Yesterday, as you will recall, was the spring equinox, which I celebrated not with my usual fête but with twelve solid hours of contemplation.
I may have to do this every year. It was amazing.
First, of course, the weather was gorgeous: clear, balmy-to-warm, and just enough breeze to ring the windchimes. Perfect. I opened the gate as the courthouse chimed noon.
I took a fresh waste book and began writing during the day; whenever I found myself with “nothing” to do, I wrote. I mused, I recorded, I complained, I transcribed bits from “Leaves of Grass.”
I read, both Whitman’s “Leaves of Grass” and Bill Plotkin’s Soulcraft.
I wrote letters. Well, half of one letter.
And of course I walked the labyrinth. No specific topics or problems, just quiet, balanced walks. Every now and then the morbid part of my mind will escape its restraints, and I will find myself grieving over some putative future time when we have sold the house and are moving, either into a smaller house or some kind of protective custody, and I have to take that “last walk” on my beautiful labyrinth. But last night, as I was exiting the labyrinth and those thoughts began to bubble up, I said, out loud, “That may be, but this is not that walk. This is not the consciously last time I walk this labyrinth.” I think that will be my mantra of gratitude every time I walk.
A little after 7:00 pm, I got up to light the fire, and was astonished to see:
Yes, that’s the westpoint bowl, but look at it: it’s bathed in light, a perfect rectangle.
It’s a reflection of the setting sun on the back windows of the basement, and on the equinox, apparently, we get this stupendously woo-tastic effect.
So, future generations, after the Current Administration throws us all into Mr. Burns: a post-electric play territory, remember that you have a marker for when the sun is making its shift to summer.
Over the course of the day and night, we had a handful of visitors. No huge rush. No conflicting woo-needs.
Finally, after everyone else had left and/or gone to bed, I was alone again. I walked the labyrinth more than a couple of times, dreamed at the fire, and was in general in a state of gratitude for the day and for the space and for the people.
As midnight chimed, I extinguished the fire and closed the gate.
 This is assuming of course that the house is not burned to the ground.