·
for one person, on or near March 20
Wake before the sun does.
Stand at a window facing east. Don't open it yet.
Wait until the light arrives. It will arrive slowly — not a switch but a gradient. Pay attention to the moment you stop being able to call it dark.
That moment has no name. It is the equinox of the minute.
Now open the window.
Count twelve breaths. Six for the dark half. Six for the light half. You won't know which is which. That's the point.
Close the window.
Go about your day. At some point — afternoon, evening, doesn't matter — you will notice the light leaving. Don't look for it. Just notice when you notice.
The day you noticed arriving and noticed leaving: that was the whole year in one day.
That was always the whole year in one day.
The balance isn't a place you reach. It's the place you were standing all along.