Sentient Times June/July 2002 issue

The Yearly Round

By Richard Moeschl

If all the world’s a stage, capturing the unfolding human saga, then all the stages of that saga can also be found in the calendar. We have our time of Summer soldiers and the celebrated Winter of our discontent. The yearly round serves as a microcosm of a single life from cradle to grave. It is also a reflection of the collective life of the human species, from the cradle of civilization to the yawning grave at the end of the timeline. Where are we on that line? How old are we collectively? Are we infants, adults, or somewhere in between? The kindest speculation places us in the throes of adolescence, slouching begrudgingly toward adulthood. That doesn’t mean that as individuals we haven’t been older and wiser than that. We’ve had our Ghandis and Einsteins. Our Buddhas and Platos. But in the main, we’re all teenagers.

In case you’ve forgotten what it was like to be a teenager, just look around, pick up a newspaper. Teenagers are invulnerable, impulsive, irresponsible, don’t clean up after themselves, pick fights, and are easily impressed with material goods and fame. They lack the kind of experience which tests data and forges it into wisdom. They know how to make babies, but don’t quite get the parent thing.

There’s nothing wrong with any of this. It’s what psychologists call “age appropriate.” In the literature of myths and legends, this group is ripe for a time of great challenge and awakening. It is chronicled in the hero’s journey, or adventure’s quest. You leave home and eventually hit the wall. There is some great trial you have to go through in order to emerge, transformed and ready to assume the mantle of adulthood. In the stories, not everybody makes it through the trial. Some decide not to go through with it and get sidetracked, some end up with the wrong crowd, and others die in the process.

As a species, we are about to hit that wall, or leap over the chasm, whichever metaphor you prefer. We are moving from the Springtime of our innocent childhood into the Autumn of our maturity. To get there, to metamorphose from the earthbound caterpillar into the butterfly winging between heaven and Earth, we have to go through the chrysalis of Summer. And that’s a mess. Did you ever look inside a cocoon? It’s amorphous. There is no trace of what was or hint of what will be.

The days of our lives are wrapped in ambiguity. For those who crave certainty, these will be difficult times indeed. Economic, political and religious fundamentalism will become very appealing. There are precious few human institutions that appreciate ambiguity. Science doesn’t. Academia doesn’t. Religion doesn’t. But art does. Consciousness does. The growing soul does. It honors the gifts that change and transformation can bring, and welcomes the trials of the adventurer’s quest. It takes risks—not to impress each other with foolish stunts, but to expand the envelope, push the boundaries, reach out of the box and embrace the unknown.

The calendar points to the Summer Sun proudly strutting across the solstice sky in June, stretching the hours of daylight further into the night. The light of information-based knowledge floods the eyes, threatening to blind us with its brilliance. This is the light of science and academia. It will take the suffused light of Autumnal reflection and the internal illumination of Winter introspection to bring true enlightenment.

We need both kinds of light, and that’s why the calendar cycles us back through the seasons every year as part of the hero’s journey. We emerge from the quiescence of Winter hibernation, newly reborn, and take our first tentative steps in the still chilly days of early spring. We dance gleefully around the May Pole, braiding our hopes together with the world of nature. We saunter out into the Summer world, cocky and carefree with our late Spring pimples sprouting on our faces. Mid-Summer finds us at the height of our physical powers, ready to make our mark in the world, all the while not noticing that the ground is slowly giving way under our feet and that the sky is falling.

Richard Moeschl is an Ashland, OR writer, educator and public lecturer on ancient and contemporary astronomy, the calendar, and the origin of seasonal festivals. His book Exploring the Sky: Projects for Beginning Astronomers was a featured selection in both the Astronomy and Natural Science book clubs. He serves as founder and executive director of the nonprofit Horizon Institute, which provides opportunities for exploring scientific and spiritual perspectives.