Spring is not just about flowers—it’s also about death. Because before nature blooms, it must first mourn.
The Spring Equinox is a threshold, a moment of perfect balance when light and darkness hold each other in perfect equilibrium. It’s a time of transition, where the past must be surrendered before the future can be embraced. In the modern world, we celebrate spring with festivals of color and renewal, but the ancients knew that rebirth is never that simple. To truly enter the season of life, we must first confront the presence of death.
The Romans understood this paradox well. They marked the arrival of spring with two very different, yet inseparable, festivals:
- Hilaria: a rite of mourning, sacrifice, and sacred rebirth, where the suffering of the god Attis mirrored the death of the old world.
- Floralia: a wild, ecstatic revel of fertility, pleasure, and untamed joy, honoring the moment when life overcomes death and the earth bursts into bloom.
Two festivals, two faces of spring. One was a descent into darkness, the other, an explosion of light. And yet, both were necessary for renewal.
Today, we rush toward the joy of spring but forget the mourning that makes rebirth meaningful. We crave the flowers but dismiss the soil that nourishes them. But what if we could reclaim this balance? What if we could feel the season as the ancients did, not just with our eyes, but through ritual, myth, and even scent?
The forgotten festivals of Hilaria and Floralia hold the key to unlocking a lost connection to the equinox, one that embraces both mourning and bloom, darkness and light, sorrow and joy.
And it begins with a journey through the scent of spring itself.
The First Face of Spring: Hilaria, the Sacred Mourning
Hilaria, celebrated on March 25th, was an ancient Roman festival honoring Cybele, the Great Mother of the Gods, and her consort Attis. The festival’s name derives from the Latin adjective hilaris, meaning “cheerful” or “joyful,” reflecting the eventual joy following prior mourning periods.
The myth of Attis is central to understanding Hilaria. According to legend, Cybele was once Agdistis, a being of both male and female nature. Fearing this power, the gods plotted against them. Dionysus tricked Agdistis into drunkenness, tied their male organ to a tree, and severed it. From the spilled blood, an almond tree sprouted. Nearby, Nana, the daughter of the river god Sangarius, plucked an almond from this tree and placed it upon her chest. Without a man, she conceived a son, Attis. Abandoned at birth, the child was raised by a goat, growing into a youth of unearthly beauty. Cybele, seeing him, fell deeply in love.
But fate intervened. Attis was betrothed to a mortal princess, and in a jealous rage, Cybele drove him into madness. She disrupted the ceremony, inducing a frenzied insanity among the attendees. In his delirium, Attis fled to the mountains, where, beneath a towering pine tree, he tragically castrated himself and succumbed to his wounds. Overwhelmed with remorse, Cybele pleaded with Zeus to preserve Attis’s body, ensuring it would neither decay nor decompose, symbolizing the eternal cycle of life, death, and rebirth.
A Journey Through Mourning and Rebirth
The festival unfolded like a sacred drama, mirroring the myth itself. It could be described as a descent into grief, a ritual death, and an ecstatic return to life.
On the day of Arbor Intrat (The Tree Enters, March 22), the sacred pine tree of Attis was felled and carried in procession to Cybele’s temple. It was wrapped in violets (the flowers said to have sprung from Attis’ blood) and adorned with woolen bands, mimicking dressing a corpse. The Galli, Cybele’s priests, led the way, their cries piercing the streets, mourning for the god who had died. As the pine lay in the temple, the city descended into madness. On Dies Sanguinis (The Day of Blood, March 24), grief turned into ecstatic violence. The Galli, overcome by divine frenzy, whipped, slashed, and some even castrated themselves, mirroring the fate of their god. Blood mixed with incense in the air, the scent of sacrifice thick and unrelenting. The faithful fasted, abstaining from food as if death itself had taken hold of Rome.
Then, as suddenly as sorrow had come, it was cast off. On Hilaria (March 25), mourning gave way to wild laughter. Masquerades filled the streets, feasts were held, and the city was reborn overnight, as if Attis had risen with it. In a final act of renewal, on Lavatio (March 27), the sacred stone of Cybele was carried to the Almo River and bathed in its waters, washing away sorrow, purifying the past, and making way for the season of life.
Why Sorrow Must Come Before Joy?
We often overlook a wisdom that was clear to the Romans. That renewal is never immediate, nor effortless. Before spring can bloom, winter must wither; before new life can emerge, the old must be laid to rest. Transformation is not a gentle shift but a passage through grief, surrender, and sacrifice.
Hilaria was not just a festival; it was a rite of passage, a descent into the depths of mourning before rising into joy. It led its participants through the pain of loss, the ritual of sacrifice, and the ecstasy of rebirth, mirroring the great cycle of nature itself. Today, we welcome spring with open arms, eager for its warmth and renewal. But the ancients knew a deeper truth.
