter. In each season, there are living reminders everywhere, e.g., the tulips blooming from the bulbs. In the fall, it was earthen-hued leaves and spiderwebs. Each season subtly grows into the next while receding and releasing the characteristic of the current season, e.g., snow toward the end of winter. These shifts are reflected in all dimensions of life, e.g. the beginnings and endings of life (birth and death), where one is connected to the other, giving a sense of fullness and togetherness. And, with that sensibility, there is respect, compassion, care and hope for one another and the planet and all beings. I am appreciative of the lizards catching my attention, and hope you will join me in honoring and embodying the gift of belonging to the whole. Thank you.
Practice
This simple, practice uses the imagination of being a flower.
Preparation –
- Find a quiet spot that is free of all digital devices – even for this practice (which can be read through before moving your device to another place). If comfortable, remove your socks and shoes. Have a chair or a bench nearby if you prefer that support rather than sitting on the floor.
- Standing, gently sway in little circles, feeling the circumference of the outer edges of the soles of your feet. As you do this, imagine the circle from your feet is slowly spiraling upward from the earth through your feet into your ankles, shinbones, knees, thighbones, hips, pelvis and maybe through your spine, neck and out through the crown of your head.
- Move gently in both directions – making the movement as small or large as you feel comfortable.
- Pause. Curl your toes under and imagine you are gathering up the earth through the soles of your feet. Then, relax the toes. Do this a few times, then walk around the space where you are with that feeling your feet are paws like an animal’s, and with each step you are caressing the earth.
- Then, slowly make your way to a seated position.
Practice –
- In whatever way you are seated – on the floor, or on a chair or bench – imagine the surface beneath you is fully receiving and supporting your weight. Then, imagine your spine is like the stem of a plant, gently growing upward until a blossom forms at the tip of your spine.
- In this moment, you are a flowering plant, rooted in the earth, and opening your petals into the warmth and light of the sun.
- Imagine, as a flowering plant, you are part of an endless field of other plants. Birds and butterflies are moving near, and perhaps resting on, your petals. Lizards are scurrying across the ground, and worms and microbes weave their way in and around the roots. Within the soil are nutrients formed from earlier generations.
- In this moment, the whole world is vibrantly alive, in peaceful togetherness with everything and everyone belonging … in this moment, and then the next moment.
Transition back into your day –
- Slowly bring your awareness back into the space where you are.
- Perhaps sit quietly and allow your senses to register the smells, sounds, shapes around you. Perhaps notice the feeling of touch, e.g., your feet on the ground, air on your skin or within your breath.
- Slowly brings your hands together in front of your heart in appreciation the invisible supports and connections of existence. Perhaps vow to become more aware of the essential and ancient rhythms of life.
- When you are ready, slowly transition back into your day.
This poem appears in Mala of Love: 108 Luminous Poems, edited by Ravi Nathwani and Kate Vogt, page 6, published by New World Library. H E A R T H is posted each full and new moon. KateVogt©2026.
