Season of the waning sun

You can't divide a circle -- not really. It stays a circle. But we divide it anyway. The circle of the year, divided by four seasons of three moons each, by twelve archetypes of the sun, by solstices, equinoxes, cross-quarter days.

We've been busy. Winter doesn't really have to be found -- it shows up all by itself. But we have to find our way into it. Get ready, line the nest, bring the sunlight inside in one manner or another. Foods canned and stored, bit of sunlight saved to open in the winter. A heat source. And for this family, writing supplies. Get the nest ready so we can forget about it and attend to things like words on paper.

But other things come along. Things need taken care of that have been ignored. Ignoring is not a good policy. Like winter, situations don't have to be found, they grow on their own, out of words and deeds and thoughts long forgotten or barely noticed. It would have been best to notice. It's always best to attend, to occupy our lives.

This time of year, I like to let some things go. Old leaves. Let them pile up and let the wind take them. Thoughts have been sifting down with the falling leaves. Some of them new thoughts, but this time of year, some of them are very, very old.

Ghosts are around, too. Today, in a half-moment in the middle of a busy time, I thought of my Dad. He was maybe 19 or so and he and some of his buddies rode the rails in search of work somewhere. I never saw him like that. Or thought of him being so young. I could see him so plainly, taking that chance, climbing onto that moving train, he and his brother reaching for a third friend, helping pull him into the boxcar. I could see him looking at the world going past him, for a moment forgetting who was doing the moving.

This moon-cycle right now, end of October, is Scorpio. It seems strange to think of Scorpio at new moon and Taurus at full. Scorpio on the light side of things, Taurus on the dark side. It's been in my mind like an old memory what that means. How the light comes into the hidden, into the dark, how the moon fills and fills with the sun's light as the moon waxes, going up and up from Scorpio new moon to Taurus at the height of it all, just before it slips into waning.

Scorpio's regeneration holds the death of things -- the death of things is growing now. Once we've let things go, let all that's hidden come to light, we unchain what's held us bound, untie the past. We hold out hands that are full and let them be emptied. Old resentments fade. Old debts detach themselves and fall to the ground.

When you see how it is that someone can die, then small things don't matter so much. And small things matter. A lot. All there is is moments, so you've got to choose the moments. There isn't time to hold on to old moments that don't count. You've got to count the ones that do. Then choose, from this day forward, to live as many moments that count as you possibly can.

This moon, Scorpio's secrets fill with light, the hidden drifts through the veil and is seen. Once that happens, values are rearranged. Values are clarified. What counts is no thing. When the moon comes full, you'll find your hands empty. This moon is about empty hands. It's about minds with room for moments. It's about staying hungry. Soon, we'll breathe air so cold it will numb your teeth. Soon the fire of frost will ripen in your fingers and toes and turn your cheeks red. Right now, at the edge of November, we're only shaking down the leaves. Something new wants to be born. Or maybe something old reborn. It's waiting for the dead to be honored, moving with the season of the waning sun.