Yesterday marked the autumnal equinox.
I hunger for fall every year, and all that the season symbolizes to me:
Turning inward, nesting, drawing close to family, letting the crispy leaves that are dying on the trees fall, and become mulch for the next growth season.
It's my favorite season of celebration, too:
My birthday, on the ides of October.
Halloween, which inspires me equally to revel in cute spookiness and honor the macabre.
Thanksgiving, a day to continue practicing gratitude and welcoming abundance.
This year more than most, with so many things to shed and so much abundance becoming manifest, the equinox seemed to me a pivot point within the ultimate balance: equal parts dark and light.
I read a little more about the nature of the equinox this year, and realized that, like most "holy days" I actually knew little about what I was celebrating:
"Although the word equinox is often understood to mean "equal day and night," this is not strictly true. For most locations on earth, there are two distinct identifiable days per year when the length of day and night are closest to being equal; those days are referred to as the equiluxes to distinguish them from the equinoxes. Equinoxes are points in time, but equiluxes are days. By convention, equiluxes are the days where sunrise and sunset are closest to being exactly 12 hours apart."*
By the time I understood the equinox, it had already passed. The sun had moved on past the equator, that moment in time was gone. What I was really celebrating was the equilux, and I didn't even know when that was!
What a beautiful notion to bring to bear on celebration: it is always just a moment in time. It is always about what we are holding in our hearts and minds, what is inspiring our spirits. No matter the season, we get to hold the dark and the light as long as we like.