The spiral

Years ago, I created a spiral on the land.
I cannot remember exactly when the idea first came to me — only that it felt less like a plan and more like a remembering. A meditation in motion. A path inward, and then outward again.

I gathered pieces of sandstone from the land and along the ridges. It took weeks to collect them. Weeks more to shape my first spiral. Stone by stone, curve by curve.

I chose the place carefully — a hidden opening in the woodland at the end of one arm of our valley. Secluded. Quiet. Held by sandstone cliffs. You would not find it unless you were looking. It felt like a threshold space — between worlds.

Walking the spiral inward means circling slowly toward the centre — toward stillness. Toward whatever feelings are waiting to be acknowledged. Grief. Confusion. Longing. Questions without answers. Each step softens something or invites honesty.

At the centre there is a pause.  A quiet point of completion.

And then, the turning.

The outward walk is different. The same path, yet not the same. Each widening circle feels like re-entering the world with slightly changed eyes. Something has shifted. A heaviness feels less dense. A problem less absolute. Sometimes there is clarity. Sometimes acceptance. Occasionally, even the courage to embrace something new.

You enter the spiral facing West - the direction of endings, of surrender, of letting go. You walk inward carrying what is heavy.

You leave facing East — the direction of dawn, of renewal, of beginnings.

I shaped the spiral with Seven rounds - a number woven through nature and spirit: the rainbow’s colours, the musical scale, the days of the week, the chakras within the body.

Number Seven speaks of wholeness - where earth and spirit meet, where structure and mystery intertwine.

Seven circles to walk, like moving through layers of the self - from grounding to insight. A threshold number. Not just completion, but completion that opens into transformation.

I walk the spiral alone.
I walk it with groups.

Each time, the metaphor shifts — grief, change, motherhood, climate, belonging, love. Yet the magic is consistent. There is surrender. There is stillness. Something breaks open. Something softens.

And every time we walk it, we are not quite the same.