The Fruitful Darkness
Cyclical time and our journeys of becoming.
This coming Saturday, I’m teaching at a virtual gathering called Dancing with Darkness. This morning when I woke up at five am, I began to work on preparing my thoughts on some of the themes I intend to teach on, and as I am an external processor and get a lot of my thinking done through writing, this essay is what came out of it. I warmly welcome you to join me this Saturday, I deeply respect the other teachers in this event and it will be a potent way to spend some time on the day that Venus stations retrograde (more on that at the end of this essay). I hope to see you there!
I had to find my way through
I had to find my way through
I had to find my way through
The fruitful darkness
Is all around us
In bloom
–Trevor Hall, The Fruitful Darkness
When bringing life into this world, there is a realm we can enter in between contractions.
In these moments, my mind settled into a space that was deep and dark and unknowable. Many cultures speak the sanctity of this space. Some say the mother’s soul journeys to the stars to retrieve the baby’s spirit. Others describe it as a place between worlds, and that the laboring mother embodies the archetype of shaman, with one foot in this world and one in the world beyond life. Here, mother and child are suspended in the space between of birth and death, the line between them as thin and subtle and delicate as spidersilk.
And then comes transition.
In labor, transition is the moment just before birth—the most overwhelming, disorienting, unbearable threshold. The moment where the mother often says, I can’t do this anymore. Where the pain, exhaustion, and surrender reach their peak. And yet, this is precisely when the baby is about to emerge.
This moment mirrors all great transformations. There is always a point where we feel we cannot go on. And yet, we do. The contractions build, the stillness deepens, and then—everything changes.
The dark within my dark
Is where I found my light
The fruit became the doorway
And now it's open wide
– Trevor Hall, The Fruitful Darkness
This weekend I met a beloved friend’s baby for the first time, which means I met my beloved friend for the first time too, as the person she’s become through the transformation that is matrescence.
Matrescence, for those unfamiliar with the term, is the word anthropologists and psychologists use to describe the total transformation that we go through when we become mothers.
Matrescence is a total metamorphosis. Like adolescence, it transforms us irreversibly—our bodies, minds, nervous systems, and sense of self all reconfigured by the process of becoming a mother. There is no bouncing back. There is only leaning into who we are becoming.
And yet, not everyone who gives birth completes this transformation, just as not everyone who turns 18 actually becomes an adult.
Bill Plotkin’s book Nature and the Human Soul is my #1 book recommendation of the last year. It was sent to me by my dear friend Susan Barnes around this time last year. I didn’t fully know it yet, but I was about to enter a painful, powerful initiation in my own journey toward maturity. One that stripped away so much of my identity, my sense of security, and my beliefs about myself. Only now, a year later, do I feel myself integrating and harvesting the fruits of the painful journey this year has brought me through.
This book holds a circular mirror to ourselves and our culture so that we may see ourselves more clearly. This mirror is a medicine wheel, a model of human development that mirrors the rhythms of the natural world. In a soul-centric culture, development is understood as moving through the four directions—East, South, West, and North—each representing a season of life, a phase of maturation.
On the left, below, you will see the development stages of an ego-centric culture, and on the right, the development stages of a soul-centric culture. Both move clockwise, beginning with birth in the East, on the right hand side. I welcome you to take a few minutes to study them. Just sitting with these wheels alone can bring forward powerful insight.
You can see that in the egocentric culture, most people never actually progress beyond stage 3, adolescence. The term Plotkin uses to describe the state most “adults” are in our culture stuck in a state of Patho-Adolescence—a stage characterized by avoidance of responsibility, fixation on personal gratification, and resistance to the callings of the living world.
Parenthood can catalyze deep maturation, but not if we refuse to meet the requisite initiations into our own maturity.
True adulthood is not an inevitability. It is a choice. And at this moment in history, we are all being called to complete our cycles of transformation and maturation. We have to.
But this wisdom does not only apply to the individual. Time itself moves in cycles. Many Indigenous traditions describe time as circular rather than linear—what has come before will come again, always spiraling forward. Just as an individual goes through stages of initiation, so too does an entire civilization.
The Fourfold Cycles
For a few years now, I’ve been studying the Strauss-Howe generational theory, more commonly known by the title of the book that brought this theory into the world, The Fourth Turning.
