When Nature Speaks Through Lack

 

Sometimes it seems to me that the real crises in my life—especially the financial ones, those moments of tightening, of inexplicable scarcity, of anxiety that digs into my ribs—do not come from external circumstances but from a displacement of my inner rhythm. I write this in the quiet of dusk, as the daylight slowly withdraws from the windows and the room fills with that particular darkness that doesn’t frighten but instead invites honesty. In this half-light, I begin to see more clearly what I avoid during the day: that every time I force myself to act against my own inner “seasonality,” some form of loss emerges—and often it manifests exactly as financial emptiness, as a halt in the flow, as a symbolic sign that I have separated myself from the natural spring of life.

The more I reflect on this, the more clearly I realize that for me money has never been just numbers or exchange value. I’ve always felt it as energy, as an external indicator of internal order. And when that order is disturbed, when I try to “harvest” in a period when my soul needs to “rest,” my world answers with crisis. Financial loss becomes a kind of teacher, a message, a corrective. Not punishment, but navigation.

Sometimes I think that God—or Nature, or that invisible structure that governs the rhythm of the universe—speaks to us through deficit. Through stopping. Through lack. Because lack is often more eloquent than abundance. It says: Stop. You’ve gone too far. You’re moving against yourself.

Inside, I feel this lack like a cold air settling into me, reminding me that I’ve drifted away from that quiet inner current that guides me when I listen to it.

The truth I’m beginning to understand is simple, though painful: financial crisis is a symptom, not a cause. It is a reflection of a subtler deviation: the deviation from natural cycles.

When I move against them, life resists.

Every autumn, for example, my body and psyche naturally want to retreat, to gather inward, to analyze, to close old chapters, to make a reckoning. This is the period in which nature releases—leaves fall, the sap withdraws to the roots, life slows down. And I? I often do the opposite: exactly in autumn and winter I throw myself into ambition, into projects, into pressure that is not synchronized with my inner reality. And then I wonder why my income drops, why my efforts bear no fruit, why I feel like someone trying to dig in frozen ground.

How can the earth give birth when it is time for sleep?

This is the question I ask myself more and more. And I understand—financial scarcity is not random for me but a sign that I’m forcing the natural flow. That the seed cannot sprout because I’m throwing it into the wrong season—an inner season.

From a psychoanalytic perspective, it’s clear: when the ego acts in rupture with the unconscious, when it does not listen to its own rhythms, the energy blocks. It has nowhere to pour out. Something in me closes the valve. And money—as a symbol of flow, of trust in the world, of movement—stops.

But there are days when I feel the opposite—when I am in sync. Then everything flows lightly, effortlessly. Projects arrive on their own, circumstances align, opportunities appear like birds crossing above me the moment I am ready to receive them. In such moments I feel myself as part of the great rhythm—and my income, strangely or not, rises exactly then. Not because I work more, but because I work in the right season.

Spring, for example—outer and inner—is a period of ideas, of beginnings. Then my thoughts arrange themselves, my energy awakens, something in me unfolds. If I start something new during this period, it almost always develops well. And when I try to begin in winter—the failure is almost predetermined.

Not because I am incapable, but because the world does not support movement that is not in harmony.

Summer—expansion. Readiness. Visibility. Action. This is the most appropriate moment for growth and expression. If I feel fear exactly then, if I hide, contract, withdraw, then—again—the flow breaks. Nature shows me that I cannot expect fruits if I refuse to expand in a moment when the world itself is expanding.

And when I finally saw this repetition—this cyclical movement between action and rest, between giving and gathering, between growth and decay—I understood something that feels almost sacred: financial reality follows inner seasons, and inner seasons follow natural ones.

Everything is one system. One text. One rhythm.

Now I begin to view my finances as a kind of spiritual thermometer. If there is stagnation—I don’t ask: “What is wrong with the money?” I ask: “Where am I out of rhythm? What time am I in within myself? In which season am I acting?”

And often the answer is disarmingly simple: I am acting in the wrong inner season.

When I start a project at a moment when my soul wants silence—failure.
When I push for income when my body says “rest”—lack.
When I demand fruits in a moment meant for preparing the soil—exhaustion.

And I realize that what we call “financial luck,” “abundance,” “prosperity,” is actually just another name for agreement with the cosmic rhythm, with the seasons—inner and outer.

Money is a language. And rhythm is grammar.

I don’t know if all of this is a spiritual insight or a psychoanalytic realization, or both—but I think my life has become softer, more whole, since I began planning according to the seasons:

autumn — for reflection and strategy
winter — for rest and inner clearing
spring — for beginning
summer — for action and visibility

This is my new calendar. My new way of breathing.
And when I follow it, scarcity disappears.

Not because I have more work.
But because I have more alignment.

As I write this, I ask myself—almost like a prayer:
In what season am I now? What is nature telling me about myself?

The answer is quiet, clear, inner:
When I am in rhythm, my life aligns. When I fall out of rhythm—it stops.

My financial crises are not enemies but messengers.
Nature speaks through them.
God, too.

And I am learning to listen. Again. More deeply. More humbly.
Like someone who is only now understanding that abundance is not a reward but harmony.

And that the first step toward it is simply:

to return to my inner season.