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Meg's Blog

For March 17, 2026: Happy St. Patrick's Day! The Luck of Awareness: Planting Seeds for a Fortunate Life

Note: this is the same blog I wrote several years ago. It works every year :-). My Spring Equinox Blog is posted below the St. Patrick's Day Blog. Keep scrolling down. Happy St. Patrick's Day and Happy Spring! Finally!!

As St. Patrick's Day coincides with the threshold of spring, it offers us a perfect moment to reflect on how we cultivate our own luck. Beyond the four-leaf clovers and leprechaun tales lies a deeper truth: fortune favors those who prepare their inner garden with care.

Dancing with Spring's Emergence
The vernal equinox marks nature's grand awakening—a time when the world sheds its dormancy and bursts forth with new life. This natural rebirth parallels our own capacity for transformation. Just as crocuses push through thawing soil, our aspirations can emerge from periods of dormancy when we've prepared the ground within ourselves.

Our ancestors understood this seasonal wisdom. They recognized that spring's fertility wasn't merely about physical abundance but about the blossoming of possibilities in all realms of life. They celebrated this time as one of profound potential—a sentiment that resonates with St. Patrick's message of renewal and hope.

The Playful Path to Fortune

Counterintuitively, luck often finds us not through striving but through playfulness. When we engage in activities purely for joy—without attachment to outcomes—we enter flow states where intuition flourishes. These moments of fun create neural pathways that help us recognize opportunities others might miss.

Consider children at play: fully immersed, time disappears, and they solve problems with remarkable creativity. This state—what psychologists call "play cognition"—allows us to see connections invisible to the analytical mind. The Irish storytelling tradition celebrates this same trickster wisdom—the ability to bend reality through imagination and laughter.

The Meditative Garden of Awareness

Meditation acts as a gardener of attention, clearing weeds of distraction so we can notice fortune's subtle seeds. Regular practice enhances our capacity to remain present—to see the four-leaf clover amid countless three-leaf companions.

When we quiet the mind through meditation, we access intuitive wisdom that transcends logical reasoning. This intuition often manifests as that unexplainable "gut feeling" guiding us toward fortuitous paths. The Celtic tradition honored these insights as communications from the Otherworld—messages available only to those with the patience to listen.

Dreams: The Subconscious Seedbed

Our dreams work tirelessly beneath consciousness, processing experiences and generating novel connections. Like the hidden work of roots beneath soil, dreams prepare the ground for insights that later emerge into awareness.

Throughout history, dreams have been viewed as messengers of fortune. The Irish "aisling" poetic tradition celebrated visionary dreams as sources of guidance. By keeping dream journals and cultivating dream recall, we access this subterranean wisdom—planting seeds of insight that later bloom as "lucky" realizations.

Hypnosis and the Liminal Space of Becoming

Hypnotic states—whether achieved through formal techniques or through activities like long walks, artistic flow, or even knitting—create a threshold consciousness where rigid boundaries dissolve. In this liminal space, we become more receptive to new possibilities and patterns.

These states allow us to reach beyond habitual thinking, expanding our perception of what's possible. Like the legendary "thin places" in Irish tradition—locations where the veil between worlds grows permeable—hypnotic consciousness lets us access deeper reserves of creativity and intuition.

Relaxation: The Fertile Soil of Good Fortune

Constant striving creates tension that restricts both perception and action. Relaxation, conversely, opens us to serendipity. When we release the grip of anxiety, we become receptive to unexpected opportunities and connections—the very essence of "luck."

The ancient Celts understood this wisdom in their reverence for sacred wells and healing springs. These places of rejuvenation weren't merely for physical restoration but for spiritual renewal—spaces where one could surrender striving and become receptive to divine guidance.

Love: The Ultimate Expansion

Perhaps no force creates more "luck" than love—not merely romantic love, but the expansive heart that embraces life with appreciation. This love manifests as compassion for others, gratitude for small wonders, and enthusiasm (literally "filled with the divine") for new experiences.

When we approach life with this loving awareness, we magnetize positive connections. People respond to our openness, opportunities align with our authentic desires, and synchronicities multiply. This isn't mystical thinking but practical psychology: positive expectation creates alert receptivity to matching experiences.

Planting Your Lucky Garden This St. Patrick's Day

As spring unfolds and the world celebrates Irish fortune, consider how you might cultivate your own lucky garden:

* Plant seeds of intention through playful creation rather than grim determination

* Water them with regular meditation that enhances present-moment awareness

* Fertilize with dream-work that honors subconscious wisdom

* Allow fallow periods of relaxation where insights can germinate

* Expand your garden's boundaries through loving connection with others

The true "luck of the Irish" isn't about chance but about cultivating awareness that recognizes the abundance already present. This St. Patrick's Day, beyond the green beer and shamrocks, lies an invitation to awaken to spring's message: fortune awaits those who prepare themselves to receive it.

The Stone Chambers Are Awakening

A Spring Equinox Invitation to Come Home to Yourself, to Each Other, and to the Earth

There is a moment — and if you have ever lived through a truly hard winter, metaphorically, or literally, like this year’s endless snowy winter in New York, you know exactly the moment I mean — when the light changes.

It happens before the warmth arrives and before the first wildflower pushes its purple head through the frost-hardened ground. It’s the moment you notice the quality of afternoon light, in the angle of the sun across the kitchen floor, and the way the sky at four o'clock is no longer the gray wool of January but something thinner, more golden, and more alive with potential. You can feel it before you can explain it. Something in your body recognizes this light before your mind catches up.

Spring is coming. And this year, after everything we have carried through this long and difficult winter — the cold, the grief, the noise and chaos of a world that sometimes seems to have forgotten how to be gentle; Spring is finally arriving not merely as a season but as mercy.