This theory describes American history as moving through repeating cycles, much like the changing of the seasons. Each full cycle, called a Saeculum, lasts roughly 80 to 100 years—the length of a long human life. Within each Saeculum, there are four distinct “turnings”, each lasting around 20-25 years, that define the character of an era and the role that different generations play within it.
I find studying these cycles to be grounding as we face the dark unknown of the present moment, because they remind me that the darkness is always a part of a larger cycle, and that life somehow always continues despite, and in fact, because of the realities of death.
These Four Turnings unfold in the following pattern:
1. The High – A post-crisis era characterized by strong institutions, collective optimism, and a sense of societal unity. Individualism is downplayed in favor of a collective ethos.
Historical Examples:
Post-World War II American High (circa 1946–1963): Following World War II, the United States experienced economic growth, suburban expansion, and a strong sense of national purpose.
Post-Civil War Reconstruction Era (circa 1865–1886): After the Civil War, efforts were made to rebuild the nation, integrate formerly enslaved individuals into society, and restore Southern states to the Union.
Post-Revolutionary War Federalist Era (circa 1788–1809): Following the American Revolution, the new Constitution was adopted, and the foundations of the federal government were established.
2. The Awakening – A period when established institutions are challenged in the name of personal and spiritual autonomy. Society focuses on inner values, leading to cultural or religious upheaval.
Historical Examples:
Consciousness Revolution (circa 1964–1984): Marked by civil rights movements, counterculture, and a questioning of traditional norms.
Third Great Awakening (circa 1886–1908): A period of religious activism and social reforms, including movements for temperance and women’s suffrage.
Second Great Awakening (circa 1809–1830): A Protestant revival movement leading to social reforms such as abolitionism and temperance.
3. The Unraveling – An era where institutions are weak and distrusted, while individualism is strong and flourishing. Society becomes fragmented, and there is a pervasive sense of uncertainty.
Historical Examples:
Culture Wars and Long Boom (circa 1984–2008): Economic prosperity accompanied by political polarization and cultural conflicts.
Gilded Age (circa 1908–1929): Rapid economic growth coupled with political corruption and social inequalities, leading up to the Great Depression.
Antebellum Period (circa 1830–1860): Increasing sectional tensions over issues like slavery, culminating in the Civil War.
4. The Crisis – A decisive era of upheaval, where the existing social order is destroyed and rebuilt. It is not just a time of transition—it is a time of rupture. The old world does not gradually fade; it fractures. This period is often marked by wars, revolutions, economic collapse, and mass unrest, reshaping societies in ways that are impossible to predict while they are unfolding.
Historical Examples:
Great Depression and World War II (circa 1929–1946): A global economic collapse followed by devastating war, holocaust, and massive geopolitical realignment.
Civil War (circa 1860–1865): A war fought over the very survival of the United States, leading to the abolition of slavery but leaving the nation deeply scarred.
American Revolutionary War (circa 1773–1783): A rebellion against imperial rule that led to independence, but at great cost and uncertainty.
Each Fourth Turning in history has not just been a time of collapse—it has been a time of mass death, violence, and profound fear.
And now, we are in another Crisis. A time where millions have already died from a pandemic. A time of global instability, war, rising authoritarianism, climate collapse, and deepening fear about the future.
We are all holding ancestral trauma from past crises. Whether we name it or not, our bodies remember. The fear, the grief, the survival strategies—they live in our bloodlines.
And yet.
We also carry the wisdom of those who made it through.
All of us—every single one—are here because our ancestors survived. Some barely. Some through unthinkable circumstances. Some carrying wounds that we still feel today. But they survived. And because they survived, we exist.
And if we exist, it means we have access to the wisdom they carried.
Just as winter always follows autumn, the Fourth Turning—the Crisis—seems to be an inevitable part of the cycle. It is the moment where everything comes apart so that something new can be born.
And this is where I find deep resonance between The Fourth Turning and the Developmental Wheel. Because just as history moves through these four stages, so too does life itself. The Medicine Wheel teaches us that there is a season for birth, for growth, for death, and for rebirth—and that to navigate life well, we must learn to move in harmony with these cycles.
Now, let’s look at how these two frameworks mirror each other, and expand them into seeing how they also map onto the four “trimesters“ of pregnancy and early motherhood.
