I wrote about this as a short inspired Instagram post on last Autumn Equinox, when a realisation that sprung from that natural cycle was so strong that I felt an urge to write in more detail about it. Somehow though it stayed in an incubation stage up until now, and I’m trusting it was needed. So although we are somewhat in-between equinoxes, the messages here could apply to whatever stage we find ourselves on the night and day balance pendulum trajectory.
Autumn Equinox, in the season of Libra, which correlates to the card of Justice in Tarot, reminds us of balance - the perfectly aligned day and night, darkness and light, equal amounts of each, sitting together in perfect equilibrium. There’s a certain satisfaction in experiencing that perfection, and I admit that’s something I strive and crave a lot of the time - the sense of perfection through balance. Most likely I’m not alone, and in the spiritual world we are encouraged to seek balance in all. It can become a sort of Holy Grail, something that we must attain, yet more often than not, we, in our earthly bodies and lives, experience how elusive and tentative this experience of perfect equilibrium can be.
On the day when we celebrate nature’s alignment in equal day and night and the marking of changing seasons that it provides, I was feeling into the energies of that occurrence and reflected on how the day and the night are of the equal length only for two brief moments a year (Autumn and Spring Equinoxes), twice in the whole year long circle around the Sun - it’s not even a day long event or an hour, it’s just a brief point in time, like a second of pause between exhale and inhale. The rest of the year, however, is spent getting there, slowly moving away from this coming together in equilibrium towards more pronounced light or more profound darkness, and when it reaches some saturation on either side of the pendulum swing, like with the gathered momentum of the bob, it swings back to the opposite direction.
If we were to take the cyclical nature of nature itself as an example of our own inner nature (after all we are part of it - we are it!), perhaps this equilibrium that we are seeking is not something that can be attained, or at least not as a constant, fixed and stable end goal. Arriving to it and staying in it might be not just impossible, but also not desirable. Perhaps it’s the journey there that matters more, maybe it’s the transitional state that is to be celebrated, aspired towards, and all the stages of expansion and contraction that precede and follow the perfect equilibrium, all extreme points of that pendulum swings are equally important in getting to this balance - in fact, perhaps all of these stages together create what we call balance, rather than a fleeting moment of tipping points. After all, the moment of equilibrium can only be experienced as a result of swinging, calibrating, balancing.
Anyone who’s familiar with a movement practice, or has ever brought some awareness to even everyday movement (e.g. cycling, rollerskating, dancing, balancing on one leg etc) might have noticed that it is much easier to keep balance when we keep in movement, at least slightly shifting the points of gravity in our body - left to right, left to right, as if looking for the centre this way, or reinforcing the stable core through peripheral fluctuation, at the same time creating some sort of little outside movement stressors that make centre tighten up, strengthen and hold it all together. So it’s through this fluctuation that we experience the sense of balance, and not through total stillness and perfect equanimity. If we were to stay in this place of equilibrium, we would simply stagnate. When there is no movement, the core relaxes, it’s as if we lose the sense of centre. And at times, it is a necessary state, just like that pause between exhale and inhale of rest and replenishment. But it is not a place to stay in, to attain and keep, it is just there to move through as a reminder of cyclical nature, like brief reference points - a look-out tower on our path to check out where we’ve been and where we’re heading. If we were to stay in constant balanced harmony we would restrain the flow of energy. Where would we draw the aspiration to seek more, to move towards the light? And how would we get an impulse after that to slow down to regenerate, regain energy, for the next steps forward? How would we learn new things, grow and discover new paths, if we don’t make mistakes, fall and get lost in the darkness?
This nature’s dance of light and dark offers us a few further lessons. Firstly, it is constant and rhythmical - there’s a pattern to it, there’s no unexpected dropping out of it, or random accelerations of process, there’s just steady ebbing and flowing, going and returning, speeding up and slowing down, with no pause and no rushing, something that we in our daily lives and even in our spiritual growth often struggle with - often rushing too fast, burning out, numbing, disconnecting, we take it to the extremes, pushing against nature, looking for shortcuts. Whereas nature is consistent yet every changing - the days get longer in spring very gradually, though slow steady change. Even in the darkest, longest night of Solstice or brightest longest days of Midsummer, nature never takes it to extremes, we still have light and darkness respectively to balance those out, no matter how short - it is always proportionate. There is no phase in the year were it all is just night, or just day, where unexpectedly the earth decides to pause spinning for a bit, and then accelerates later.
The similar principle seems to appear in relation to what’s conscious and unconscious in us, where the same interplay of dark and light balancing each other out occurs. What’s suppressed in the conscious would balance itself out through unconscious, and the other way around, like a see-saw of darkness (the shadow) and light, constantly asking us to navigate closer to the fulcrum of it, allowing both to be, in equilibrium, yet always in motion, with one foot on each side of it to keep balance. We can’t put all our weight on the light side, expecting the opposite to disappear - like a heavy pendulum, it will swing right back to the other extreme to balance things out. This duality in constant interplay is the balance, and it’s through accepting both sides and their connection that we get a sense of harmony, the paradox of duality.
So what’s the deal with the perfection then, what is it that we are trying to achieve when we seek this balance? When we look for perfect balance out there, as a fixed concept, outside of what we are already living and what is already naturally trying to move through us -the intrinsic ebbs and flows of energy, the balancing rhythms and cycles - we are chasing something unattainable, something to pin us down in the illusion of perfection. As Johnson puts it in his writing about owning your shadow in reference to this balanced middle-way place: ‘one cannot stay very long in this middle place, for it is a knife-edge, outside time and space. A moment of it is enough to give meaning to long stretches of ordinary life.” So perhaps perfection is in this constant imperfection and in seeming imbalance. It’s imbedded in constant movement, fluctuation, in opening and closing, expanding and contracting, and being always present to every moment of it - perfection is in the centre, in the strong core that is found through, and as if chiselled away by, endless motions through life, and not in the absence of duality. So we could say we are already perfect, we just need to open our eyes and hearts to the motions of it, and feel our centre, the strength of which is created by allowing ourselves to fully live the polarities.