October/November 2003
The
Yearly Round
Richard Moeschl
Making
Sense of North Korea
Eric Sirotkin
A
Loophole So Big
Tom Engelhardt
The
Joseph Strategy
David Ehrenfeld
Thieves
in High Places
Jim Hightower
Strangely
Like War
Derrick Jensen & George Draffan
Bush's
Inferno
Pepper Trail
Their
Arms Outstretched Into The Night
Martin Prechtel
On
Slowing Down
Pride S. Wright
Living
As A Free Human Being
Alan Clements
Achieving
Balance Through Passive Movement
Kayla M. Starr, MPH
Yoga
for the Young at Heart
Susan Winter Ward
Cosmic
Calendar
Salina Rain
The Yearly Round
By Richard Moeschl
With October transitioning into November, the calendar moves from September’s Autumn Equinox with its balance of equal days and nights and is taking us toward the winter extreme of short days and long nights.
Perhaps that is why, with the ever-increasing darkness, our celebrations pay more attention to light. There is Martinmas with its parades of children carrying lanterns, recalling images of Sophocles striding about the world in search of an honest man. There is Halloween with its Jack-O-Lanterns whose carved faces are revealed by the light burning within. The proverbial light shining in the darkness. Autumn bonfires fill the air with the crisp scent of burning leaves—leaves which, in the height of their autumnal glory, take on the reds, yellows and oranges of the very flames which consume them. Flames which emulate the dying embers of the Sun. We’ll need to store up memories of those colors for the winter season with its muted palette of short gray days and long black nights.
In time, Autumn bonfires made of leaves will make way for winter hearth fires made of logs. The fire will then have moved inside the house—its light illumining the windows from within like the candle flame glowing through the eyes of the Jack-O-Lanterns.
And all the while, the Sun appears lower on the horizon with each passing day. Its rising position also moves—horizontally along the horizon, shifting further south of east each morning and further west each night. The days of balance are giving way to the new configuration of colder and longer nights under the Jack-O-Lantern-colored Harvest Moon.
While the Sun is busy shifting toward its winter position, flocks of birds fly in front of it, heading to the next stop on their migratory marathon. Below them, ground-dwelling animals—like their human counterparts—are busy foraging, gathering in the harvest, for the lean days of winter. The plant world huddles closer to the bosom of Mother Earth. Trees withdraw the sap from their far-reaching branches and hold the precious fluid closer to their Earth-hugging trunks. People in many cultures pause to express their gratitude for the plenty that has been bestowed upon them. The gesture of the sentient world turns inward, presaging the winter gesture of inner rather than outer activity.
As we walk past piles of leaves and peer through the naked branches that once held them, the world looks and feels different. Like the radiant leaves before they don their brittle browns, we too have our moment of explosive effusion. There is a creative energy in these months from September through November that feels akin to the energy of birthing things.
The quality of this growing energy in autumn is different from the sprouting energy of the spring months and the blossoming energy of the summer months. While there is a certain inevitability about the growth in the spring and summer, the formative forces that express themselves in autumn seem more spontaneous, more inventive than expedient. It is a time for beginning projects. We are goaded into activity with the sharp spur of the fertile moment. The winter will give us plenty of time to mull over and refine what we have produced, but now is the time to begin. At least a rough draft.
It is not surprising to find Yom Kippur and Rosh Hashanah occurring at this time. The Jewish New Year and Day of Atonement draw deeply from this font of autumn’s inspired innovation. The New Moon of Rosh Hashanah speaks of rebirthing. Ten days later at Yom Kippur, it is time to clear the slate of our old misdeeds and begin writing a newer, better chapter. In the Book of Life, Blessing, Peace, and an honorable sustenance may be remembered and written before your very eyes.
You can be lulled to complacent sleep in the drowsy, sun-bathed days of spring and summer when nature seems to be on auto-pilot, sending the plants and animals about on their inexorable errands. But there is no rest in the autumn. Not when the world outside is ablaze in color for one last, glorious moment, beckoning us to kindle one more fire inside ourselves before we shut the doors and windows and settle down for our long winter’s nap.
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