Mapping the Four Turnings to the Medicine Wheel & The Four Trimesters of Motherhood
Just as history moves through these four phases, so too does the journey of becoming a mother. The four trimesters of matrescence—the transformation into motherhood—mirror both the Medicine Wheel and The Four Turnings.
East / The High → First Trimester (Spring, Birth, Beginnings, New Possibilities)
In history, this is a time of stability, renewal, and institution-building. Society feels united, and there is a collective sense of optimism. (Think: post-WWII boom.)
In the developmental wheel, the East is the place of new beginnings, vision, and clarity—the rising sun, childhood, and innocence.
In pregnancy, the first trimester is a time of excitement and new possibility, but also deep fragility. Much is happening beneath the surface, but outwardly, little may be visible. It is a time of dreaming, of feeling into the future, of adjusting to the first waves of transformation.
The lesson of the East: The seeds of change are planted here, but they are delicate. How we tend them in this stage matters.
South / The Awakening → Second Trimester (Summer, Vitality, Expansion, Growth, Identity Shifts)
In history, this is a time of questioning and cultural revolution, where old norms are challenged, and people seek deeper meaning. (Think: the 1960s-70s cultural upheavals.)
In the developmental wheel, the South represents the fire of youth, movement, and becoming. It is a time of adventure, identity-formation, and bold exploration.
In pregnancy, the second trimester is a time of vitality—energy returns, the body changes visibly, and the mother steps into the fullness of this transformation. The baby begins to move. The world begins to recognize what is happening.
The lesson of the South: This is a time of expansion, when the new identity is beginning to take shape. It is thrilling, but it also brings growing pains.
West / The Unraveling → Third Trimester (Autumn, Harvest, Fullness, Preparation for Death & Rebirth)
In history, this is when institutions weaken, trust erodes, and society begins to polarize. The world feels heavy with uncertainty. (Think: the 1990s-2000s leading into the Great Recession.)
In the developmental wheel, the West is the season of fullness—the time of harvest, but also the beginning of decline. It is associated with maturity, introspection, and preparing for the necessary descent.
In pregnancy, the third trimester is a time of fullness—the body is stretched to its maximum, preparing for the imminent transition. It is heavy, slow, and filled with anticipation and discomfort. There is a knowing that the birth is coming, that everything is about to change.
The lesson of the West: What was once thrilling now feels overwhelming. This is the season of preparing for what must come next.
North / The Crisis → Fourth Trimester (Winter, Death & Rebirth, Identity Collapse, The Great Unknown)
In history, this is the period of total upheaval—collapse, conflict, revolution. The old world dies, and something new is being born. (Think: right now.)
In the developmental wheel, the North is the realm of elders, deep winter, stillness, and transformation. It is a time of reckoning, loss, and ultimately, rebirth.
In motherhood, the fourth trimester can be beautiful, but in many ways it is also a time of crisis.
The body is healing from a massive, life-altering event.
The identity of the mother has shifted forever. There is no going back to who we were before.
Sleep deprivation, hormonal crashes, and emotional overwhelm often make this one of the hardest periods.
Many mothers in this phase realize they are not as supported as they imagined they would be. The absence of the village becomes painfully clear.
It is an emptying-out, a reckoning, a total disintegration of what was before.
The lesson of the North: This is where the self dies to be reborn. This is the threshold between worlds. It feels impossible. And in this moment when everything changes, there is a massive field of potential for what comes next.
We are moving through some really dark, heavy shit right now. The future feels incredibly tenuous and uncertain. Futures that once seemed stable and guaranteed are, for many people, rapidly disintegrating. Those of us who are collapse-aware may have been preparing for this for a long time, but that doesn’t make it any less scary (especially with children).
We who are living get to decide what we do with our lives. Where we put our minds, our hearts, our energy, and our attention matters. This is true in times of great turmoil and in times of birth. In labor, where we put our consciousness in the space between contractions can shape the entire experience. There is tremendous power in our presence, but there is also something greater than us at work. It’s not about controlling everything. It’s not about being hard on ourselves for where our minds go in times of struggle. It’s about deeply trusting that we will show up to the moment as best we can—and committing to that, again and again.
I had to find my way through
I had to find my way through
I had to find my way through
The fruitful darkness
Is all around us
In bloom
– The Fruitful Darkness, Trevor Hall
The Darkness of the Womb, Not the Tomb
December 31st 2016, the night I first met the man who would become my husband, so many of us were holding prayers for the uncertain world we were about to enter as we anticipated the first Trump presidency. My intention for that new year was to be effective. Seth’s intention was to be love. That was the first conversation we ever had, and our live’s work together is a merging of these two core intentions.
