In the Shadow of the Sun

Wednesday brings us something unusual.

At 1:37 p.m. Eastern Time, the Sun and Moon meet at 20°02′ Leo, creating a New Moon and a solar eclipse at nearly the same moment.

Across a narrow path stretching through Greenland, Iceland, the North Atlantic and into Spain, the Moon will completely cover the Sun. Daylight will briefly dim. The corona will appear around the darkened Moon. For a few extraordinary moments, something we depend upon every day without much thought will disappear from view.

Here in Northern Virginia, the eclipse will be far less dramatic. The Moon will take only a small bite from the Sun.

But I love the symbolism all the same.

Because sometimes the light does not have to disappear completely for us to notice it.

When the Light Goes Dark

A solar eclipse can only occur during a New Moon, when the Moon passes between the Earth and the Sun. Most New Moons pass quietly. The alignment isn't exact enough for the Moon's shadow to fall across Earth. But every so often, the geometry becomes exquisite.

Sun.
Moon.
Earth.

For a moment, they line up.

And the light changes.

I have always been drawn to these threshold moments—the strange spaces between what was and what will be, when the familiar becomes temporarily unfamiliar.

An eclipse feels like that.

The Sun has not gone anywhere. The light has not been extinguished. Something has simply moved between us and what we normally see.

Perhaps it’s work remembering that there will be seasons in life when something moves between us and our own light. Grief. Fear. Exhaustion. Change. Uncertainty. An ending we didn't choose. A beginning we don't yet understand.

We may look around and think: Where did the light go?

Perhaps it hasn't gone anywhere.

Perhaps we are simply standing in shadow for a little while.

The Heart of Leo

Astrologically, this eclipse takes place in Leo. Leo is ruled by the Sun, which makes the symbolism of a solar eclipse here particularly beautiful to me. Leo is associated with the heart. Creativity. Courage. Joy. Self-expression. The willingness to step into the world and say: Here I am!

Because there comes a time when hiding our light requires more energy than allowing ourselves to shine.

And yet on this particular Leo New Moon, the Sun itself is obscured and maybe that changes the question.

Rather than asking: How can I shine brighter? 

Perhaps we ask: What happens when I stop trying so hard to be seen? What remains when the performance falls away? What part of me exists beneath accomplishment, usefulness, productivity, identity, expectation?

There is something beautifully paradoxical about an eclipse in Leo. The sign of visibility meets a moment of darkness. The Sun is still there. We simply cannot see all of it.

Practice: Sit With the Darkness

New Moons are often associated with beginnings, intentions, manifestation, lists of things we want to bring into our lives. But eclipses have traditionally been treated a little differently. 

They are wild cards.

Thresholds.

Moments better suited, perhaps, to observation than control.

So for this New Moon, I am not particularly interested in writing a long list of intentions for the Universe. I want to listen.

Sometime Wednesday, find a quiet place. Light a candle. Sit for a few minutes without trying to accomplish anything.

Then ask yourself:

What in my life is temporarily obscured but not gone?

Where am I being invited to trust what I cannot yet see?

What part of myself might be ready to emerge when the light returns?

Write whatever comes.

Or write nothing at all.

There is no requirement that every question be answered immediately.

Some questions deserve to travel with us awhile.

Carry On

The wonderful thing about an eclipse is that it ends. The Moon continues along its orbit. The shadow moves across the Earth. The Sun appears again. Nothing had to be fixed. Nothing had to be forced. The planets simply kept moving. Maybe there is something comforting in that.

When we find ourselves in one of life's darker threshold places, perhaps our task is not always to claw our way immediately toward certainty.

Sometimes the work is simply to remain present.

To notice.

To listen.

To trust the larger movement we cannot yet see.

The light is still there.

Even in the shadow of the Sun.