To truly bloom, one must first bury what was meant to be left in the winter’s soil.
The Second Face of Spring: Floralia, the Wild Bloom
Floralia, celebrated from April 28th to May 3rd, was a Roman festival honoring Flora, the goddess of flowers, fertility, and the wild abundance of spring. Unlike Hilaria, which was rooted in mourning and rebirth, Floralia was a riot of color, laughter, and untamed celebration, a time when the city shed restraint and surrendered to life’s most joyous excesses.
Flora was a goddess of renewal and erotic power, embodying the full force of spring’s awakening. She was not a distant deity but a force of pure, uninhibited life, one that demanded to be felt in fragrance, pleasure, and movement. To honor her, the Romans turned their city into a garden of revelry, where flowers covered the streets and no rule of modesty or restraint could hold.
A Festival of Wild Abundance
When Floralia began, Rome transformed overnight. Brightly colored garments replaced the usual white togas, wreaths of flowers adorned every head, and the air filled with the scent of fresh blossoms, honeyed wine, and trampled herbs. Theatres opened with comedies and provocative performances, where the actors, often scantily dressed, poked fun at society’s rules, mirroring the festival’s spirit of liberation. The most celebrated participants were the meretrices (prostitutes), who took center stage in Floralia’s rites. They danced openly in the streets, laughing, feasting, and honoring the goddess who blessed their bodies with fertility, pleasure, and power. Unlike other festivals that upheld piety, Floralia was a glorification of the body, of sensuality, of life lived without restraint.
Even animals were given their moment of freedom. Hares, deer, and other creatures once hunted for sport were released into the city, symbolizing fertility, playfulness, and the untouchable wildness of life. For six days, the people of Rome cast off their worries, giving themselves fully to joy, love, and laughter, as if to prove that spring had truly returned, and with it, the promise of abundance.
The Fleeting Beauty of Floralia
But like all things that bloom, Floralia was fleeting.
On May 3rd, the flowers began to wilt, the music softened, and the city, drunk on laughter and indulgence, slowly came back to itself. The festival faded like petals in the wind, leaving behind only the memory of its ecstasy.
People back then understood that life is not meant to be restrained forever, just as it is not meant to be indulged endlessly. Floralia was the counterweight to structure, a moment when society surrendered to nature’s raw beauty before returning to order once more.
Where Hilaria had taught that renewal requires loss, Floralia reminded the Romans that life must be seized in its full, untamed glory before it fades.
Scent as a Bridge Between Mourning and Bloom
While reflecting on the Spring Equinox and the ancient Hilaria and Floralia festivals, I realized that their power can be found in scent, too. Even though historical sources don’t explicitly mention many specific aromatics—aside from Attis’ pine and the countless flowers of Floralia—I believe we can still trace their essence, even thousands of years later. Because why not?
Aromatic plants, whether burned as dried herbs, resins or distilled into essential oils, carry deep psychological and energetic influence. They speak to something primal in us, just as they did to the Romans. By engaging with these scents, we can recreate, reinterpret, and embody the spirit of these ancient rites in our own way—through personal rituals, seasonal observances, or simply as a way to reconnect with nature’s cycles.
And remember: for scent to work, you don’t need complicated techniques or elaborate ceremonies. You don’t even need to “believe” in anything. All you have to do is smell it—and feel it. As simple as that.
Let’s explore the plants that can best support us through this Equinox transition, guiding us through both mourning and renewal, loss and bloom.
Hilaria: The Scents of Mourning, Sacrifice, and Resurrection
Hilaria was a journey through grief, purification, and rebirth, and the air carried the weight of its rituals.
- Myrrh (Commiphora myrrha) – The scent of sacred sorrow and sacrifice. Burned in mourning rites and poured into temple offerings, its bitter, resinous aroma clung to the garments of the grieving, symbolizing loss and devotion.
- Aleppo Pine (Pinus halepensis) – The fallen pine of Attis was more than a symbol, it was a scent of transformation. As its sap bled, the air filled with its earthy, sharp aroma, marking the death of the old and the promise of renewal. It shouldn’t be surprising that pines were associated with immortality and resurrection for centuries.
- Bay Laurel (Laurus nobilis) – Worn in wreaths by priests, its crisp, herbal scent was tied to purification and divine awakening, a reminder that grief is not the end but a passage to wisdom. It also brings to mind the last part of the Hilaria rituals, Lavatio.
- Violets (Viola odorata) – The flowers that sprang from Attis’ blood, violets held the fragrance of delicate grief, their soft floral notes carrying the essence of quiet remembrance.
- Frankincense (Boswellia sacra) – The resin of prayer and transition, its smoke rising to the heavens as Attis’ body lay within Cybele’s temple, awaiting rebirth.
I believe that the people of Rome breathed these scents as they moved through mourning. From the heavy weight of myrrh and pine to the rising lightness of laurel and violets, until the air itself signaled that Hilaria had given way to joy.
