Through the Fire: Eclipses, Equinox & the Evolution of Self

Photo by Sophie Szabo

There’s a hum beneath the surface right now—a low, electric pulse in the soil, the sky, the body. You can feel it in the way time stretches and contracts. In the way your nervous system flickers between fatigue and fire. The wheel has turned: the Spring Equinox has tipped the scales toward light, and yet the ground is still shaking. Ahead, a New Moon Solar Eclipse in Aries blazes like a match about to be struck.

We’re standing in a portal, not a path. Not a soft, pastel spring—but a rebirth with teeth. One that invites us to remember who we are beneath the roles, routines, and responses we've outgrown.

So what do we do when the self we've known begins to dissolve? When clarity hasn’t quite arrived, but something deep in the gut says: something’s about to change? When what once felt safe starts to feel like a cage?

A Moment Marked Through Time

Since the beginning, humans have looked to the skies to mark the sacred. The Spring Equinox, when light and dark hang in equilibrium, has been honoured across cultures as a time of reset and reawakening. At Chichen Itza, the Maya built a pyramid so precise that, on this day, a serpent made of shadow slithers down the stone steps—a divine reminder of cyclical time and earthly alignment.

In Persian culture, Nowruz (New Year) begins here—with ritual cleansing, feasting, and the planting of intentions for the year ahead. Stonehenge, too, aligns with the sun’s shift, silently tracking a rhythm older than language.

Eclipses, especially solar ones, have always marked powerful moments of interruption—where light disappears and something stirs in the dark. In many ancient cultures, they were treated with caution and reverence. In ancient Mesopotamia, kings would temporarily step down from the throne during an eclipse to avoid drawing in chaotic or fated energies—handing power over to a stand-in ruler as a form of spiritual protection.

These were not times for bold moves or big declarations. They were seen as liminal spaces—moments when what’s usually hidden might rise to the surface. When the usual rules don’t apply. Not a time to rush ahead, but to pause. To listen. To sense what’s shifting, even if you can’t name it yet.

Now here we are, staring down the barrel of a solar eclipse in Aries—the first fire. Aries doesn’t whisper. It kicks the door in. It strips things back to the raw. It reminds you that beginning again isn’t always clean. Sometimes it’s messy and loud and necessary.

Turbulence as Threshold

Right now, everything may feel heightened. Sleep feels strange. Emotions sit closer to the surface. You might be sensing big things coming, without having the words for them yet.

This isn’t a breakdown. It’s a breaking open. The nervous system, the psyche, the body—all recalibrating to a new reality.

And here’s the thing: you don’t have to know what’s next. You just have to stay awake to what’s here.

Growth isn’t linear. It’s layered. It often looks like nothing’s happening until everything is. It might feel like everything is falling apart—but maybe, it’s just falling into place in a way that finally fits.

Practices & Anchors for the In-Between

When everything’s moving, don’t try to hold it all together. Find what helps you stay real. These practices are not prescriptions. They’re invitations:

❖ Sensation Mapping
Lie down. Close your eyes. Drop into the body like it’s a terrain you’ve never explored. Where’s the charge? Where’s the numbness? Pause and listen. Let the body tell you something your mind forgot.

❖ Fire Bowl Ritual
Grab paper. Write down the things you’re done carrying—old stories, tired roles, people-pleasing habits, fears that feel inherited. Burn it (safely). Speak to the flames. Aries respects action.

❖ Earth Mirror Practice
Go outside. Lie belly-down on the ground. Let the soil absorb what your shoulders can’t. Ask the Earth to show you what’s real. Stay there until your breath deepens. Until your edges soften.

❖ Letter from the Becoming
Write a letter from the version of you six months from now—the one who said yes to the fire, yes to the change. Let them remind you why it was worth it. Read it aloud. Feel it.

❖ Primal Movement Invocation
Put on music that bypasses your brain. Let your body lead. Shake. Growl. Stomp. Cry. Laugh. Get weird. Let something move through you. This is a release, not a performance.

❖ Candle Check-Ins
Light a candle at night and ask: Where did I show up fully today? Where did I hide? What truth am I ready to own tomorrow? Keep it honest. Keep it simple.

The Fire of Becoming

This eclipse isn’t here to coddle you. It’s not interested in comfort zones. It’s here to wake something up that’s been dormant. To crack open the layers between who you’ve been and who you’re becoming.

Aries energy says: Stop waiting. Start moving. It says: You don’t need a perfect plan—you need a pulse.

So ask yourself: What am I done pretending I don’t want? What part of me is ready to rise? What part is already rising, even if I’m scared?

Let yourself be raw. Let yourself be real. The becoming doesn’t need to be pretty. It just needs to be honest.

Rooted in the Rebirth

You don’t have to figure it all out right now. You don’t have to turn this into a blueprint. You just have to stay in the room with what’s happening inside you.

Let this season remind you:

That balance isn’t about stillness—it’s about integrity.
That breakdowns often come just before the breakthrough.
That the fire isn’t here to destroy you—it’s here to reveal you.

So ground yourself. Let go of the script. Burn what’s false.

This moment is raw. And holy. And yours.

Let it come.