Earthly rituals for the senses and the soul.
root down and fill up with the earth element – part two.
I’m Lyndsay, mother, creative and storyteller with a background in interiors PR. Story & Thread. is a weekly letter exploring the intersection of creativity, mothering and the living world, with a home and a garden at the heart...
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“At no other time (than autumn) does the earth let itself be inhaled in one smell, the ripe earth; in a smell that is in no way inferior to the smell of the sea, bitter where it borders on taste, and more honeysweet where you feel it touching the first sounds. Containing depth within itself, darkness, something of the grave almost.”
― Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters on Cézanne.
Hello dear readers
How is everyone doing this week?
I really loved gathering in the darkness around the collective fire last week. It seemed to illuminate the depths and essence of connection — I loved getting to know lots of you from the inside out, as we explored what lights us up and how we intend to inhabit the darkness. Hopefully you were all able to take away a glimmer into your week…
Today is part two of the earth chapter within our elemental living series — an exploration of the natural elements at play within the season unfolding around us. (Some more of my thoughts on elemental living here if you are new to this idea!).
The first part of autumn’s elemental living chapter explored the the role of the earth element in stabilising the airy movement and transitional nature of autumn. This second part is filled with ideas for embodied earth rituals, in order to root down and fill up in the darkest days ahead…
Seasonal living and elemental wisdom in autumn.
Here we are firmly in November and it feels to me like a long time since the faded fullness of September. We have slowly moved through seasonal soulful abundance to an otherworldly portal leading us towards winter — where there is a kind of exposed, raw beauty in the undressing of the trees and a quiet softness of the leaf carpet underfoot.
According to Ayurveda1, autumn is governed by the air element and characterised by movement and transition. It’s true that even our walks in the woods have felt ethereal, as winged Hornbeam seeds drift and dance in the air on their way to the ground. Fierce autumn storms have also whipped up the air — leaving me entirely windswept and the trees looking sparse in their tattered ombre cloaks with a prismatic puddle of leaves at their feet.
Suddenly, the abundance of autumn begins to feel stripped back, unsheltered and bare. I am wondering if perhaps it is this movement during autumn that allows us to retreat into the stillness of winter…?
Within, too, the air element stirs our minds, stimulating creativity. I have felt inspired with excitement and new ideas but also overwhelm about when to action them in a sustainable way, alongside the hundreds of other things on my list. At times, I have felt the coolness of air infiltrate my skin and warn of the depletion that comes if I don’t stop to fill myself back up.
Whilst the air element helps us to let go of extraneous layers, the earth element demands that we pause — enabling us to draw inwards, to harvest, nourish and integrate what remains. In turn, this letting go, alongside a deep rooting and filling up allows for a quiet, unseen expansion below ground level.
Earth rituals for the senses and the soul.
In this chapter of my life, rituals need to be easeful, feel natural, intuitive and not forced, but at the same time anchor me into the earth’s rhythms.
Gone are the days of elaborate ceremony (for now) — instead rituals are the sorts of things that are found within the things we do each day, the feelings conjured in a season and the emergence of yearly traditions without us realising at the time.
They are not imposed externally but come from the inside out, an inner wisdom woven into life rather than doing something because you feel you should.
touch | earthly texture.
The earth element relates to our physical body, our environment and tangible reality. Placing our feet or hands on the earth feels like plugging into source. I have a box of bulbs to plant into the ground in the coming days (I realise this is quite late (!) but when I finally got around to planting bulbs at the end of November last year, it still yielded precious pockets of welcome spring colour, so I hope this will be the case again!).
I have neglected the garden recently and have simply let it do its thing, spilling over into wildness (which I don’t think is necessarily a bad thing). Yet I know that the act of planting into the land will have a deeply grounding effect, pulling me into the physicality of my body as I kneel, dig, bury and cover — a moving meditation of hope and trust, making myself quiet promises for spring. I also have enjoyed gathering seasonal flowers and foliage and from the garden or locally as a way of connecting to the season and our surroundings.
I couldn’t not mention that I find tactile textures (usually in blanket form) to be a great comfort at this time of year. A few years ago, at a trends forecasting talk with Li Edelkoort in Venice, I learned that we are drawn to the softness of textiles at home as a way of feeling safe in the backdrop of instability in the outside world (never more true than right now). The tactility of textures is a supportive way of enveloping ourselves as the light dwindles and the nights draw in. For extra earthy feelings of rootedness, I am coveting a Welsh blanket or a Welsh nursing shawl which hark back to my paternal ancestry.
smell | the scent of autumn.
Of course, there are the ubiquitous autumn scents that appeal to the olfactory senses, like pumpkin spice and apple cinnamon-based delights which are undeniably delicious. But, as alluded to in the Rainer Maria Rilke quote at the beginning of my letter, there is something incredibly evocative about the scent of autumn beyond our front doors — ripe earth and quietly decaying, mulchy leaves embody the bittersweet feeling of the season.
hear | grounding meditation.
My current meditation practice looks very different to its iteration before motherhood, it often takes place within the daily practices of mothering and more intentionally in the corners of life when I can.
One guided meditation that I return to time and time again when I have a moment to recenter myself, is this quick grounding practice led by magical being, Bridget Luff. I can’t wait to introduce you to Bridget properly soon as she has just set up her Substack publication,
, with collaborator Ana Muriel, where they are sharing stories, musings and meditations from and for mothers.taste | soul food.
Indelibly tied to smell, this season is made for cooking and eating hearty soul food. I am being drawn to soups of root vegetables warmed with spices, broth-based goodness, cottage pie and my ultimate favourite, The Roast Dinner (ideally followed by apple crumble and custard). As well as the nourishment our bodies need at this time of year, there is a familiarity when returning to the kitchen intentionally — of stirring in magic to craft comforting meals — that speaks of autumn alchemy to me.
see | nature’s palette.
There is a richness that comes with the lower light and wild earthy palette that envelops us at this point in the year. Looking out into the garden, the soft late summer pinks have fallen away to reveal a depth of regal purples, burnished russet and spun gold. Natural grasses continue to blow bravely in the wind as much begins to fade away and die back into the ground. I am holding onto these jewel-like fragments of autumn, more so as we know they are soon to fall away — to reveal the starkness of unadorned branches and the quiet emptiness of bare earth once again.
Have you felt the movement within autumn and if so, what helps you to feel anchored?
I would love to hear your favourite late autumn rituals…
Thank you for reading and I really look forward to your thoughts, hope we can chat more in the comments.
Lyndsay x
Ayurveda, a natural system of medicine, originated in India more than 3,000 years ago. The term Ayurveda is derived from the Sanskrit words ayur (life) and veda (science or knowledge). Thus, Ayurveda translates to knowledge of life.
Beautifully written. I can appreciate that dance between the swirling thoughts and a need to quieten down. I feel as though I have so much to do over the coming months - all of my own creation - so I’m looking forward to slowing right down and spreading things out 💛
I felt very nurtured reading this. Thank you. I'm an October baby, so normally autumn is MY season – but this year have found the leaves are going bare because I even had the opportunity to notice their change. (Which may or may not be a metaphor...) Am also finding that the news and my endless doomscrolling is infiltrating all waking hours, to a point of unhealthiness, so I think some soft blankets, some low lights and candles, some broths and hearty soups are needed to create some kind of buffer from things I cannot change. So thanks for reminder xx
PS Your hallway is so beautiful. I can barely see mine for buggies, muddy boots, scooters and a random stick collection....