Floralia: The Scents of Ecstasy, Fertility, and Wild Bloom
If Hilaria was a descent into sorrow, Floralia was an explosion of life, and its scents were just as untamed.
- Rose (Rosa × damascena) – The queen of Floralia, roses were woven into garlands, scattered across the streets, and infused into perfumes. Their heady, intoxicating scent symbolized passion, fertility, and the full embrace of life’s pleasures.
- Clary Sage (Salvia sclarea) – A scent of euphoria and sensuality, clary sage was believed to heighten awareness, dissolve inhibitions, and invite celebration, making it a fitting presence in a festival devoted to pleasure and freedom.
- Bitter Orange (Citrus aurantium var. amara) – The scent of sun-warmed fruit and carefree indulgence, citrus was used in Roman perfumes and likely infused the air as people feasted and danced beneath garlanded archways.
- Iris (Iris germanica) – Soft, powdery, and elegant, iris root was ground into pastes and worn by Roman women during feasts and rituals of beauty. And its scent lingered long after the petals fell.
- Hyacinth (Hyacinthus orientalis) – A burst of color and fragrance, hyacinths lined the festival processions, their sweet, almost intoxicating scent mingling with the laughter of the crowd.
I can imagine that during Floralia, Rome smelled like a garden in full bloom—floral, fresh, and utterly alive.
Blending the Spirit of Hilaria & Floralia
The Romans understood that spring was not just a time of light and renewal—it was also a passage through darkness, grief, and surrender. Hilaria and Floralia stood as opposites, yet they belonged to the same cycle. One led the people through mourning, sacrifice, and rebirth; the other embraced pleasure, ecstasy, and the untamed joy of life’s return.
To truly honor the Equinox, we must not only celebrate the bloom of spring but also acknowledge the death that makes it possible. Through scent, we can invoke these ancient rites once more—breathing in both the sorrow and the exultation, the loss and the renewal.
Based on these ancient traditions, I tried to translate their energetics into three easy and beautiful essential oils blends.
The Scent of Hilaria: A Blend of Mourning & Rebirth
A deep, resinous, and meditative blend that captures the sorrow of Attis, the ritual purification of grief, and the rising hope of renewal.
- 3 drops of Myrrh (Commpihora myrrha) – The scent of mourning, burned in rites of grief and transformation.
- 4 drops of Aleppo Pine (Pinus halepensis) – Symbolizing Attis’ sacred tree, earthy and grounding. Alternatively, you can use Scotch Pine (Pinus sylvestris) or any other pine essential oil you particularly like.
- 2 drops of Bay Laurel (Laurus nobilis) – The fragrance of cleansing, wisdom, and ritual purification.
The Scent of Floralia: A Blend of Wild Bloom & Ecstatic Joy
A radiant, floral, and playful blend that embodies the scent of petals crushed under dancing feet, the sun-drenched air of Roman feasts, and the uninhibited joy of the goddess Flora.
- 4 drops Rose (Rosa × damascena) – The queen of Floralia, a symbol of passion and full-bodied bloom. If you don’t have rose essential oil, feel free to use rose absolute or Rose Geranium (Pelargonium graveolens var. roseum) essential oil.
- 3 drops Clary Sage (Salvia sclarea) – A heady, euphoric aroma that heightens the senses and dissolves inhibition.
- 3 drops Bitter Orange (Citrus aurantium var. amara) – Sun-warmed citrus, bright and intoxicating.
The Scent of the Equinox: Where Hilaria & Floralia Meet
A blend that harmonizes the dual forces of spring—the solemnity of loss and the exuberance of life’s return.
- 2 drops Myrrh (Commiphora myrrha) – A whisper of what must be released.
- 3 drops Aleppo Pine (Pinus halapensis) – The scent of roots, grounding, remembrance.
- 3 drops Rose (Rosa × damascena) – A bloom emerging from the darkness.
- 3 drops Bitter Orange (Citrus aurantium var. amara) – A bridge between melancholy and light-hearted joy.
- 2 drops Bay Laurel (Laurus nobilis) – The fragrance of transition, marking the shift between seasons.
- 2 drops Rosemary ct. cineole (Salvia rosmarinus)– A herb of clarity and purification, awakening the senses to renewal.
- 2 drops Lavender (Lavandula angustifolia) – A gentle, floral bridge between rest and awakening, sorrow and peace.
The Ritual of Scent: How to Use These Blends
- Diffuse Hilaria’s blend in a moment of reflection, as you release what no longer serves you.
- Anoint yourself with Floralia’s blend before a celebration, dance, or moment of sensual joy.
- Use the Equinox blend in meditation or ritual, symbolizing your own passage through darkness and bloom.
In the air, on the skin, through the senses, these blends invite us to experience spring not just as a season, but as a journey.
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