This evening, the Moon will move in front of the Sun, and for a moment, the light of day will disappear. A total solar eclipse in Leo, the sign ruled by the Sun itself. And it happens on the very day the Lionsgate portal closes.
Astrologers call this a release eclipse. It falls on the South Node, the point associated with letting go, with what has already been lived, learned, and carried long enough. This eclipse does not ask us to reach for something new. It asks us to release who we are no longer.
The old identities. The roles we have learned to play for others. The need to be seen, recognized, approved of. The versions of ourselves we once needed in order to belong, to survive, to be loved. When the Sun disappears, all of that can disappear with it, even if only for a moment. And perhaps what returns with the light is what has been real all along.
So today, I am not setting an intention. I am becoming still. Turning my attention away from the noise of the outside world and moving toward the middle, toward the center of myself. Not reaching for anything. Not asking for anything. Not trying to become anything. Just listening.
For me, this Lionsgate closes with The Portal of Remembering. And I keep returning to the word remembering because there is another meaning hidden inside it: re-membering. Putting the members back together.
Gathering back the pieces of ourselves that have been scattered along the way. The parts we left inside old identities, old relationships, old wounds, old promises. The parts we silenced in order to belong. The parts we abandoned because they were inconvenient, wild, painful, too much or simply no longer fit the life we were trying to live.
Maybe remembering is not about returning to who we once were. Maybe it is about gathering all of those pieces and discovering who we are when nothing has to be left behind anymore.
And while the outer Sun disappears for a moment, perhaps this is the invitation: to remember the Sun within. The part that was there before all the roles, before all the proving, before all the becoming. The part that has been there all along.
