Three weddings and three funerals in three weeks. You don’t have to be a mystic to note the numeric significance.
On my calendar, this synchronous cascade of life-and-death events has been tumbling through the waning Hazel Moon and into the waxing Vine, bridging the dark transition between the two and spanning the Equinox-tide. In my lexicon, we’re talking about the fruits of our deeds and intentions, about inspiration and intoxication, about brief balance and Summer’s decline.
But mine isn’t a jealous Goddess. I’m free to observe that this triad of triplicity coincides neatly with the Jewish New Year — where the same message is repeated. The Jews aren’t the only ones to link rituals of penitence with rites of rebirth, but they do make the connection direct. From Rosh Hashanah (The Head of the Year) to Yom Kippur (Day of Atonement), the devout spend the High Holy Days in introspection and self-reflection and devote the 10th and last day to fasting and prayer.
Fasting, meditation… a deep, unblinking look inward, into our souls? It’s plainly time. The rituals are there to guide us, if the tried and true paths appeal. But whether we do it consciously or plod on through the daily routines and distractions with blinders on — the jobs and meals and laundries and elections — no matter. It’s time to pay the piper. Either we’ll balance our karmas consciously, or we’ll balance them in our dreams. Either we’ll face ourselves in the mirror, or we’ll see ourselves mirrored in each other’s eyes.
No guilt, no blame. It’s as it should be. Age, illness and accident are claiming their due. Love, trust and hope are pouring balm on the wounds. It’s a time of reckoning.