Equinoxes should be about balance. The sun crossing the celestial equator. The day and night of equal length. Sounds so much like September. And so little like March.
Fatigue is apparent, because harvesting and trampling on the winepress brings peace and relaxation.
Vigor is equivocal, because raising to life implies the struggle with death, the light shines against darkness, the dawn kills the night, heat thaws the ice, grass breaks the ground, and something ‘new’ takes the place of ‘the old.’
Unlike an autumnal equinox – where places abound – the vernal one claims one place to rule them all.
Take Easter (a couple of Moon-phases pivoting off the vernal equinox) – the one place of rebirth and resurrection, of paganism and piety, of rabbits and eggs, water and blood, daemons and angels, death and life. Such a stubborn place that it still has a hard time to settle – in the calendar, at least.
Easter comes from Ostara. Ostara is the Saxon version of Astarte. Goddess variants aside, ancient alien stories implied, blatant misunderstandings hoard too many traditions on the point of a single needle. In this one place of Easter, on a calendaristic slippery slope.
Stories that confuse the mind.
History shines in lucidity. Jesus had nothing in common with the sophistication of the land rulers. He would rather engage in conversation with a simple person who struggles to live, to survive, to hope. Because a fisherman or a prostitute, even a tax collector, would have open ears, open eyes, to hear and see The Scandalous News. Because Jesus brought scandal in so many circles, if not in all of them. He is a scandal to religion. The Passover, preceding and prefiguring Him, was a scandal to Egypt. His miracles remain a scandal to physics.
Intentional or not, clergymen and kings promulgated the most scandalous celebration: Astarte, goddess of sex and war, revered on Christ’s Resurrection Day. Not even in separate places, but in the very churchyard.
This time of the year is, really, all about Scandal.
Excerpt from ‘Astarte, the Adventure’
2071, April 7th in Jerusalem – Easter, the adorable bijou goddess, officially proclaims to all the corners of the Earth (and Moon, and Mars), that “Today is Resurrection Day!” Not Easter Day. “Celebrate my name on August twenty because I am not worthy to share my day with His,” said she to the revelatory stupefaction of the audience. Thereafter the cute little thing has beamed up to an undisclosed location.
Unofficial chatter, family gossip if you wish, had this topic on our table with every new spring when looking at confused fellow humans chasing eggs (bunny eggs, mind you), spraying virgins and ladies alike (in fertility rituals), painting eggs (hen eggs, more fecundity rites) instead of contemplating the Resurrection of Christ, or mixing it all up. Me and my twins, we were appalled (still are) at the ignorance of humans. Let’s hope that they’ve got it now.