Turning Towards the Light
How gratitude shifts everything — especially in seasons of change
#44
I’m writing this on the day of the Spring Equinox, when light and dark meet in perfect balance — equal hours of day and night, a quiet reminder of the natural rhythm we’re all part of.
We’ve just moved through a Pisces New Moon, Mercury is finally direct after three weeks of retrograde, and we’re also in the energetic window of eclipse season — a time that tends to stir what’s been hidden, asking us to release, reset, and realign. It’s been a big few weeks, both collectively and personally.
In my own astrology, I carry a strong Mercury influence, which means I think… a lot. My natural tendency is to process, analyze, and try to make sense of everything — not just for myself, but in ways that might support others as well.
Over time, though, I’ve softened that relationship with my mind. Less trying to figure everything out, and more allowing space for something deeper to come through.
Mercury retrograde, as frustrating as it can sometimes feel, has become less of a disruption and more of an invitation. A pause. A chance to notice where I’ve drifted back into overthinking — and gently return to a more heart-centered way of being.
With Mercury moving through Pisces — fluid, intuitive, and not always linear — that invitation felt even stronger. Things didn’t always make sense in the way my mind prefers. There were moments of confusion, of feeling ungrounded, of not quite being able to “figure it out.”
And so I returned, again, to stillness.
Meditation. Breathing. Letting my mind release instead of trying to control it.
After nearly forty years of meditating, I’ve come to see that it isn’t about doing it right. It’s about creating space — for whatever wants to move through. Sometimes that looks like stillness. Sometimes it looks like the mind wandering freely. Both belong.
At the same time, I’ve been moving through the early months of a new job — stepping into a completely new environment, learning new systems, new language, new expectations. At times, it’s felt like being dropped into the deep end of the ocean and simply choosing to trust that I can swim.
And slowly, something has shifted.
What once felt overwhelming is beginning to feel more familiar. My energy at the end of the day isn’t as depleted. There’s more room to breathe, to notice, to be present with the small moments again.
And maybe that’s part of what this season is asking of all of us — not to rush forward, but to gently reorient toward the light.
I’ve always felt deeply connected to the sun. I don’t experience it as something to fear, but as something to receive — a life-giving force that energizes, restores, and quietly brings us back into balance.
Lately, I’ve found myself standing outside, face turned toward the warmth, eyes closed, simply letting the light land on my skin.
Nothing to solve. Nothing to figure out. Just receiving.
A small moment — but one that feels like a return.
Last weekend, I spent a few hours walking through the Dallas Botanical Gardens, where spring was fully alive. Flowers in bloom, families gathered on blankets, people of all ages simply enjoying the beauty of a sunny day.
There was laughter, movement, color — life in its fullness.
And I realized how long it had been since I experienced spring like that. Living in the Pacific Northwest for so many years, this time of year often still carried the heaviness of winter — gray skies, rain, a slower unfolding into light.
Here, everything felt immediate. Open. Alive.
And something in me softened right along with it.
Even with everything moving in my life — a new job, a new place, moments of uncertainty — there is also this quiet undercurrent of joy. Not because everything is figured out, but because I’m allowing myself to be present with what is.
Which brings me to what feels like the heart of this reflection: gratitude.
Across religions, cultures, and spiritual traditions, gratitude is a common thread. The language may differ, but the essence is the same — a deep reverence for life itself.
In the Christian tradition, we hear: “Give thanks in all circumstances.”
Simple words. Not always easy to live. But powerful when practiced.
Gratitude, for me, isn’t about overlooking what’s difficult or pretending everything is perfect. It’s about acknowledging what is here — even in the midst of growth, discomfort, or change.
Grateful for awareness when an old pattern surfaces.
Grateful for love, even when distance creates longing.
Grateful for the moments that stretch me, because they are shaping who I am becoming.
And also — grateful for what is already good.
The small moments. The quiet wins. The simple joy of being alive on a warm spring day, with sunlight on my face and nowhere else I need to be.
There is something about this time of year that naturally invites expansion — more light, more movement, more life.
And with that comes a choice.
For me, that choice is to turn toward the light. Again and again. To meet each day with a little more openness, and to allow gratitude to lead — even when things feel uncertain.
Over the next few days, I’m giving myself space for a bit of self-care — a gentle reset as I step into this new season.
And I’m also preparing for something I’ve been looking forward to for a while: Tim arriving this week after three months apart.
I can feel the anticipation building. The excitement. The joy of sharing life together again — exploring, laughing, and continuing this next chapter side by side.
And as the world around us sometimes feels like it’s unraveling, I find myself coming back to a quiet knowing:
That beneath the surface, something deeper is always coming together.
That when we turn toward the light — with openness, with gratitude, with a willingness to love and support one another — we become part of that unfolding in a meaningful way.
So today, on this day of equal light and dark, I’m choosing to turn towards the Light.
And grateful for the opportunity to do so.
To your highest and best,
Dianna
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