Clearing

out the unused

Dear reinvigorated reader,

There was no partial eclipse sighting for me in Galway — it was overcast all day, so of course this morning the sun is sailing through uncluttered skies, enormously pleased with all the attention it received yesterday. After all, it is the sun, and we rotate around it, so it is the definition of self-centred.

Fernando Llano’s April 2024 solar eclipse photograph from Mexico.

Some of the photographs and videos of the eclipse were sensational, because it is eerie to witness the occlusion of the sun during the day, even when we understand the physics of it.

I particularly liked this video, put together by weather.com from NOAA’s GOES-East satellite footage, of the sun’s shadow sweeping from Mexico, across America and over Canada.

Scientists were busy in multiple locations launching weather balloons and firing rockets to measure the changes in Earth’s ionosphere during the event. I was rather taken with one of those programmes, NASA’s Atmospheric Perturbations around Eclipse Path (APEP) programme. Apep (better known as Apophis) is the lord of darkness and chaos from Egyptian mythology. He is the enemy of Ra, the solar deity, and is the dark twin whose mission is to overthrow the light of the world. He is usually depicted as a massive serpent, which should not be a surprise as serpents/dragons often (not always¹) have mythic associations with dire energies.

‘Ragnarök’ by Louis Moe, 1898.

For instance, in Norse stories Jörmungandr (the Midgard Serpent) is a gigantic ocean-dwelling wyrm, which circles the Earth and bites its tail to create an ouroboros. Legends dictate that once it releases its tail Ragnarök (the doom of world) will begin.

Serpent imagery surrounds legends around the lunar nodes, which is an important location for eclipses. The nodes are the two points at which the orbit of the Moon intersects the ecliptic (the orbital plane of the Earth around the sun). A lunar eclipse occurs when the full Moon is within 11 degrees of a node and a solar eclipse happens when the new Moon within 11 degrees of a node.

Our earliest ancestors were avid observers of the heavens, because that was their calendar. It’s why so many legendary characters are named after constellations and stars. People may come and go, but the stars and planets tracked across the firmament in predictable paths. They seemed eternal, mysterious, and beautiful. It’s the equivalent of pasting posters of our rock stars on our ceilings, and lying back on our beds, gazing up at them, wistfully wishing we knew them personally.

In India, there is a long recorded tradition of paying exact attention to the location of these heavenly bodies. From that mythology the north lunar node is named Rahu and the south lunar node is Ketu. This comes from an epic struggle between gods and demons depicted in Hindu literature. The short version of which is that the demon/serpent Svarbhānu shapeshifted into the appearance of a god so he could drink the elixir amrita and become immortal. When Vishnu discovered this deception, thanks to being tipped off by Surya (the sun) and Chandra (the Moon), he decapitated Svarbhānu. Newly immortal, the demon could not die. Thus his head and body was placed on two points in the ecliptic, and his two parts became known as Rahu (the head) and Ketu (the tail).

Rahu and Ketu chase the Sun and the Moon with a constant fury to take revenge for the tattle-telling. When the demons catch up with Surya or Chandra, the demons feast on them and cause an eclipse.

‘Boenende vrouw’, Samuel Jessurun de Mesquita, 1898

The urgent need to clear out my closets and tackle some of the dusty corners I mentioned in a recent newsletter seized me at the weekend. As a result I deposited five large bags of clothing to a charity shop in my locality. This was a serious gutting of my wardrobe, more severe than I’ve enacted before. I try to thin out the excess twice a year, but this time I was resolutely strict to any internal protests.

I don’t follow any method, I simply consider how long it’s been since I’ve worn a piece, think about how I felt while I was wearing it (which is often the reason I choose not to put it on), and consider if it represents who I am, now. Clothing as an outward expression of your personality shifts as you mature. There are some pieces I’ve had for decades because they represent something fundamental about my character. There is clothing that’s handy for functions and for events (both sad and celebratory), the sturdy gear for serious cleaning, decorating or hiking, and then there’s the causal, fun stuff we wear around the house or with mates. Not everything can be multifunctional, and I’m happy to retain anything that makes me smile when I wear it, even if it’s once a year.

Yet there are pieces that are more aspirational than wearable, badly-judged experiments or poor buying choices. These days I aim to buy either the practical replacements or items I absolutely love, but every now and again I trip up and purchase something that once it’s home I realise I will never wear it. There can be a weird mash-up of guilt and shame about donating such pieces, especially if they are new, but I try to focus on releasing it to someone else to enjoy.

And when I returned home from my charity shop run I viewed my wardrobes and thought… I should have shed more.

I’ll save that for the autumn clear-out.

1. In Chinese mythology, dragons are symbols of prosperity and good luck.