Whispers of Midnight
By Elle Dooley
It is dark, early in December. I sit in the warmth of my favorite space and imagine I am in retreat from the world. The night is cold. The surrounding desert landscape is still. Neighboring homes are ornamented with Christmas lights. I see them twinkling and winking, but all I can think of is Jupiter, outshining them all. Jupiter, in opposition to the Sun, is as close to Earth as Jupiter can ever be, bright in the eastern sky after sunset. Like handmaidens, four of Jupiter’s moons are visible as they drift across the face of their sheltering planet – Io, Europa, Ganymede and Calisto.
And I love all of it equally, the night sky and the houses with their Christmas lights.
I track Jupiter’s path along the ecliptic. Midnight is approaching. I recently discovered that unaware, I have embodied midnight, in every Season, as mid-winter, the Winter Solstice, the Dead, the balsamic moon. Midnight is the welcoming darkness, the fire, the cup of tea, the good book, the warm blanket, the sigh of contentment, a brief hibernation.
Midnight is the space between stations, the pause between inhaling and exhaling, the fulcrum from which past and present, daytime and nighttime flow.
Midnight is the Winter Solstice of our lives calling us to rest, whispering the invitation to take a long pause, a deep breath. Calling us to the simple rituals that create a respite from the world.
In the pause between inhaling and exhaling, it is always midnight. It is the life phase of the Elder. To be exquisitely aware of the light and the dark, the daytime and the nighttime, the past and present.
