I shall perform upon myself the sort of operation that physicists conduct upon the air in order to discover its daily fluctuations. I shall take the barometer readings of my soul, and by doing this accurately and repeatedly I could perhaps obtain results as reliable as theirs.

Jean Jacques Rousseau

EPHEMERIS FOR THE THIRD WEEK OF EARLY FALL
The Jerusalem Artichoke moon is full at 1:10 a.m. on October 4, and the Draconid meteors fall in the vicinity of the North Star after midnight on October 8 and 9.

THE FIFTH SEASON
Perceiv'st thou not the process of the year,
How the four seasons in four forms appear,
Resembling human life in ev'ry shape they wear?

Ovid/Dryden

It is axiomatic that stages of human life mirror the stages of the year. The spring is often compared to youth, the summer to the full bloom of adulthood, autumn to the fruitfulness, then decline of late middle age, and winter with the slowing and breakdown of old age and finally with the serenity and stillness of death. The comparison of a young woman’s beauty to the transitory beauty of a rose is a classic application of the nature simile, that events in nature are like events in our lives.

The life cycle of people and the year are alike in “every shape they wear.” The phases of the moon have long guided activities as diverse as fishing and the conception of children. Modern chronobiologists have explained connections between seasons and social or personal behavior. Some healers use research and traditions related to daily, weekly, monthly and yearly physiological cycles in order to come to terms with illness and wellness.

My own disposition is as changeable and unpredictable as the weather, and although its suddenly transformations do not necessarily follow the skies, I often wonder at the possible connections between the barometric pressure, the amount of cloud cover, the temperature, rain, snow and how I feel. Sometimes the connection seems clear, but other times I fail to see what exterior forces might be at work.

I have considered Rousseau’s idea of taking the barometric readings of my soul, and I have even – as I was trying to stop smoking – graphed my moods, trying to discover why I was more vulnerable at some times than at others. Most of the time, however, I am just vaguely aware that I am riding in a body which is sixty or seventy percent liquid, which is being influenced by all kinds of things, including health, hormones and maybe the sun and the moon and wind and heat and cold and humidity, maybe by society, by the physical presence of other people, maybe by their thoughts, maybe by spirits, maybe by God. And to what extent the “I” is influenced by all of these things I have no idea.

My confusion is the source of wondering and meditation, especially in the fall when the world seems in decline and I am most aware of my own mortality. Since there seems to be no definitive answer for my fundamental questions, I gather pieces of the season together, lay them out in front of me with their endless colors and shapes and auras to see how they are reflected in my heart.

Subtle lessons hide in every object and dimension, in every angle and shade, but their final revelation, the whole of their art and the mastery of their discipline are so elusive that I wonder if the final passage, the wrenching transformation from simile to metaphor, the fifth season on the other side of winter, could be the only way to embrace and follow the teachings.