At the Waters of the Equinox

At the edge of the valley, the mountain rises in stone and shadow. At its foot the lake lies still, receiving the whole mountain into itself, so that above and below stand in mirrored dialogue. The enduring meets the fluid. The form that cannot be altered is carried faithfully in the waters that yield to every ripple of wind. To sit here is to be taught what balance truly means – not a static line, but a living relationship between what is rooted and what is reflective, between earth and sky, stone and water, above and below.

The equinox is often spoken of as a day when light and darkness stand in perfect balance, when day and night are equal. Yet, as astronomers remind us, this is not quite the case. The equinox itself is the exact moment when the sun crosses the celestial equator – this year, on 22 September at 20:19 CEST. This crossing is what marks the turning point of the season within the Celtic Wheel of the Year, the high point of the water element – the tide of autumn swelling and beginning its long ebb into winter.

But the day when night and day are truly equal does not fall on that date. Because our atmosphere bends light, and because sunrise and sunset are measured at the upper edge of the sun’s disc rather than its centre, daylight lingers slightly longer. The moment of genuine equality – what is referred to as the equilux – comes a few days later, this year on 25 September.

It is worth holding these two thresholds apart. The equinox proper is the celestial crossing, the mythic hinge where water rises highest on the wheel. The equilux is the lived experience of balance between day and night, when our bodies sense the symmetry of light and darkness. The first belongs to the heavens, the second to the ground we stand on.

That distinction, rather than diminishing the equinox, makes it more profound. Balance is never a single point but a passage. Just as emotional maturity does not arrive with one rite or one day, but through the long rhythm of experience, so too balance comes as a tide – swelling, retreating, returning. To stand at the equinox is to stand between above and below – celestial and earthly, sun crossing heaven’s equator and light mirrored in the earth’s own cycle.

This is why the image that accompanies these words is of the mountain I live beneath, reflected in the still waters of the valley lake. It shows what the equinox and equilux together are teaching us – the above and the below, the stone and the water, the enduring and the fluid. The mountain holds its shape, the lake receives and mirrors it. Together they remind us that balance is not a frozen instant, but a living dialogue – harmony between what stands firm and what yields.

The equinox asks us for balance – not only in the heavens, but in our inner waters. And the measure of that balance is emotional maturity. To meet this season well is to learn not to silence or suppress, nor to spill our waters in over-reaction, but to hold depth with honesty. Emotional maturity is the ability to feel fully without drowning in it, to bear shadow without projecting it onto others, to find steadiness in the swell.

The Enchantress archetype rises in this season, lunar and tidal. She is the guide who shows us that balance cannot be found in vanity or performance, but only in truth. In myth she is sometimes depicted as headless – a figure stripped of the face that sought approval, the mask of being chosen. This is not gruesome but symbolic and very befitting of what is so badly needed in the world today. She severs the head of surface culture, reminding us that the truth of a person’s work lies not in their appearance, but in their presence, their integrity, their willingness to remain tidal and true.

Water teaches us to yield, but it also asks us to be truthful. The element of autumn strips away performance, pretence, and excess. It shows us what is genuine by wearing down what is false. In the old stories, water is both healer and revealer – the well that grants vision, the river that carries away disguise.

A well known myth comes from Greece – Narcissus gazing into the pool, falling in love with the reflection of his own face, and withering away beside it. He mistook surface for substance, reflection for reality, and perished in the emptiness of self-obsession and illusion. This is the mirror of our times – a culture of selfies, image-making, and performative spirituality, where reflection is mistaken for depth. It is a trap that leads only to collapse.

The Enchantress severs this mirror. She will not be bound by vanity or the currency of beauty. She dismantles the cult of appearance and reminds us that the work itself must speak. Her headless image is not horror but liberation – a return to essence, to the currents that cannot be staged or prettied.

Our own river myths echo this call to essence – but with a crucial difference. Boann and Sinann did not seek their own reflection. They sought wisdom. They approached the forbidden wells not for vanity or rivalry, but to draw near to the source of inspiration. And the price was high. Boann was broken and swept away by the rising waters, becoming the River Boyne. Sinann too was overcome, her life taken as the River Shannon burst forth.

These are not tales of reward for disobedience – they are tales of transformation through sacrifice. The women did not gain for themselves. They became rivers. Their bodies dissolved into waters that have nourished the land for centuries. The lesson is stark – true wisdom does not serve the individual, it flows outward to sustain the whole.

And the stories teach something else as well – wisdom is not quick, nor easy. It is not plucked in an instant like a trinket. To walk the path of wisdom is to live in devotion, to return again and again to the well, to draw with patience, to cultivate discipline and humility. Boann and Sinann remind us that wisdom is not an entitlement or a performance – it is a lifelong relationship, costly, slow, and demanding of all we are. Their rivers flow because they gave everything.

So the arc of this season is clear. The equinox asks for balance. Balance demands emotional maturity. The Enchantress rises to strip away vanity and performance, severing the head of surface culture. Narcissus warns us of the trap of reflection mistaken for depth. And Boann and Sinann remind us that true wisdom is costly, slow, and devoted – not self-serving, but flowing outward to nourish the whole.

At this Equinox, may we come back into harmony. May we remember that water always finds its level. May we be truthful in what we offer, and steady in what we receive. May we carry integrity as the current beneath all that we do. And may our communities – and our own inner waters – be guided back to the golden seam of peace.

For those who feel drawn to learn more about the Enchantress archetype, click here.

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