There is a particular quality to February light that I find uniquely magical and comforting—the way it slants low through windows, casting long, thoughtful shadows even at midday. This light feels like an invitation to stand still and observe, to quietly inhabit the moment and the soft purples and blues of these lilting sun rays, and perhaps turn one's attention inward in a more intentional way.
When you think about it, this is a natural feeling—perhaps we all sense the profound resonance of the earth herself, who seems so still and contemplative in winter. With the sun's face turned away, an entire hemisphere is cast in this cool, slanted light, compelled to still its wild productivity and simply inhabit the season with intention, contemplation, and a quiet yearning for the full heat and light of the sun's return.
In other words, winter has not yet released us come February. The winds still howl and bite the skin. The earth remains dormant, concealed beneath frigid soil, her roots asleep but dreaming. The ancients regarded this seasonal moment as liminal space—a threshold where we are suspended between what was and what will be. We are compelled to fully embody the restorative stillness and contemplativeness of late winter while simultaneously honoring the yearning force of creation that is just beginning to stir below the frozen surface. Soon that force will wake our roots, but not yet. This is a time that deserves to be noted for its own healing medicine: the gift of possibility.
The ancient Celts understood this liminality, celebrating it through the rituals of Imbolc—where both the steely grip of winter and the first whisper of spring's return are honored. It is a season defined not by either/or, but by both/and.
In Celtic mythology, the Cailleach—the Old Hag of Winter—ruled these dark months with her formidable staff, striking frost across the land with each sweep. She seems harsh in her sovereignty, a blue-skinned crone wrapped in cold storm clouds—yet beneath her severity she carries with her an essential gift: a wisdom that can only be gathered from stillness, from the deep quiet of falling snow, in the pause between one breath and the next, and in the promise of absolute transformation.
The Cailleach teaches us that winter is not an enemy to endure but a teacher to learn from. Her gifts are subtle—knowledge conveyed through cold fog and bare branches, through the confrontation of our vulnerabilities, limits, and the places where we've grown stagnant or overwhelmed. She gives the gift of death to those parts of ourselves and our world that have been outgrown, and that hold us back from the next stage of growth. However, in her gift of death is the simultaneous promise of rebirth—and that promise of life made new is Imbolc, celebrated on February 1st as the threshold between winter's depths and spring's first stirrings. The ancients understood the gifts that cold and darkness bring—in particular, they understood that hardship drives us to build and tend grand fires to bring light, heat, and a new, more comprehensive vision to our lives.
These ancient rituals and ways of perceiving align beautifully with the astrological season of Aquarius, which we entered on January 20th. Aquarius—the Water Bearer—pours forth transformative wisdom and truth. Aquarian energy invites us to imagine new visions for the future while remaining present to what is. It asks us to embrace both structure and eccentricity, and to honor our need for deep rest even as we feel the first stirrings of creative energy beginning to quicken beneath the frozen crust of soil. Like Imbolc itself, Aquarius asks us to stay present to the remainder of winters cold, still severity, while simultaneously remaining observant and alert to the beauty and possibility hiding just there in that slanted light.
So what happens then, when we choose to “stay with the trouble,” so to speak—when we embrace the frigid darkness, rather than rush toward spring? What happens when we allow ourselves to truly inhabit this threshold, harsh though it may be? What would it look like to meet winter's cold with intentional warmth—not the forced brightness of denial and artificial light, but with a genuine fire that starts in the belly and radiates outward? What would it look and feel like to practice soft, restorative rituals that center, ground, and prepare us while the world remains tucked beneath its blanket of frost?
The Rituals of Return
The Aquarian season calls for practices that restore the nervous system, anchor us in our bodies, and help us embody restorative stillness. We cannot achieve this through grand gestures but through quiet acts of devotion—the kind that accumulate into genuine transformation. Here are gentle ways you might practice embracing the winter season with deeper mindfulness and presence, drawing from its unique brand of restoration:
Draw the bath. By candlelight, slip into warm water laced with mineral salts and allow the rising steam and flickering shadows to soothe your nervous system. We recommend Aquarius blend for these moments—hawthorn to open and strengthen the heart (moving blood stagnation and tonifying heart qi), ashwagandha to rebuild deep energy reserves and the calm scattered mind, astragalus to fortify wei qi—our defensive energy and immune barrier against winter's invasions, St. John's wort for the melancholy that accumulates in darkness, and reishi to calm the shen (the spirit housed in the heart) and strengthen immunity. This formula addresses winter's core patterns: nervous depletion, circulatory stagnation, and the disconnect between mind and heart.
Turn the lights low early. Our resistance to darkness denies us rest. As evening settles, draw curtains, light candles, and brew Hypnus or Nocturne. Hypnus weaves red and California poppy for pain relief and deep sleep, skullcap to restore exhausted nerves, passionflower for circular thinking, hops for irritable restlessness, and magnolia bark to move qi stagnation in the chest. Nocturne offers deeper medicine with valerian—powerful GABAergic support for those who wake frequently—alongside passionflower, skullcap, hawthorn for the restless heart, and aromatic rose and lavender to calm the limbic system.
Warm your belly. Traditional herbal systems teach that cold in the belly extinguishes agni (digestive fire), depletes kidney yang (the deep warming force of the body), and creates terrain for spleen deficiency (adrenal fatigue and hormone imbalance). Keep your neck covered (the entry point for pathogenic cold) and your lower back wrapped in something warm. Reach for teas that kindle internal fire: Manipura Chai with ginger to kindle agni, cinnamon for deep Yang warmth, roasted dandelion for liver function, wild yam for digestive spasm, and fenugreek to build ojas—the vital essence, our deepest reserves of vitality and immunity. Agni Chai strengthens the spleen-stomach channel with pu'erh's astringency, warming masala spices, ashwagandha for grounding, and turmeric with black pepper, increasing our ability to absorb nutrients and create strong blood. Canto Chai offers the classical chai formula unchanged for millennia—cardamom, Ceylon cinnamon, ginger, black pepper, and clove—because after thousands of years, the recipe still works.
For warmth without caffeine, Hearth offers rooibos and cacao (a heart-opener in every sense), with rose for grief held in the heart and lavender for tension in the belly.
Fortify the system. Huntress addresses winter's accumulated depletion with Siberian ginseng to strengthen the HPA axis and tonify kidney yang, shatavari to build ojas and nourish yin, ginkgo to move blood to the brain, and rose to keep the heart open. Arctus prepares the body for winter's demands—orange peel moves qi and resolves dampness, mulberry tonifies kidney and liver yin, ginger warms the interior, and cranberry provides astringent protection.
When brightness is needed, Gryphon brings movement with hibiscus for cardiovascular support, warming ginger and cinnamon, and rosemary—a circulatory stimulant specific for cold extremities and mental fog.
Create space for wisdom. Consider keeping a journal beside your teacup. Write what winter has shown you. What needs to die so something new can be born?
Weight and warmth. Though it seems overly simple, a heavy blanket provides key proprioception, or sensory positioning, that calms your nervous system. We promise it’s neurophysiology, not metaphor.
When tea is the perfect medicine
Aquarius is a tea specifically formulated to meet the demands of this seasonal moment and its specific energetic patterns—the tendency toward nervous tension, circulatory stagnation, and emotional disconnection. In a real sense, each cup of Aquarius invites you to pour yourself back into yourself, to gather your wisdom in the stillness, and to honor both the severity and beauty of where you are right now.
Winter will not last forever. But while the Cailleach still reigns, may the goal be to embrace what she has to teach, meeting the winter darkness not with denial but with devotion—to rest, to warmth, and to the quiet transformation happening beneath the frozen earth.