🌑 November 13 – Under the Waning Sun

Meditating on retreat, introspection, and inner power.

The light has grown thin now, the sun’s strength ebbing gently with each passing day. Its golden arc hangs lower across the sky, casting long, melancholy shadows across the land. The days are brief, the nights unhurried. There is a stillness to the air that feels ancient — as though the world itself is holding its breath. November 13 marks Under the Waning Sun, a sacred pause within the turning year, a time for retreat, introspection, and the quiet gathering of inner power. It is not a time of doing, but of being; not a time for growth, but for reflection upon what has already come to bloom.

The waning sun is a teacher in its descent. It does not rage against the coming dark, nor does it mourn its fading light. Instead, it softens, golden and humble, surrendering with grace to the inevitable turning of the wheel. It reminds us that retreat is not defeat — that there is power in the yielding, wisdom in the stillness, beauty in the gentle surrender to the natural cycle of rest. To live in rhythm with the waning sun is to understand that the same energy which drives us outward in summer now calls us inward, back toward the hearth of the soul.

Throughout the ancient world, this time of year was known as the season of withdrawal — not in the sense of isolation, but of restoration. The Celts saw it as the descent into the cauldron of renewal, the womb of the dark goddess where transformation brews unseen. Farmers let their fields rest, storytellers wove old tales by the fire, and the wise turned their minds toward contemplation. The sun’s retreat mirrored the soul’s descent into its own roots, seeking nourishment not from the external world but from the quiet wellspring within.

To live under the waning sun is to embrace the art of introspection. The bright days of outward striving have passed; now comes the season of reckoning. What have you planted in your life this year? What has blossomed, and what has withered? What lessons has the harvest brought you? The sun’s dimming light invites honesty, not judgment — a clear-eyed acceptance of the cycles within your own heart. Take time today to sit by a window in the fading afternoon, letting the last rays of sunlight touch your face. Feel their warmth and know that even as the sun withdraws, it leaves behind illumination within you. That inner light — your awareness, your presence — is what sustains you through the long dark ahead.

In spiritual traditions across cultures, retreat is not a form of weakness but a necessary phase of mastery. The hermit in his cave, the mystic in her cell, the seed beneath the soil — all turn inward not to escape the world, but to rediscover the power that dwells in silence. This day calls us to do the same. To meditate under the waning sun is to acknowledge the impermanence of outer strength and to locate the eternal source of power within. True strength, like the sun in winter, does not vanish; it condenses, deepens, and rests in preparation for renewal.

If you wish to honor this energy in ritual, keep it simple and contemplative. At sunset, find a place where you can watch the light fade. As the sun slips below the horizon, take a slow, deep breath and whisper: “As the sun withdraws, so I turn inward. As the light softens, so my wisdom deepens.” Imagine the solar radiance descending into your body, gathering behind your heart like a glowing ember. You are not losing the light — you are carrying it within you. When the outer world grows dim, your inner fire becomes the lantern by which you navigate the shadows.

This meditation can also be practiced as a daily devotion through the dark months to come. Each evening, as the light fades, take a moment to sit in quiet reflection. Ask yourself: What within me needs rest? What seeks healing in silence? What still glows, even in the dark? Allow the answers to arise naturally, without effort. This practice cultivates inner awareness and teaches the soul to draw sustenance from its own stillness. Over time, it becomes a source of profound power — the kind that cannot be diminished by circumstance or season.

In the natural world, many creatures embody the wisdom of the waning sun. The bear retreats to its den, the tree draws its sap downward, the seed nestles into the soil. None of them resist this turning inward; they trust it as part of the sacred rhythm of existence. We, too, must learn to honor our own seasons of retreat. The modern world may demand constant motion, but the spirit demands cycles. When we ignore the call to rest, we lose touch with the deeper currents of life. When we heed it, we return to harmony.

The waning sun also symbolizes humility — the quiet surrender of ego. In the brilliance of summer, it is easy to forget that light is cyclical, that no radiance lasts untempered. As the days shorten, we are reminded that illumination is not ownership but participation — we borrow light, we channel it, we reflect it. The true mystic understands that power does not come from holding light, but from embodying it, letting it ebb and flow naturally. To walk under the waning sun is to learn how to wield gentleness as strength, how to rest without guilt, how to burn low but steady.

This day may also invite shadow work, though not the fiery kind of confrontation that belongs to spring or Samhain, but a quieter acknowledgment. The shadows lengthen now, both in the outer world and within the psyche. They are not enemies, but companions — reflections of what has not yet been integrated. As the sun lowers, these shadows stretch, revealing their shapes clearly. Use this clarity wisely. Ask yourself what fears, habits, or desires have followed you from season to season. The waning light illuminates them not to shame, but to teach. Observe them without resistance, and you will see that they soften under the gaze of awareness, just as the earth softens under the dimming sun.

To strengthen your connection to this energy, consider carrying a small piece of sunstone, amber, or citrine — stones of solar memory that remind the heart of its own brightness. These can serve as talismans of inner fire, touchstones of endurance when the outer world feels dim. Place one near your bedside or meditation space, and each morning, hold it in your palm as you greet the day. Whisper: “The sun rises within me.” This simple act aligns your inner rhythm with the cosmic one, reaffirming your participation in the eternal dance of light and dark.

As dusk descends on November 13, the world feels suspended between exhale and breath. The light is soft, the air cool, the hush profound. This is not an emptiness to be feared, but an invitation to presence. The waning sun teaches us to see beauty in endings, to find grace in stillness, to know that retreat is not loss but wisdom. Every dusk is a promise that dawn will return, and every dark season is an apprenticeship in patience.

When you close your eyes tonight, imagine the sun setting within you — not extinguished, but glowing quietly in your heart’s center, a hidden ember that will reignite when the wheel turns again. This is the power of retreat, the magic of introspection: to rest in trust, to draw strength from silence, and to carry the sun’s golden wisdom deep into the fertile dark.

Under the Waning Sun, we remember that the brightest light is often born from stillness — and that within every retreat lies the seed of radiance waiting to rise.