Eclipses are known to be exposing, and this eclipse season – crescendoing with today’s Sagittarius total solar eclipse (7:43 GMT Saturday 4 December) – has exposed many of the underlying stories that inform our individual paths and our unfolding shared world.
Soul-level narratives – some ancient – ripple and quake to the surface. Fears and longings. Sky-high ideals. Entropic despairs.
And the ensuing Sagittarian questions that ring throughout our nervous systems:
Which story(s) do we choose? What truth(s) do we live by? Where – if anywhere – do we point our compass?
Are we looking into the future with the mindset of:
‘Everything is changing. Fuck.‘ or ‘Everything is changing! YES!‘
Is the ‘writing on the wall’?
Or ‘is the best still yet to come?‘
If you know me at all, you know that the narrative that lies nestled at the base of my heart, that keeps me going everyday, is the one that describes us as being in ‘a space between stories’ (Charles Eisenstein). That the old story is coming to an end, and that a new, far more beautiful story of humanity is on the horizon. Not yet revealed. And that here and now – in this sacred, liminal, imaginal space – we must linger and watch. Listen and deepen. Build and dream. Knowing that we are inevitably headed toward a New Earth. (‘On a quiet day, I can hear her breathing.’ – Arundhati Roy)
However, during this eclipse season, I didn’t feel so optimistic.
The ‘new story’ narrative didn’t slip away for me. It holds steadfast. Always. But the darker side of the liminal ‘space between stories’ has taken over me, especially with that balsamic moon in Scorpio the last few days. (Did you feel that? It was heavy.)
The destruction of climate change, looming and current.
Increasing governmental restrictions, looming and current.
It can feel like both our natural and man-made ecosystems are closing in on us.
And the fear can be bone-shaking. Seemingly insurmountable. (I’ve been seeing it everywhere. If you’ve been in it, you’re not alone.)
My Sagittarian signatures usually make it easy for me to look out into the world and see a fertile field of near-limitless possibility. But recently the posed limits have gripped me. Especially when my partner and I are planning on having children. That feeling of taking on such close responsibility for the next
generation of life. The question arises that seems to eclipse all else: ‘What kind of world are we bringing them into?’
This is where I have to, purposefully, keep my faith alive.
When the new world still feels barely visible. When there is so much more to unfold. And so much work to do. Sometimes the darkness and fear can shroud the light into a tiny flickering flame. No matter how dark things seem to become and how small the light flickers, we must keep it alive. Keep focusing on it, trusting in it, listening to it, tending to it.
This morning’s solar eclipse was conjunct asteroid Vesta – the sacred flame, and our devotion to it – and we have certainly been in a Vesta initiation of sorts recently.
This must be why the delicate presence of candle light is always such a comfort. It reminds us of the eternal flame. Beneath and beyond any darkness – any extinguishing of life – the sacred flame, at the base of our being, in the innermost temple, burns on.
(This eclipse squared my natal Vesta in Virgo, and candles have been lit throughout our home all day today; an altar to the temple-tender herself. My prayer, moving forward, is that I can embody Vesta’s qualities. Her faith, her patience, her humble, consistent, selfless service to the light. Through it all.)
This eclipse revealed to me that – no matter how dark the tunnels of transformation become – as we point our Sagittarian arrows toward the future, and build our bridges to it, one eye must always be kept on the sacred flame of life itself. The flame that is keeping those dark tunnels vaguely lit, whether we see it or not.
All life springs from that fire. That’s what will guide us through. Our surrender and devotion to that which is before and beneath and beyond us… that is what will point our compass toward the ‘next right thing’ and will allow the path to fall into place.
As we exit this eclipse season – the last of its kind for another 8 years – it’s a ripe moment to release stories that speak of “no hope” or “I won’t make it through” or “I might as well just give in and comply”.
We must remember that – through gruelling changes, endless loss and, quite literally, apocalypse – our global ancestors kept the sacred fire burning. And here we stand today – their living prayers. As testament to them, and as we d towards our future, we must endeavour to keep our vision rooted in faith, rather than fear.
The New Story has not yet been written. A more beautiful world is on its way.
My Love to all.
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