So, I guess the rain yesterday was a little bit radioactive. I heard, from a Melbourne newspaper (our own government can be counted on to, if not downright lie, at least err on the side of underplaying any danger) that there was some xenon 133 in the rain over Northern California. Xenon 133, among other things, is inhaled by and injected in to people who are getting their pulmonary function assessed. So, I guess it's not all THAT bad, but still....
I love the rain - usually. My street, which is not really a very nice street, ascetically, always looks better in the rain. The backyard garden gets so green, and rain make it all seem fresh and clean. It was also Movie Day Saturday, and rain usually just adds to the comfortable snugness. But radioactive rain....not quite as inducing of feelings of comfort. In fact, quite the opposite. It was stressful. No one wanted to go down into the garage (the steps are outside) to get anything. Even if it wasn't really toxic or bad for you in the doses it was present....still.
And, astronomically and astrologically, there's a lot going on. Last night was the so-called "Super Moon," which is basically a very close moon:
Full Moons vary in size because of the oval shape of the Moon's orbit. It is an ellipse with one side (perigee) about 50,000 km closer to Earth than the other (apogee): diagram. Nearby perigee moons are about 14% bigger and 30% brighter than lesser moons that occur on the apogee side of the Moon's orbit.
The last one this close was in 1993. But this year, where I was, no one could see much because of the incredible storm. (One Facebook friend posted: How can you see a Super Moon through Super Rain?). The wind howled, and literally rattled our door. There was a very slight ceiling leak. The recycling was blown over. The rain was bucketing down.
And when I went to bed last night, I thought, gee, how much fun is tomorrow's spring equinox going to be? I fell asleep trying to think of some indoor rituals, because the weather was predicted to be eight more days of rain. But lo and behold, this morning, there was sun! The roommates and I sat in the backyard and drank it in. My partner gave the lawn a quick mowing, and I raked up the cut grass. What a joy to be able to work the earth a little bit! After all, it's the perfect way to celebrate this return of the light from the underworld, to celebrate the spring that will bring new life, and abundance, again.
And so closely following the dark night - the stress and strife of radioactive rain and house-rattling storms - to suddenly have some hope again, some sense that it will all be okay. But of course: will it? Recent news reports that some of the reactors in Japan are actually cooling down now, but still: some 7000 people are dead, another 12,000 missing, and as many as 450,000 people displaced. "Okay," for Japan, is still a long ways off.
But that reminds me that the equinox, while usually celebrated for its return to the light, is actually about balance: equinox = equal (from the Latin aequus (equal) and nox (night), meaning the day and night are approximately equally long. So, there's just as much dark right now as it there is light. It's very easy, living life, which can so catch us up in its flow and drama, to forget about one or the other. To get very depressed, and become grim, and cynical, forgetting there is certainly wonder and joy to be found everywhere. And it's also easy for some people - myself included - to get caught up in the romp, and bound about like a puppy, awestruck by the beauty of it all, the majesty of existence, all the bright shiny things of the world, forgetting there is certainly sadness and cruelty and confusion to be found everywhere.
I've been working, recently, with these concepts, and especially at trying to bring balance into every aspect of my life. It's not easy, but it's easier than not trying to do it, I have discovered.
And I am once again reminded of the Alan Watts idea - which I believe I have quoted before, but it always bears being reminded of: We'd be bored to death if we knew what our lives were going to be. Literally bored to death - for if you knew how your life was going to turn out, you'd leave it. I mean, no one plays a game of chess if they they know the outcome beforehand, do you? So you want a surprise.
And, naturally, humans being humans, we prefer a pleasant surprise, don't we? But if we knew every surprise was going to be a pleasant one, why, that'd be almost as bad as no surprise at all. So, though we don't know it, or won't admit it, what we really want - really really want - is a mixture of both. Hence, life and death. Hence, dark and light. Hence, storm and sunshine. Hence, love and loneliness. Hence, connection and separation. I needn't go on, for once you see it in one place, you see it everywhere, and life becomes, if not easier, at least certainly a little bit easier to take. (As Jennifer Stone used to say "If you can't take it easy, take it as easy as you can.")
