SENTIENT TIMES April/May 2003

The Yearly Round

By Richard Moeschl

The flowers are out. They know it’s spring. And in the yearly round it’s time for all things bright and beautiful and new. It’s no wonder that lovers love the spring. They see their beloved the same way the world looks to the rest of us in spring. In spring, the world also looks the way children see it as if for the first time. That’s the gift of spring. The rain-soaked renewed vision of how things appear in their pristine state.

There is something idyllic about spring. Calendars used to begin the year at this time when the world of nature was just awakening from its long winter’s nap. New Year, new plants, promise of a fruitful year, buds bursting into blossoms.

In some places, the moment of the first plowing in spring is still marked as a sacred moment. As the plow cuts into the ground like a ceremonial blade into the sacrificial animal, the townsfolk file behind the plowman, signifying their participation in the event. The rich soil that drank up the Sun from below in the darkness of winter sleep, now lies exposed, open to the rays of the spring Sun overhead. From these clods will come the nourishment that will feed the crops inserted into the furrows.

Oddly enough, we celebrate Mother’s Day in May, the month of Maia rather than in June, Juno’s month. But June is a summer month. In the calendar most of us are accustomed to following, May is appropriately tucked inside the spring season that began on March 20. In the Celtic calendar, May 1 marks the end of spring and opens the season of summer, so even in that calendar, mothers have a closer relationship to the birthing months of spring.

The early days of spring are the “acting as if” times in the calendar of the human year. The trusting hand of the little child who is learning to walk, who steps forward not out of bravery in the face of danger but with every confidence that they will walk, that they will be fed, changed, bathed and clothed, all as a matter of course. Toddlers chose to run shortly after they learn to walk just as teenagers chose to speed, shortly after they learn to drive. They’re not in a hurry. What do they know of early or late? They’re eager excited happy. They like to feel the wind blowing against their face as they propel themselves from one place to the next. Could it be the same reason dogs stick their heads out moving car windows?

Spring in the yearly round starts with the eyes agog at the newness of the world of young childhood. As the clock keeps moving, we are busy meeting the world for the first time and learning its ways. We revel in our carefree days of no responsibility under the loving mantle of our parents. By the height of spring, we have moved into the exhilaration of adolescence. We are immortal. We experiment with love and have experiences in life we are certain no one has ever experienced before us. We live life with all the stops out. We are invincible, immortal and infallible. We know little of moderation or patience.

By spring’s end, we arrive at the inevitable world-weariness as we stand on the threshold of young adulthood. By this time, we are tired of the way the world works. We don’t like things the way they are, and in our impatience with the slow unfolding of the nature of things, we long desperately to be older, to be able to do the far more attractive things that slightly older people do. As natural as this process is, it is painful both for those going through it and those who have to witness their struggles. Can there be anything sadder than to be in the company of a spoiled child, a petulant teenager or a wilted flower?

Perhaps that is why we are blessed with the jollity of Mardi Gras on one end of the spectrum and silliness of April Fools Day on the other. Sandwiched in between are Lent, Passover and Easter with their profound reminders of the peace, rebirth and renewed commitment that follow after the suffering, death and loss of hope. The enlightenment of spring that can seem so fragile and tentative, opens the way to the powerful Sun-drenched light of truth that will flood the days of summer. And we will take the steps into that season on our own.

Richard Moeschl is an Ashland, Oregon. writer, educator and public lecturer on ancient and contemporary astronomy, the calendar, and the origin of seasonal festivals. He’s the author of Exploring the Sky: Projects for Beginning Astronomers and serves as founder and executive director of the nonprofit Horizon Institute, which provides opportunities for exploring scientific and spiritual perspectives. See the calendar, page 25, for Horizon Institute’s community-wide exploration entitled “On Being Human ...”

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