“Despite the threat of bears attacking them, I fill my bird feeders one more time. The sound of the seeds as they slide & sift their way into the confines of their metal container, is, today, essential to my sanity. These rituals of normalcy remain in the foreground of my day, a simple device to define the flow of correct relationship, to myself, and to others. For this eclipse day is fraught with ideas, and feelings, that are hard to pin down. At one turn, a primal fear of losing the familiar, at the next, a celebrated return to the light that brought us here, to live, and let live. For as long as we’ve been here, yet we relentlessly question the actual meaning of what it is, to exist on a planet, under sun, moon and stars. The placing of the kettle on the hob, another ritual, signals all is well, for the moment. Who would be so foolish to assume that things will remain as they have been? But it is our task to try, at least, as long as there is air enough to breathe, and space enough to love anything, and the impulse, however faint or disheartened, to push against the darkness; all of this, continues, within these tiny gestures of home, and hearth. And as people begin to gather, bringing armfuls of tulips, bottles of local wine, special bakery treats in a pink box, children, their troubles, and lawn chairs, this is how we’ve chosen to meet an impending doom, which may, or may not, happen. No one knows where to park, because no one expected to be here, not really, until they decided last minute, to come. The usual friendly grass paths are barely free of snow; the town has seemingly forgotten to plow an important school bus turn-around where we often send our cars, but stress is not what we’re here for, though it may be what we arrive with. Life has been simmering at a low boil, for many. Which is why we turn it over and over, and give it over, on this day of the eclipse, to some higher team we imagine might be working in our favor. There is fortitude in numbers, when those who gather are dedicated to what’s real. As an experiment, we build a fire atop a tower of snow. Others have retreated to the yurt, to build an altar, of natural, found materials, amidst flowers hung upside down, from branch-like rafters. No one is missing who has not come, because all are here. Asked to bring an offering, I deposit a small pile of sunflower seeds, onto a hand woven cloth, that the mice will devour, late in the night. Those who prefer to honor this nest of protection, will experience the darkness in the sanctity of enclosure, while others return to the kitchen porch, for drinks, and lasagna, and flimsy, mass produced glasses. There are many ways to guard the fort of life. Dogs continue to race, and tumble gleefully, through the places in between. They retreat as the sky turns amber, as gray tones unravel over the land and some innate remembering drives them to pull inward, towards humans, and what they perceive as safety and the structures of man. Roosters are beginning to crow, down in the hollow, where the rivers are raging with spring melt. Someone catches the first sliver of one heavenly body, crossing precipitously onto the body of another. Perhaps we are wondering how intersections of big things, can make all the world, change. Somewhere, phones have gone missing, except as relates to their camera function. We seem to know enough, suddenly, to stop dividing our attention, from what is right in front of us. And as the ring of fire becomes evident, as a trippy sense of “where are we now” overcomes us, forcing us into some kind of giddy, delicious camaraderie, which looks like tears, or breakdown, or fascination, or awe, we become still. More like ourselves than we knew we could be, more connected than we knew we had in us, but created together intuitively, unplanned. I can only say that the gratitude and beauty of the tribe: be it Vermont, or a mountain neighborhood, or the larger tribe of invisible others we love, or just those around us, counted on one hand, is palpably moving, like the softest tidal undertow. Going in both directions at once, pulling us in, and spitting us out the other side, well, folks, we are the ones we’ve been waiting for. All that I can reach, all that you can reach, its just one, amazing, unfathomable surge of power. I hope noticing this will give you courage, as for me, to recognize, our collective divine spirit, flooding in, over all the mishaps, misfires and failures we think define us. Pulling out, along with toxic elements, what seems like an eternal ending. Because believe you me, this is just where we start.”
