When The Good Light Hits

“Both suffering and happiness are of an organic nature, which means they are both transitory; they are always changing. The flower, when it wilts, becomes the compost. The compost can help grow a flower again. Happiness is also organic and impermanent by nature. It can become suffering, and suffering can become happiness again.” 

~Thich Nhat Hahn

No Mud, No Lotus: The Art of Transforming Suffering

March’s full moon is known as “Worm Moon,” marking winter’s last full moon and transition into spring. As nature awakens, the warming earth signals the earthworm to emerge toward the moisture and light. Like the soil-dwelling creatures below, I can feel spring’s new life stirring. It’s the most challenging season for me as it carries a chaotic and unsettled energy. 

I’ve been in transition for the past year as I navigate my way through sobriety and perimenopause. Each season and full moon have become increasingly more noticeable, like my symptoms of perimenopause. The shifting Earth feels more intense, making my fluctuating emotions and hormones more prominent. 

Perimenopause feels like spring. It’s a time in a woman’s life that marks the end of her menstrual cycles and reproductive years. It typically begins in her 40s and can last several years before she transforms. The longer days, sporadic weather, and fluctuating springtime temperatures remind me how wild and transitory life is. 

Like spring and the full moon, change can be a bitch. For example, I’ve been in denial about my thinning hair, but I can no longer deny that the rat-sized hairballs my husband pulls out of the drain are mine. They look like my identical twin, after all. As I accepted the thinning of my once luscious hair, eyebrows, and eyelashes, I noticed I could now grow facial hair rapidly. I’m pretty sure this is some straight-up bullshit.   

Perimenopause feels like a betrayal, but it’s pushing me to embrace change where it matters most. No matter how much I tweeze my chin and neckbeard, if I look in the mirror when the good light hits my face, I’ll always find another long black hair. A woman faces two choices at this transitional time: stepping in or out of the good light. It seems that at a time when a woman approaches her full illumination, the natural next step is to shine.   

Earthworms naturally emerge from the ground as moisture draws them to the light, but such a journey does not come without risks—just ask the early bird. Our minds, bodies, and spirits are similarly drawn to healing, but pain and suffering can lead us to dwell in the shadows. We can stay too long if we can't let go of happiness or run away too fast if we’re afraid of suffering. The healing journey requires us to find a balance between the two.         

The Heart of Yoga, by T.K.V. Desikachar, says, “Every change is yoga.” With awareness, it’s “reaching a point we’ve never been before” (Pg6). Perhaps a woman’s irregular periods, hot flashes, night sweats, mood swings, irritability, fatigue, anxiety, depression, and sleep and libido issues are naturally guiding her to grow into places she’s never been before. The transition prepares her for full illumination, but such a journey does not come without risks.        

The significant difference between this spring and last is that I'm better supported. By this time last year, I was isolated with untreated major depression and riding a bike over a bee hive. The suffering, like my chin hair, can be relentless. The moon phases teach me how to heal, like when a full moon comes, and every imbalance within me is magnified. Like waking up with a hangover and children with special needs. Suffering pushes me to points I’ve never been to before.     

Yoga teaches us that we’re most vulnerable and prone to injury during transitions. Postures require care and attention when entering and exiting a pose. Living in fight-or-flight mode has prevented me from arriving through life’s natural transitions. Instead, each phase has been reached through a painful process, making alcohol and numbing a much more attractive means of dealing with change.  

I’m reminded of Thich Nhat Hahn’s teaching about transforming suffering in this transitory life. At the beginning of winter, I read about the lotus flower and was mesmerized by its ability to grow and adapt through the mud. Like the earthworm and lotus flower, we, too, emerge from winter and the shadows. 

The shadows feel safe, especially to those who grew up in them. When the good light hits and we feel exposed, it takes boldness to shine, but we don't have to suffer beyond what is necessary. We can become supported through every transition and seek relief through guidance. We can accept our shortcomings and make accommodations for our weaknesses.

We can reflect, pray, meditate, rest, and move. We can seek balance through lifestyle, nature, touch, laughter, hydration, whole foods, and sleep. We can find our people, journey together through our suffering, inch toward happiness, and emerge when the good light hits.