The Sunday Weekly is a bit later than usual. And there are good reasons for that. Since I started my Zoom Creative Writing workshops on Thursday nights and Saturday midday, the rhythm of my working life has changed. There are also the other considerations of living in a world riddled with Covid-19. Everything takes longer. Also, a lot of people are complaining of fatigue, myself included. My husband reminded me that I need to not ‘over do’ things and to cherish my back. Living with sciatica during a time when I am unwilling to visit my gifted masseuse means I need to balance walking around time with sitting down time, monitoring how much I stretch when doing simple household tasks.
So something had to give. And for me it means I really do need to rest on a Sunday. I sit a lot on Thursdays and Saturdays; on a Sunday I need to gently move around. And sometimes do some of my own creative work.
While I am working to this teaching schedule I plan on blogging on a Tuesday for the foreseeable future. So look out for a new ‘weekly’ post each Tuesday.
If you like to read it on Sunday, I will be sure to put out social media reminders on that day.
Balance seems like a worthy intention in the week when we will experience the autumn equinox – or equilux as I like to call it. A time of equal light and darkness. We will be sinking into the darkness of winter soon enough here in the Northern Hemisphere. Sitting in that silence and stillness is the friend of creation. Perhaps the intention for everyone in these Covid-19 times is to do less and focus more. It is not the quantity, but the quality we should be considering in all spheres of our lives.
So I shall follow the example of some of the furry members of our household and rest on Sunday for the next few months.
Until Tuesday, may all your own intentions for balance and temperance be made manifest.
A while ago I stumbled upon the different way of describing the vernal equinox. Equinox is equal night. Equilux is equal light. Since then I have tended to think of this March state of the earth as being in equal light as the days lengthen for me in the northern hemisphere. Because astrology as we know it began in the northern hemisphere the beginning of the astrological year is 0 degrees of Aries, which occurs on the 20th or 21st of March each year, with spring’s waxing light.
This year the equilux, or vernal equinox, coincides with the March full moon. Which means that the moon in residing in the sign opposite the sun, Libra, the time of the autumn equinox. Native Americans and agrarian people who did not live their life by a twelve month calendar named each moon. The March moon in variantly knows as the Storm Moon or Chaste Moon; it is also called Worm moon as farmers would rely on earth worms to be doing their bit to prepare the soil for crop planting.
Today’s poetry practice is imformed by the earth. It’s the third supermoon in as many months, as well as the last one of 2019. That means that the moon is appearing very up close and personal, very large and looming. In Ireland, we’ve had a great deal of cloud cover. We have low cloud again today, so I have no high hopes of moon bathing tonight.
Equilux at Storm Moon
The world tree at rest on its axis, perfectly poised between light and dark, before roots and leaves topsy-turvy will follow sun's light. Howsoever: tonight it will bask in full moonlight, unbalancing the sun's equilux.
On his deathbed Goethe is said to have cried out with his last breath, quote: "More light! More light"
I am not sure why the vernal and autumnal points of equal light and night have, seeming by default, come to be known as equinoxes. They could just as easily be called equilux, equal light. Today’s poetry practice is inspired by one of my favourite times of year. It is especially dear to me because we moved to Ireland in September. Seventeen years ago at Equinox/Equilux I arrived in what has become my place of belonging after a previously very nomadic life. I realised recently that this is the longest I have ever lived in any place in my lifetime.
There are storms spinning out in the Atlantic.
The sunflowers’ petals shatter in the rock and sway,
their heads splayed. But the bees still come
and feed on summer’s last supper
despite low cloud, a dense afternoon gloom
My husband has tucked the garden up.
I bring the winter clothes down.
The earth is getting ready to say,
There are showers and rumours of rainbow.
Rosehips, haws and rowanberries
Smack their lipsticked lips in the wind,
which alternates hot and cold in September custom.
Sloes wait their turn for frost to
add their snap to jars of gin.
Sometimes the angle of light when I look up
into the sky could bring me to my knees, down
onto the earth getting ready to say,
“Oh, sweet light!”