A post eclipse morning in France

I’m sitting on the wooden raised back terrace of our old wooden framed Landaise farmhouse in south west France, the morning after yesterday evening’s total eclipse. The house is quiet. A few birds sing a little song before the heat of the day kicks in again. The stream that surrounds the house on two sides burbles along in the background, a continuous source of flowing, sweet water. I feel calm. I feel at peace. 

I don’t know about you, but the whole family felt exhausted yesterday and the days and weeks leading up to the eclipse have felt troubled, disturbed. The energies of life have not been aligning recently. There have been crises everywhere I look, including within my own small family. There has been sadness, confusion and heartache. Even arriving here for a longed-for rest from recent turbulent times, the forest fires began in the searing heat and a heaviness loomed over everyone, either fearing for their own homes and environment or worrying for others less fortunate close by. Calls from friends and family: are we all right? Luckily I can say we have been - for now. Yet one never knows how quickly life can change and all that seems secure can become dislodged and unhinged in the passing of just a few seconds in the march of time. 

This morning, though, the energies feel different. Can it be that a solar eclipse can change things this potently? It as if nature has regained her balance, and with it, so have we. Our deeply troubled society has been created by humanity, but humanity doesn’t seem to have understood that it has been created from Nature, from Creation itself. We are all part of the same thing. Born of the same thing. We are not apart. We are not different. We are not better or ‘above’ the forces of nature. As the human crowds descended on the sandy shores of the Bay of Biscay yesterday evening to watch the event of a lifetime, the sea of green pine forests stretching for miles and miles behind us, you couldn’t help but feel truly part of this beautiful natural world. The full eclipse was visible just a relatively short distance further south on the coastline of northern Spain, so we had a pretty good experience of the shared awe and eeriness that ensues. 

Last time I witnessed a total eclipse I was in an urban environment in the middle of Milan - on the roof terrace of our 6th storey apartment, my 8-month old first born daughter in my arms and just my husband by my side. We hadn’t watched the build up, but I’ll never forget the loss of light and the sinister feeling which enveloped that great city for a few minutes in time. Apocalyptic came to mind. Yet here on this beach, in the company of my immediate family (including my now 27 year old firstborn sharing with me the second eclipse of her young life), two special friends and around 4,000 strangers, the mood could not have been less apocalyptic. Large groups of people were picnicking, swimming and waiting expectantly for the big moment - some watching through cheap eclipse glasses, others through sun hats, others through doubled-up sunglasses. There was a party atmosphere, the smell of weed drifting across us occasionally, the popping of corks and sound of laughter. There was clapping and celebration - a wedding proposal perhaps? - and even a magnificent fly-by of roaring fast jets from the local military base, charging at us from behind the dunes and setting out in formation across the mighty Atlantic into the eclipsing sun. Too quick to catch on camera, but suitably and satisfyingly grandiose to the naked ear and eye, a nod to some of humanity’s own remarkable achievements.

Clapping when the moment came of full eclipse at around 8.12pm, not total for us, but pretty near as the eerie light descended. We rushed into the sea to have the only eclipse sea swim of our lifetime - especially at my age - and it seemed the most natural place in the world to be. The dark waves rose and broke on us in a perfect set - the best of this holiday. It was as if the energy of creation was suddenly realigned and harmonised by the rising of the gently nurturing moon in front of the mighty life-giving sun - a re-balancing of the yin and yang energies, of the feminine over the masculine. As if a wise old woman had told a strident young man in the peak of his powers that it was time to calm down. To stop rattling his sabre. To relax into the feminine energies of unconditional love, harmony and just ‘being’ rather than getting lost in the exhausting masculine energies of striving, doing and domineering. 

When we got home at the end of this searingly hot, slightly weird, yet memorable day I sat in a deckchair in the cool of the garden looking up at the firmament above me, a sea of black with pinpricks of white lights, some in familiar formations, others unknown, their light still projecting across billions of years of creation. In amongst this timelessness, the red flashing lights of commercial airplanes heading who knows where and the steady blink of the trajectory of satellites - a reminder once more of all that humanity has achieved in its efforts to master the skies. And then, suddenly, as if in answer to my thoughts, a meteor flashes horizontally across the sky from right to left, its trail of light momentarily displayed against the blackness of true night, the hours of our 24 hour days when our small planet spins in the sunless darkness of the mighty universe. A humble reminder that humanity is just a blink in the eye of infinity. 

When you see a meteor you are meant to make a wish. Mine is that this solar eclipse truly is the dawn of a new era of feminine energy - of harmony, gentleness, humility and compassion. Now that would be a dream come true.