In the Belly

Imbolc, an ancient Celtic holiday and one of the sabbaths on modern pagans’ “Wheel of the Year,” is translated literally as “in the belly.”

Imbolc observes the halfway point between the winter solstice and the spring equinox, when we are still cloaked in the darkness of winter, but spring begins to stir, slowly and unseen.

Lambs gestate in the bellies of their mothers. Seeds start to sprout in the belly of Earth. Spiritually, we may find ourselves in a cosmic belly of sorts, waiting for rebirth.

Me with a goat who had recently left the belly

I believe that we are constantly being reborn; we move through endless cycles of death and rebirth as we learn, grow, and settle into both ourselves and the world around us.

So many of these cycles occur without us being aware of them. We may look back to a year ago—or five, or ten— and notice how much has changed in a slow unfurl, too subtle and gradual for us to take notice.

This time of year, we are collectively placed in the belly, but we also experience our own returns to the figurative womb on our own schedules, unexpectedly thrust into darkness and stillness.

My altar on a previous Imbolc

Being in the belly requires a lot of trust. We can’t see what’s ahead, control the outcome, or even have evidence that things are developing as we want them to.

We can’t check to see how seeds are sprouting beneath the soil without the risk of stunting them; we just have to trust that they are growing until we see their first shoots above earth.

I’ve found that applying the same method to my life has helped facilitate my own growth.

The first flower sprout I saw in February 2024

There are many ways we attempt to quantitatively check our “progress” in life, but, for me, none of them have provided any real insight or comfort. In fact, they often have left me feeling even more anxious and confused. Grades, performance reviews, and social media statistics (to give a few examples) gave an empty, false fulfillment that only made me hungrier with each bite.

Capitalism rewards hunger and villainizes rest. It wants you addicted to hollow numbers so that you keep working and working to try to fill your own belly, only to never be sated.

Capitalism does not want you in the belly, waiting and trusting. It wants you ripped from the womb, furiously digging up the seeds of your life, thwarting their growth, and still never being satisfied with what you find.

How much money? How many hours? How many sales? How many views? How many followers? 

These data points are supposed to reassure us that things are going well. That we will be ok. That we are doing what we should be and will see happiness on the other side.

But nothing can offer us a guarantee. We’re all in the belly, making guesses as to what’s outside. 

Even in the darkness, there are flickers of light

Embracing darkness and letting go of false control has helped me see the nourishing, transformative properties of being in the figurative womb; in winters, in unproductive periods, in moments of uncertainty, in times of forced rest. 

I’ve learned to trust in the darkness—to sit, wait, watch, and listen. I’m grateful to the dark and the things it illuminates if we wait long enough for our eyes to adjust.

I no longer try to fight my way out of the belly when I find myself there. Instead, I thank it, curl into a fetal seed, and wait for myself to bloom anew.