Between Worlds: The Wisdom of Waiting
The champagne has settled. The clock has turned. The world says the new year has begun.
But something the Old Ways understood still lingers in the air: the year has not yet truly opened.
In the traditions I study, this time has names. Yule marks the return of the light at Winter Solstice — the longest night surrendering to the slow return of the Sun. Imbolc, around February 1st, celebrates the first stirring of Spring beneath frozen ground. You might know its modern echo as Groundhog Day, which kept the ancient question alive: Is the Earth ready to wake?
But the weeks between these markers? The ancestors called this time "between worlds" — a quiet hinge where fate settles before new growth can take root.
I find so much wisdom in this.
Nothing is forced here. This isn't "after New Year's." This is sacred pause.
What the Quiet Days Teach
The Earth has begun to stir beneath frozen ground. Seeds are responding to returning light. But nothing rushes forward. The Sun has returned, yes — but it is still gentle. And gentle light requires patience.
This is a time for:
Observation, not intention setting. Quiet order, not forced manifestation. Tending your hearth, not calling change.
What remains present now will grow later. What falls away now was never meant to cross the threshold.
Luck Favors the Ready
Being ready isn't the same as rushing.
True readiness is about alignment — showing up prepared, present, and patient. The opportunities of 2026 are already forming in the quiet. Your work now is simply to watch, notice, and listen.
This is how I approach my mornings: dressed, centered, prepared — not because I'm expecting anything specific, but because readiness is a form of respect. For the day. For what might arrive. For myself.
Make the Entrance
When the moment arrives — and it will — you'll be ready to step through. Confident. Steady. Radiant.
There's something powerful about how we adorn ourselves for thresholds. The sparkle we choose. The way fabric moves with us. These aren't vanities — they're declarations. I honor this moment. I honor myself within it.
The celebration isn't behind us. The real entrance is still ahead.
A Gentle Practice for These Between Days
Light one candle tonight. Sit quietly. Say softly:
"I honor what survived the dark. I allow the year to reveal itself in time. I do not rush what is still becoming."
No asking. No forcing. Just listening.
The Earth has begun to stir. Imbolc will answer when it is ready. And so will you.
With warmth and wisdom,
Silvana Founder,
Raul E® New York The Silvana Magazine
