Equinox Lore and the Power of Practice
Finding balance amid extremity, crafting a cyclic life from ancestral rhythms.
Equinox season is here, day and night drift toward the center and around the globe we balance, together, earthen axis holding us true. In my ancestral traditions of the Northern Hemisphere this was a time of Second Harvest—the first fruits of Lammas have been processed, the grain threshed and the last sheaf held home at the hearth. The Second Harvest is apple and nut, root and fruit with prohibitions on when we might find ourselves done—the new calendar’s Michaelmas on September 29th was a traditional end for the harvest season. The old calendar’s Michaelmas of October 10th was the last day to pick blackberries before the devil put his foot in them…
Equinox season is a time of holiness, according to two Old Anglo Saxon sources, a moon of offerings, sating the spirits and requesting divine protection for the dark days ahead. On the small patch of urban land where I live, asters bloom in bright purple while the rest of the garden rattles with seeds. By Michaelmas I will harvest these seeds—plantain, mugwort, sunflower—along with two tiny apples and a handful of hazelnuts. These I will mix into a bannock cake, to feed my ancestors, to feed my family. A tiny feast, celebrating the turning.
I have learned to live in these myth cycles out of necessity. Because of the beauty of the earth, sure, but also as an antidote to despair. We live in a time of extremity, ever more loud and insistent. I see it wearing on those closest to me—the fear, the grief, the uncertainty, the anger—I feel it in my own bones. When I became sick in 2016 my world was upended in a way only equaled by the pandemic—loss of job, loss of self, loss of ability, loss of friendships, loss of financial security, loss of safety, loss of certainty…the amount of loss is immeasurable. The Journal of Social Work calls such losses infinite, because they are ongoing, without end. It is impossible to grieve when we keep experiencing loss, and without proper grief we live in a suspended stasis.
Some might call this still and liminal state depression. It feels like a haunting, the ghosts of what was circling us still, a longing and nostalgia pervasive—maybe for the all too recent past, or maybe for things we have never truly known.
Life was hard for my ancestors—for yours too—most of them experienced losses I have not, and hardships I will not. There was a time in not too far past human history where half of all children died before their first birthday, where dependence on the grace of God or the land spirits or the ancestors determined the balance of sun and rain that secured a necessary harvest. Connecting with my ancestors, feeling their presence in everything I eat (knowing I eat of their bones), in the water I drink (knowing I drink the same water they did), in the air I inhale (knowing it is our breath) and words of blessing I sing (translated from their words), all of this has nourished me. All of this helped me persevere when I was alone, sick and heartbroken. It does not leave me, it fortifies me still.
These rhythms are easy to remember, and easy to abandon. Every impulse of modern culture seems to request a forgetting of interrelationship, not just with other humans living, but with the dead, with the earth, with the generations to come.
What happens, then, when we steadfastly refuse to forget?
What happens when we consciously, daily, remember?
The lives we live are the stories we tell. Lately, everywhere, I see a story of losses continual and ungrieved, the balance shaken and untrusted, sever and division rife. And in the midst, I feel a longing. For reconnection, wholeness, trust and growth.
For the past year I’ve been offering writings on the holy days to patrons—released at the quarters and cross quarters of the ancestral year—sharing folklore, practices and myths to build relationship and find our way home. This moon I crafted the first installment of an interactive handbook, or Enchiridion, the start of what I hope will be a roadmap for anyone seeking—as I am—a root in the real, practices that heal, communion on a purposeful path.
The story of our ancestors is one of challenge and perseverance. Crafting practices around the earth rhythms has not cured my body of disease or made me less anxious about the state of the world. But it has given me the priceless gift of hope, honing my day to day life with purpose and meaning, connecting me in a matrix of being and life. These practices are not elaborate, they take very little time, but they provide me with an anchor in the midst of difficulty. And, I can say this now after living in these rhythms for many years in all sorts of joy and strife, they offer a kind of pleasure rarely discussed anymore, one that is stable where others are ephemeral—that of the sacred everyday.
Here are a few of the ways I celebrate the season:
Rising before dawn, writing down the lunar cycle and any natural observations in my environment before I begin my day.
Eating from the land—even small amounts (dandelion greens are a staple)—with gratitude each evening.
Gathering rain water for washing my face and hands.
Pressing my bare hands or feet to earth and remembering all the lives and deaths that have made my life possible.
Making offerings to my ancestors, human and nonhuman, speaking ancestral words and reweaving ancestral traditions to bridge the chasm of forgetting.
Journaling in reflection and projection—where was I at the last quarter day? Where was I at the last equinox? Where can I find a pattern in my process? Where do my rhythms diverge with the earth? Where do they align?
Planting the seed of my intentions for the season and creating small, achievable actions to support their growth.
Mostly, this work helps me to know I am not alone. The whole world is with me, day to day, in sorrow and loss, in celebration and joy. I come from a long line of survivors. We all do. They live within us, are nourished in an endless cycle of ritual, death and growth. There is a constancy in this loving presence, that may be reflected in our reverent care.
Sending blessings to you in this time of transition. Wishing you the love that is your birthright, connection with your ancestors, the earth, the whole of the world, forward and back.
By this and every effort may the balance be regained.
Here is my Patreon post with a download of the Enchiridion for this season, and more Equinox folklore. You will also find on Patreon all of my Year of Ceremony writings, video tutorials and more.