My partner and I found ourselves doing spontaneous ceremony during the eclipse. We didn’t talk about or plan it. That’s an occupational hazard and privilege, I suppose: we get to/ have to do these things when we’re called. For my part, I continued a series of ancestral healing journeys that I’ve been working with for a few months, and he opened his mesa, lit candles, and prayed in the moonlight.
After my ancestral session, I had to go outside to make an offering. I pulled on extra layers of clothes to protect me from the frigid cold and brought out with me the bottle of mead I’d bought in town. My Swedish ancestors drank mead at least something like this commercial kind and the offering was a way of solidifying the multi-generational healing process I’d been witnessing in a journey. To offer it to the earth under a full moon, during a storm and an eclipse: I could not say no. (Another occupational hazard. The ancestors say “go,” and you go.)
As I stood beneath the full moon at the start of the eclipse, the light almost painfully crisp and clear, listening to the gusts of wind, I had a sense of being perfectly placed in time. I felt connected to thousands of years of history, and centuries to come.
I was between the moon and the earth, between the beginning and end. Between the ancestors and the ones to come. I was making an offering on behalf of my family, and to my family. I was auntie to the future generations and great-granddaughter to the past. Everything converged on this one moment, with me spotlit by a winter moon at its center.
But this moment wasn’t about me, so vulnerable to the cold and bundled against the storm. I am the center point between here and there, past and present. But, the center moves.
My ancestors have been this point, each in their time.
And so will the descendants be, each in theirs.
And the wind will continue to blow and the moon shine in her piercing glory above it all. This is as it should be, as it has always been and will remain, past the time when I am an ancestor and offerings, I hope, will be left for me.