New Years Eve around the country every year in Black and multiracial churches, you will find Watch Night Services. They go back to Dec. 31, 1862, when many Black Americans gathered in churches and other venues, waiting for President Abraham Lincoln to sign the Emancipation Proclamation into law, and thus free those still enslaved in the Confederacy.
That night, just weeks before the first Trump inauguration, Valarie Kaur gave an address that lasted just six minutes, but has echoed around the world, having been watched more than 40 million times across the globe. That night, she asked,
What if this darkness is not the darkness of the tomb, but the darkness of the womb? What if our America is not dead but a country that is waiting to be born? What if the story of America is one long labor? What if all of our grandfathers and grandmothers are standing behind now, those who survived occupation and genocide, slavery and Jim Crow, detentions and political assault? What if they are whispering in our ears “You are brave”? What if this is our nation’s greatest transition?
What does the midwife tell us to do? Breathe. And then? Push. Because if we don’t push we will die. If we don’t push our nation will die. Tonight we will breathe. Tomorrow we will labor in love through love and your revolutionary love is the magic we will show our children.
What if, instead of an ending, we are in the midst of a great labor? This moment of collapse is also a moment of potential birth. We are in transition, and like all transitions, it may feel unbearable. But on the other side of that threshold, something new is coming.
This is the wisdom of birth. In labor, there is a point called transition. It is the hardest moment—the moment when it feels impossible to go on. The moment where the mother often says, I can’t do this. And yet, it is precisely in that moment that the baby is about to emerge. The mother’s body knows what to do. And the soul of the baby, some say, enters in that moment.
Right now, as a collective, we are in transition. It is excruciating. It is disorienting. But something new is coming. And where we place our energy, our prayers, and our attention in this space between contractions matters. We are shaping what comes next.
Midwifing the Future With Beauty and Love
The way we move forward matters.
I choose to shape the future with love. With beauty. With art. With relationship. With devotion.
This is not just a personal inclination—it is a necessity. In times of great upheaval, culture, love, and connection are not luxuries. They are what make survival meaningful. They are what guide us through.
And right now, we are entering a moment where we can be in very active exploration of Venus energy in our lives.
Venus retrograde, which begins this weekend is a time when Venus is closer to Earth than at any other point in her cycle. This means her archetypal themes—love, beauty, values, relationships, art, devotion—are intensely present, ready to be worked with, reconsidered, and deepened.
Eight years ago, Venus moved through this same retrograde cycle. Think back:
What was unfolding in your life in early 2017?
What was being initiated that is now bearing fruit?
What relationships, dreams, struggles, or awakenings were taking shape?
For many, this past eight-year cycle has been one of reckoning, of descent, of stripping away illusions. Venus is now retracing her steps, inviting us to reflect, recalibrate, and renew our commitments to what truly matters. And as she moves through Aries, Pisces, and then Aries again, we are called to ask ourselves what is dying, what is completing, and what are we giving new life to?
Dancing with Darkness
This Saturday (which happens to be the day Venus stations retrograde), I will be teaching at Dancing with Darkness, a fundraiser dedicated to exploring these themes. We will honor the wisdom in the spaces between, in the deep stillness that holds the seeds of all things. We will dance with the transitions in our own lives, trusting that even in the hardest moments—especially in the hardest moments—something new is being born.
If this resonates with you, if you want to dive deeper into these ideas and explore what it means to move through this time with presence and purpose, I invite you to join us. Let’s hold this darkness together. Let’s learn from it. Let’s trust that something new is on its way.
"You darkness, that I come from, I love you more than all the fires that fence in the world, because the fire makes a circle of light for everyone, and then no one outside learns of you. But the darkness pulls in everything: shapes and fires, animals and myself, how easily it gathers them!— powers and people—and it is possible a great energy is moving near me. I have faith in nights.”
—Rainer Maria Rilke
Beautiful meditation on America's cycles of growth, harvest, decay, death and rebirth. Thanks for framing it within the contexts of the medicine wheel and motherhood cycles. I think Trevor would be pleased that his song inspired your thoughtful essay.
So powerful and medicinal, thank you for sharing this!