Elemental BEing and the Language of Nature

A reflection on returning to the elemental language of being, where the states we move through are not problems to fix but seasons to honour.

If we began to describe ourselves through the language of nature, we might find a gentler way of understanding who we are.

So much of the modern world teaches us to define ourselves by what is wrong, to diagnose, to categorise, to measure. But the earth doesn’t work like that. It changes by relationship, not by rule. The oak doesn’t apologise for growing slowly, nor does the tide for its moods. The wind changes direction without shame or judgement. The bee, the bog, the mountain, all have their own rhythms and expressions, none more right or wrong than the other.

What if we understood ourselves in this way, not through the lens of condition or imbalance, but through the living elements that shape us?

Someone who moves quickly, full of ideas and restlessness, finds it hard to focus and talks alot, might carry the spirit of the wind, lively, untethered, easily moved. Another who feels deeply and is easily overwhelmed may carry the spirit of the ocean, vast, unpredictable, capable of both storm and stillness. A quiet soul might carry the spirit of the forest, drawn to stillness, rooted in silence, slow to reveal. The anxious one might carry the spirit of the bird, sensitive to unseen movements, alert to subtleties others miss. And the one who sits comfortably in darkness, who feels most alive in quiet, may carry the spirit of the stars, knowing that what glimmers most often does so in the dark.

When we speak of ourselves in this way, something softens. The language becomes relational and sensual rather than clinical. We move from fault to belonging. We are reminded that what we experience are not disorders of character but movements of the elements within us – wind, water, fire, and earth – rising and falling as they do in nature.

In Irish thought, these elements are not separate forces but interwoven states of being. Fire warms the air, air carries the rain, water shapes the earth, and earth shelters the spark of fire within her heart. Every one of us carries them all, though some may burn brighter or wilder than others.

The elements live not only in our temperaments but in our timing. They rise and fall through the body like weather, turning the inner seasons of our lives.

There are times when we are in winter – still, introspective, pared back to what is essential.

There are times when spring rises – when new life pushes through the cracks, tender but determined.

There are times when we live in the full bloom of summer – expressive, outward, radiant, creative.

And there are times when autumn gathers us – when we turn inward again, let go, compost what has been.

These inner seasons are not bound to the calendar. They shift with the tides of our own becoming, through birth, loss, transition, hormones, and emotion. Just as no field flowers all year round, no human being thrives in constant growth.

Within each month, the body also moves through its own elemental rhythm, a living compass of change.

For a woman who menstruates, the cycle itself mirrors the dance of the elements:

Bleeding belongs to earth, the body drawing inward, releasing, returning to physical ground.

The first week after menstruation carries the air element, light, clear, curious, full of movement and renewal.

The week of ovulation is fire week, expressive, creative, outward-facing, full of warmth and possibility.

The week before bleeding, when emotions swell and everything feels closer to the surface, can be understood as a water week, tides rising and falling, sensitivity heightened, intuition deepened.

When we describe these shifts in this way, we begin to see the pattern rather than the problem. We are reminded that what we feel is not an inconvenience to be managed but a natural rhythm to be understood, the language the body speaks, and the elements moving through us as they move through the land.

Many misunderstandings have grown around this, particularly in relation to archetypes. I often hear women say that menopause or hysterectomy marks their entry into the elder or crone stage. But elderhood has nothing to do with bleeding or the lack of it. It is not tied to biology but to the quality of spirit.

A child who has been made to grow up too soon, who carries wisdom beyond their years, may already hold the spirit of the elder. They might be what people used to call an old soul. Elderhood is not earned by age but by presence. It is a way of seeing and holding, an inner stance, not a biological event.

When we understand ourselves through elemental language, we step out of the notion of progress and hierarchy. There is no higher or lower, only movement. Wind yields to calm, fire burns down to ash, ash nourishes earth, and from that earth rises new life.

To live this way is to remember that we are cyclical from start to finish – not linear, not fixed, but part of the same miracle that moves the earth, sun, and moon.

It is an act of remembering, not invention. The elements have always been speaking through us. All that’s required is that we listen, and allow them to name us back into belonging, as the wind names the hill and the tide names the shore.

© 2025 Niamh Criostail and Heartlands Publishing. All rights reserved.