The Spring Equinox on March 20th this year is one of only two moments in the annual cycle when day and night stand in perfect balance. Twelve hours of light, twelve hours of dark. The fulcrum of the year. In the ancient world, this was not a minor astronomical footnote; it was one of the most sacred events in the human calendar, marked by ceremony, pilgrimage, feast, and fire across virtually every culture on earth.

The builders of the great megalithic monuments — Newgrange in Ireland, Stonehenge in England, the sacred stone chambers of the Hudson Valley right here in New York — understood this balance as a living doorway. They oriented their structures to catch the equinox light precisely, to let the sun speak directly into the stone at this pivotal moment, as if the earth itself were leaning in to listen. These were not primitive superstitions. They were sophisticated, centuries-in-the-making technologies for attuning human consciousness to the rhythms of a living planet.

We are the inheritors of that wisdom. It has not gone anywhere. It is waiting for us in the stone.

Liminal comes from the Latin limen: threshold. A liminal time is a time between: between winter and spring, between what was and what is becoming, between the life you have been living and the life that is quietly gathering itself just beneath the surface of your days, ready to emerge.

The Spring Equinox is perhaps the most powerful liminal moment of the year, and it asks something specific of us. It asks us to release our grip on what is ending and to extend our hands, open and trembling with possibility, toward what is being born. This is not easy work. Winter gives us a certain permission to contract, to conserve, to rest, and to wait.

Spring asks us to expand and to be brave enough to bloom before we are certain it is safe to do so, the way the wild flowers suddenly bloom through snow.

What are you ready to release? What has been composting in the dark of your interior winter, slowly transforming into the rich, dark earth of new possibility? The equinox does not ask you to have the answers yet. It simply asks you to stand at the threshold with your heart open and your eyes willing.

Go outside this week. Put down the phone, close the news website, step away from the noise, and go outside. Look for what is already happening despite everything.

The red-winged blackbirds returned to the wetlands of the Hudson Valley two weeks ago. The witch hazel has been blooming since February. These delicate yellow ribbons of flower open even when snow is still on the ground, as if to say: “I will not wait for perfect conditions. I will bloom in the cold if I must.”

The skunk cabbage is pushing through the mud at the edges of every stream, generating its own heat to melt the ice around it. The sugar maples are running. The wood frogs, buried in the leaf litter all winter, have thawed and are calling from the vernal pools; a sound like distant, joyful laughter.

Nature is not waiting for the chaos to resolve before it proceeds with its magnificent, faithful business of becoming. It is showing us, as it always has, how it is done. You do not wait for certainty. You do not wait for safety. You put forth your green shoot, your yellow flower, your brave frog-song into the cold air, because the light has changed and nature demands it.

Here in New York, in Westchester, Putnam, Dutchess, and Ulster counties, in the hills above the Hudson, there are stone chambers; structures whose origins remain one of the great unresolved mysteries of American archaeology. Some researchers believe they were built by indigenous peoples.

Others point to pre-Columbian settlers, and some are drawn to the alignments with the solstice and equinox sunrises and sunsets that suggest a sophisticated astronomical purpose. My own work in psychic archaeology has brought me to explore my relationship with these chambers, and I can tell you from direct experience: they are alive with something ancient and attentive and profoundly willing to engage with those who come to them in reverence.

At the Spring Equinox, these chambers amplify. The equinox light enters certain chambers in ways that are clearly intentional — illuminating specific stones and activating specific alignments. The energy within and around them shifts noticeably in the days surrounding the equinox. If you have ever been curious about visiting one of the Hudson Valley's stone chambers, this is your moment. Go alone or go with your friends. Sit with the stone. Touch a stone with both hands. Breathe. Ask your questions. Listen with your whole body, not just your ears. What you receive may surprise you with its clarity.

We are living through a time of deliberate division. The noise is designed to isolate us — to make us feel that we are each alone in our worry, our grief, our bewilderment at a world that seems to have lost its moral bearings. But here is what I know, and what the Spring Equinox confirms every year without fail: we are not alone. We were never alone. And the antidote to the chaos is not more engagement with the chaos — it is coming together, deliberately, in love.

Find your soul group this equinox. These are the people with whom you feel most fully yourself — most seen, most safe, most alive with creative possibility. Gather around a fire. Walk together to a stone chamber. Plant seeds in someone's garden.

Sit in a circle and speak honestly about what you are hoping for, what you are grieving, what you are ready to create. The act of gathering in intention is itself a form of prayer, focused energy, a form of activism, a form of world-building. When two or more come together in love with a shared vision for peace, something shifts — not just in the room, but in the wider field of human consciousness.

You are needed. Your open heart, your willingness to stay tender in a hardening world, and your refusal to give up on beauty and connection and meaning. These are not small things. They are the exact medicine this moment requires.

The Spring Equinox invites you to do one radical, ancient, world-changing thing: become a vessel for peace and love. Not by solving the wars. Not by fixing the broken systems. Not by having the right argument or the correct position on every terrible thing. Simply by tending the quality of energy you carry through the world in the way you greet a stranger, the way you speak to your children, and the way you treat the first dandelion of spring, which is not a weed but a speckle of sunlight.

Go to the stone chambers. Sit with the oldest intelligence in New York. Let the equinox light find you there. Let the earth beneath you, which has survived a thousand winters without once losing faith in spring, remind you of your own resilience. And then carry that reminder back into your daily life like a stone in your pocket; something solid and real to touch when the news becomes too much and the future feels uncertain.

The crocuses are coming up through the snow right now. The stone chambers are waiting, and the Spring equinox is almost here. And you, with your longing heart and your tired but still-open eyes are in exactly the right moment, in the right place, at the right time, as always, and as Rumi said, “what you are seeking is seeking you.”

Happy Spring Equinox.

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