New Year arrives each winter with a peculiar magic. In the West, the turning of the calendar is more than celebrations and countdowns—it is folklore woven into time itself. A moment suspended between what has been and what might still become. Like Janus, the Roman god with two faces—one gazing backward, one toward the future—we stand at the threshold, invited to reflect and renew.

This season of long nights and cold days has been a place of beginnings since long before clocks and fireworks. The Winter Solstice, the ancient hinge of the year, is the moment where darkness reaches its deepest point, and light slowly begins to return. In those old stories, people gathered around the hearth not only to stay warm, but to stay connected—to themselves, to family, to spirit. It was believed that introspection was a duty of midwinter. A time to listen.

In the East, too, midwinter is honoured in subtle ways. Within Sanātana Dharma, the quiet season mirrors the inward path of meditation—Śakti resting, poised for renewal; Advaita reminding us that even in darkness there is no separation; Vaishnava devotion stirring warmth in the heart like a flame that refuses to die.

The shamanic traditions of the North whisper similarly: winter is the cave, the dream, the place where soul-work begins. It is when the spirits speak in the crackle of wood and in the silent snow. The Hekatean torch, held at the crossroads, becomes a guide not only through shadow, but through possibility. The Drak Goddesses—those ancient keepers of liminal power—invite us to shed old skins and claim new ones with sovereignty and courage.

Different lineages, yet all leading to the same still point: the threshold where a new year begins is a place of initiation.

A Year Turns, and We Turn With It

This blog weaves together many threads written through the past months:

✨ reflections on ancestry and belonging,
✨ rites of transformation and devotion,
✨ motherhood and legacy,
✨ and the desire to walk many spiritual roads with respect.

As we step into the new year, we gather them like herbs at the solstice altar—each carrying its own medicine, each offering something to the journey ahead. The wishes for our children, for ourselves, for the future are not resolutions in a superficial sense. They are prayers. Seeds.

May they grow.

So let this New Year be more than a date.
Let it be a doorway.

A second chance,
a new opportunity to open ourselves in this time/space dimension—
to heal what was fragmented,
to honor what guided us,
to move forward with curiosity instead of certainty.

To the ones who came before us, we say thank you.
To the paths that shaped us—shamanic, Hekatean, Drak, and Dharmic—we bow in reverence.
To the future that waits like untouched snow, we step with awareness.

May the darkness of winter be a womb, not a void.
May our inner fires burn steady.
May the coming light find us ready.

Here’s to another turning.
Another year.
Another chance to begin again.

Hari Om Tat Sat