So yes, I'm all for the rain, radioactive or otherwise, I guess, even. But I am sure am glad to see the sun today.
I love the rain - usually. My street, which is not really a very nice street, ascetically, always looks better in the rain. The backyard garden gets so green, and rain make it all seem fresh and clean. It was also Movie Day Saturday, and rain usually just adds to the comfortable snugness. But radioactive rain....not quite as inducing of feelings of comfort. In fact, quite the opposite. It was stressful. No one wanted to go down into the garage (the steps are outside) to get anything. Even if it wasn't really toxic or bad for you in the doses it was present....still.
And, astronomically and astrologically, there's a lot going on. Last night was the so-called "Super Moon," which is basically a very close moon:
Full Moons vary in size because of the oval shape of the Moon's orbit. It is an ellipse with one side (perigee) about 50,000 km closer to Earth than the other (apogee): diagram. Nearby perigee moons are about 14% bigger and 30% brighter than lesser moons that occur on the apogee side of the Moon's orbit.
The last one this close was in 1993. But this year, where I was, no one could see much because of the incredible storm. (One Facebook friend posted: How can you see a Super Moon through Super Rain?). The wind howled, and literally rattled our door. There was a very slight ceiling leak. The recycling was blown over. The rain was bucketing down.
And when I went to bed last night, I thought, gee, how much fun is tomorrow's spring equinox going to be? I fell asleep trying to think of some indoor rituals, because the weather was predicted to be eight more days of rain. But lo and behold, this morning, there was sun! The roommates and I sat in the backyard and drank it in. My partner gave the lawn a quick mowing, and I raked up the cut grass. What a joy to be able to work the earth a little bit! After all, it's the perfect way to celebrate this return of the light from the underworld, to celebrate the spring that will bring new life, and abundance, again.
And so closely following the dark night - the stress and strife of radioactive rain and house-rattling storms - to suddenly have some hope again, some sense that it will all be okay. But of course: will it? Recent news reports that some of the reactors in Japan are actually cooling down now, but still: some 7000 people are dead, another 12,000 missing, and as many as 450,000 people displaced. "Okay," for Japan, is still a long ways off.
But that reminds me that the equinox, while usually celebrated for its return to the light, is actually about balance: equinox = equal (from the Latin aequus (equal) and nox (night), meaning the day and night are approximately equally long. So, there's just as much dark right now as it there is light. It's very easy, living life, which can so catch us up in its flow and drama, to forget about one or the other. To get very depressed, and become grim, and cynical, forgetting there is certainly wonder and joy to be found everywhere. And it's also easy for some people - myself included - to get caught up in the romp, and bound about like a puppy, awestruck by the beauty of it all, the majesty of existence, all the bright shiny things of the world, forgetting there is certainly sadness and cruelty and confusion to be found everywhere.
I've been working, recently, with these concepts, and especially at trying to bring balance into every aspect of my life. It's not easy, but it's easier than not trying to do it, I have discovered.
And I am once again reminded of the Alan Watts idea - which I believe I have quoted before, but it always bears being reminded of: We'd be bored to death if we knew what our lives were going to be. Literally bored to death - for if you knew how your life was going to turn out, you'd leave it. I mean, no one plays a game of chess if they they know the outcome beforehand, do you? So you want a surprise.
And, naturally, humans being humans, we prefer a pleasant surprise, don't we? But if we knew every surprise was going to be a pleasant one, why, that'd be almost as bad as no surprise at all. So, though we don't know it, or won't admit it, what we really want - really really want - is a mixture of both. Hence, life and death. Hence, dark and light. Hence, storm and sunshine. Hence, love and loneliness. Hence, connection and separation. I needn't go on, for once you see it in one place, you see it everywhere, and life becomes, if not easier, at least certainly a little bit easier to take. (As Jennifer Stone used to say "If you can't take it easy, take it as easy as you can.")
So yes, I'm all for the rain, radioactive or otherwise, I guess, even. But I am sure am glad to see the sun today.
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