My Personal Session

I came to this session seeking to touch my inner resources, to quietly gather strength and resilience for the challenges that may unfold next year.

The Imageries

I find myself at the sea, where the water is calm and the world is very quiet. The sun is just beginning to rise, not yet bright, but softly orangey, as though the day is still deciding whether to arrive. Gentle waves touch the shore, and I stand at the edge, my feet resting in the water. Everything feels peaceful, still, and unhurried.

A small hermit crab appears near my feet. I sit down, taking in the vastness of the sea, and notice the crab looking at me. It feels almost curious. Soon there are more hermit crabs around me, gathering quietly, simply being there. We look at one another. There is no urgency, no fear—just presence. One of them stands out: a red hermit crab, slightly apart, as though holding a different kind of attention.

Out in the mist, something begins to take shape. A ship—vague at first—then clearer. A pirate ship. It feels close, yet not threatening. Both the hermit crabs and I turn our attention toward it, sharing the same curiosity. In that moment, it feels as though we are together in our watching, as if the crabs are companions, perhaps even friends. The red hermit crab seems like a leader among them.

As the music changes, the red hermit crab begins to transform. It grows larger, becoming a soft red light, and then a figure—a Spanish lady—appears. She moves gently, not in a full dance, but in something restrained and subtle. She faces the ship, not me, and I find myself simply waiting, observing, allowing whatever needs to unfold. There is a sense of mystery here, and also something tender that brings tears close to the surface.

Gradually, the scene settles again. The ship does not advance. It remains where it is—cool, distant, even beautiful. The sun rises a little higher now, colouring the clouds with orange, yellow, and hints of purple. The hermit crabs have moved behind me, mostly to my left, while the Spanish lady sits beside me. There is a deep quietness in this moment—a feeling that nothing needs to be said, and yet much is understood.

The landscape widens. Trees appear behind us, and I sense the presence of animals. A deer stands at a distance, still and calm, looking in my direction. Its presence feels reassuring. As I take this in, the Spanish lady becomes the red hermit crab once more.

I approach the deer and gently touch it. It kneels beside me, resting its head on my lap, and I sit there with it, feeling a deep love for animals and a profound sense of peace. The hermit crabs follow and gather around us, watching quietly. The whole scene feels almost like a fairy tale—soft, safe, and deeply nurturing.

I remain there for a while, simply enjoying the quietness, the companionship, and the sense of being held by something larger than words.

My Reflection

As I remain by the sea, it becomes clear that the changing elements of the landscape mirror the inner climate I carry into the year ahead. The mist, the rising sun, and the distant ship suggest uncertainty—things not yet fully seen, questions not yet answered. And yet, within this uncertainty, there is no urgency to flee, no need to force clarity. Presence itself becomes the resource.

The hermit crabs, small and seemingly fragile, gather close and offer quiet companionship. They remind us that protection, adaptability, and community often come in modest forms. Even when the weather shifts, there are inner allies that know how to stay, how to watch, and how to wait.

The red hermit crab’s transformation into light and then into a dancer speaks to the way inner resources may change shape when circumstances demand it. What first appears as caution or distance may later reveal creativity, vitality, or quiet leadership. Inner strength does not always announce itself loudly; sometimes it arrives as a gentle movement, a soft glow, or a patient turning toward the unknown.

The pirate ship, though evocative of threat, never advances. It lingers at a distance, reminding us that not all challenges need to be confronted head-on. Some simply ask to be acknowledged, observed, and allowed to remain where they are. In doing so, fear softens, and curiosity takes its place.

Finally, the deer—still, grounded, and reassuring—embodies a deeper resource: calm attunement. In its presence, there is rest, trust, and a sense of being supported without words. As I sit with the deer, surrounded by quiet companions, I am reminded that inner steadiness can coexist with outer uncertainty.

As I move into 2026, with its shifting weather—both literal and symbolic—this journey invites me to listen for my own inner landscapes. To notice what gathers around me in times of change. To recognise the companions, strengths, and quiet understandings that are already present. And to trust that, even in mist and uncertainty, I am not without resources.