Spring Equinox 2012

Spring Equinox 2012 - a reading (on YouTube)


Whan that aprill with his shoures soote
The droghte of march hath perced to the roote,
And bathed every veyne in swich licour
Of which vertu engendred is the flour;
Whan zephirus eek with his sweete breeth
Inspired hath in every holt and heeth
Tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne
Hath in the ram his halve cours yronne,
And smale foweles maken melodye,
That slepen al the nyght with open ye
(so priketh hem nature in hir corages);
Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages...

- Geoffrey Chaucer


When spring had brought forth lush flowers in every grove and field and the weather had turned nice, the minds of medieval people turned toward pilgrimage. Their destinations might be a small shrine just a day or two away, a massive cathedral (a crusade in stone) nearer the cultural center of their society or even one of the holy sites beyond the very edge of their civilization. They traveled for a variety of reasons, to seek forgiveness of a wrong, to seek healing, even just to go, to get out in the fresh air and see someplace new. Upon reaching their destinations, pilgrims collected badges bearing devices as confirmation, a scallop for Santiago de Compostela, crossed keys for Rome, palms for Jerusalem.

We don't often make pilgrimages anymore. Or perhaps we do. Weddings and funerals have become our modern pilgrimages. Weddings especially often involve churches or some other meaningful shrine, whether to art or nature. We travel long distances to attend, hopefully somewhere with nice weather in the spring or early summer. Weddings can be redemptive. Nothing heals the soul like seeing two people you care about commit their lives to one another and witnessing the happiness their celebration brings.

Eighteen years ago, just days before our marriage, my then bride and I took our wedding party on a pilgrimage of sorts. We packed everyone into cars and drove over to the east coast of Florida where my wife and I had gone to university, her for a master’s degree, me for a bachelor’s. A friend, who was a member of our wedding party, had always dreamed of watching the sun rise and set over the ocean. I liked the idea so much that we co-opted it. In Florida, it was easier to arrange than had we lived in, say, Kansas.

Our wedding ceremony was patterned on the ancient premise that the world is composed of four elements, earth, air, fire and water, linked by a universal whole. We had used that principle in making mead, an avocation we’d picked up in a medieval society during our time at school. The botanical gardens on campus figured prominently in that activity at the time. That garden, aptly called the Jungle, with its rivulets, paths and pagodas became the object of our pilgrimage, not so much for the site itself but for the peace and tranquility we both remembered there.

Each of the couples in our wedding party represented one of the four elements, with our master of ceremonies being the spirit that linked them all. As such, we asked each of them to carry a particular stone throughout the entire day, jade for earth, moonstone for air, carnelian for fire, mother-of-pearl for water, and a multi-point quartz crystal broken in two for spirit. The men carried the appropriate stones for me, the women for my bride. Plus we each carried a stone of our choosing for the other. We handed them out at sunrise on the beach overlooking the Atlantic then collected them on a different beach as we watched sunset over the Gulf of Mexico.

Those stones went into small leather bags with long straps. I wore mine around my neck at the ceremony and under my shirt at work for a long time after, including the weeks I spent at sea without her that spring and summer. For me, the bundle served as a marker, a pilgrim’s badge if you will, a reminder of the day and all it meant. We ended up replacing the original leather bags that housed the stones some years later. Wearing them so long against our skin had taken its toll. But we each still have them, along with all the stones. As it turns out, the moonstone is one of the last physical reminders I have of the man who stood beside me at the ceremony, one of the witnesses who signed our marriage license.

Out in the Jungle, we talked about marriage and commitment, asking each of the couples what it meant to them. All were married, some for many years, some only a few, some still, some not, some again. In ways, that day is as or more meaningful than the day of our wedding itself. It resonates deeper. Perhaps, that’s because it was based on no societal traditions, just symbols of our own choosing. Perhaps, it’s because on the actual day I spent too much time having slivers of my soul trapped in pictures. Or, perhaps, it’s because I wore that marker against my skin for so long afterward.

So what, you ask, does any of this have to do with the spring equinox? Well, that day, not any particular date in March, marks my wife's and my anniversary. Like the stones, we chose the day specifically for its symbolic meaning, a day made up of equal parts of light and darkness where the light was waxing rather than waning. We both saw our wedding as a marriage of equals and still do to this day, eighteen years later.

Happy anniversary, my love. Even weighing all the joy and tears that have followed, I would make that pilgrimage with you again today. I hope our light is waxing still.


© 2012 Edward P. Morgan III