Sometimes our time markers, memory markers all happen to converge. Today is one of those days. First day of school of the last year of middle school for my older son and the first day of kindergarten for the younger one.
Four and three quarters of a year past the completion of the bundle of years we know as the baktun cycle of the Mesoamerican calendar.
Our young people are getting healthy, standing up, using their voices. Unity is on the rise. It is definitely the beginning of an era.
Our ancestors across this continent had and continue to have many different ways of honoring the particular point in the infinite dance of our universe that we recognize today as eclipses. There are scrolls and charts, sculptures and symbols to account for the calculations of the passing of time and the various markers used to keep track of the many cycles we observe. In some cases, we don't know what types of ceremonies or commemorations were held, while in other cases, the ancient traditions are still practiced within vibrant cultural communities.
In my own pleuri-cultural family, lunar eclipses, like the phases of the moon that greet us every day of every month of every year, remain a special and sacred time of reflection, quiet contemplation, care and love. My grandmother would always stay up, notice, watch and sing a beautiful rendition of "big lady moon" in her low lullabye voice, while my grandfather would always join us for a moment, then retreat to his sleeping quarters. The instructions we are to follow as human beings remain clearly written on our hearts, we have only to clear our minds enough to follow them.
In the cities of our Maya ancestors, urban planners constructed cultural landscapes with central plazas in line with the location of the rising, setting and mid-day sun on the days of the summer and winter solstice. Some cities, known for their scientific prowess in tracking the cycles of the planets and starts, contain ancient observatories, perhaps they even functioned as building-sized pinhole cameras or camera obscura.
In 1979 when I was six years old, I attended a Miami-Dade County public school called Comstock Elementary. I loved my reading book, "It Happened This Way," featuring a pink flamingo who had swallowed a pretzel on the front cover. I hated the standardized testing I was introduced to that year. I loved earning cheeze it cracker treats from my teacher by sitting quietly when it was rest time. And I remember the day all the teachers were worriedly reminding us not to look up at the sun. It was Miami's last total solar eclipse, and my most memorable day of school, ever. Kudos to all the teachers, principals and administrators who will do their best to ensure that no kids get solar blindness on their watch today.
As for me, I'm going to take a deep breath, take a few moments to reflect, and prepare to welcome in the start of a new era... maybe, hopefully, the sun will shine on our people once more....
Monday, August 21, 2017
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