Seasons as Spiritual Invitations to Spring Forward

Spring is not just a turning of the weather. It’s a calling of the soul.

As someone who has lived many seasons—both literal and metaphorical—I’ve come to understand the wisdom of Taoism as a compass for embracing the natural rhythms of life.

The Tao, in its quiet brilliance, teaches us to move in harmony with nature rather than against it. In spring, that means awakening. Emerging. Allowing life to bloom through us, not because we force it, but because we simply let it.

In the Taoist tradition, everything is energy in motion. Yin becomes yang. Dormancy becomes vitality. Death becomes rebirth. And nowhere is that more evident than in the changing of the seasons. Taoism invites us to stop resisting change and instead see each season as a message, a rhythm, a phase of becoming.

Spring, especially, is the season of the Wood element in Taoist Five Element theory—governing growth, expansion, vision, and possibility. It is the season of the Liver and Gallbladder meridians, which regulate decision-making and forward movement. Just as the sap rises in the trees and the blossoms break through soil, our inner nature longs to stretch again after the inward pull of winter.

But here’s the paradox: even growth must be surrendered to. Forced blooms don’t last. In my own life, I’ve had to learn that emergence isn’t about pushing—it’s about aligning. Just as a seed doesn’t strive to become a flower, neither should we strive our way out of stagnation. We wait, we nourish, we open—and then we rise.

Taoism and the I Ching, or Book of Changes, both remind us that the seasons of life are not linear—they are cyclical. Nothing lasts forever. Nothing stays stuck. The key is to be present with what is and flow with it.

❄️ Winter: The Quiet Before Becoming

In winter, we are called inward. The I Ching’s Hexagram 24—Return (Fu)—symbolizes this: the idea that after every extreme, a return to balance is inevitable. It’s the time to reflect, restore, and rest.

We are often uncomfortable with winter, both outside and within ourselves. But there is wisdom in darkness. Seeds are nurtured underground. Ideas germinate in silence. Healing happens in stillness. Taoism teaches us to embrace this yin energy, to find peace in pause.

🌹Spring: The Rise of Energy and Renewal

With the arrival of spring, the energy begins to rise again. This is the time of initiation and intention. In the I Ching, Hexagram 3—Difficulty at the Beginning—reminds us that all new life emerges with some struggle.

The sprout doesn’t push recklessly through the dirt—it feels its way upward, reaching for the light with measured strength. Spring asks: what wants to grow in you now? What dormant desire is ready to stretch? What truth is ready to rise?

☀️ Summer: Full Expression and Radiance

Summer is the time of full bloom, of fire, of manifestation. It is the outward season, the yang peak. The I Ching’s Hexagram 1—Creative Force (Qian)—represents pure potential and dynamic energy. In summer, we are called to act, to express, to embody the visions born in spring. But even fire must be tended with care. Summer is a reminder not to burn out, but to shine wisely. Not every bright thing lasts. Our energy must be cycled, not spent.

🌴Fall: Letting Go and Harvest

As the days cool and the leaves fall, we enter autumn—the season of reflection, gratitude, and letting go. Hexagram 23—Splitting Apart (Bo)—signals a time of shedding, of releasing what is no longer aligned. Autumn teaches us the grace of endings. The art of detachment. The maturity to know that letting go is not loss—it’s space-making. Every harvest contains both abundance and decay. We gather what serves us and compost the rest.

Flowing With the Tao, Not Against It

In all of this, Taoism offers a powerful, liberating truth: nothing is broken. Nothing is wasted. Each season is exactly what it needs to be. Our job is not to control it—but to participate in it consciously. To live in rhythm with life, not in resistance to it.

When we align with nature’s circadian wisdom, we begin to find deeper peace. We stop forcing growth in winter. We stop clinging to blooms in fall. We become more fluid, more spacious, more whole. The Tao is not about arrival. It’s about attunement.

As I walk each morning beneath the early light of spring, I feel the subtle pulsing of something inside me coming alive again. Not through ambition, but through acceptance. This, I believe, is the most hopeful truth Taoism teaches: you don’t have to do anything to be in tune with life. You just have to be.

So I ask you: what season are you in right now, within your own soul?

And are you resisting it—or allowing it to carry you to the next becoming?