When the Charter was being drafted, the longest argument was about the calendar. One of the seven wanted eight festivals. Another wanted none at all, on the grounds that a house of independent people had no business telling anyone when to do anything. We ended with a single article, the eighth, which opens with five words: "We keep the empty night." I have been responsible for that line ever since, and the other keepers question me about it more than about anything else.
First, it is not ancient
I should begin with what the observance is not. It is not a survival of anything. No Mesopotamian household marked the dark moon for the lilitu, and no medieval source connects Lilith with the lunar cycle in the way modern books do. The association comes from the twentieth century, from astrologers who gave her name to a point in the Moon's orbit and from poets who liked the sound of "night" in her name. Our symbols page says this, and so should I.
We chose the night knowing that. A House that is strict with other people's invented histories cannot be lenient with its own.
Why a fixed night at all
The case for having one observance is practical. I worked for many years on night shifts, and I learned there that the things a person means to do "when there is time" are the things that never get done. Self-examination is the clearest example. Nobody wakes up wanting to list what they avoided this month. If the date is left open, it moves, always later, always to a week when one is less tired.
A fixed date removes the decision. The moon goes dark on its own schedule, without regard to whether I am ready. All that is left for me to decide is whether to keep the appointment.
Why this night
We could have chosen the full moon, which is easier to notice and a good deal more popular. We chose its opposite for three reasons.
The dark moon cannot be seen. To keep it, you have to know where you are in the month without being shown. That seemed right for a path with no one to tell you what to do.
It returns nothing. The moon is the great mirror of the sky. For one night it gives back no light. Much of our practice is about meeting what we have projected onto other people, and it helps to have one night when the largest screen is blank.
It suits her. Lilith's place in the sources is the uninhabited land, the hour when the house is asleep, the space beyond the lamp. A night with no moon is as near to that as most of us can come without leaving town.
The full moon shows you everything. The dark moon shows you what you brought.
About the ten minutes
The center of the observance is ten minutes of sitting in complete darkness with the candle out. The other keepers tell me this is the part they dread and the part they would not give up.
I do not think anything mysterious happens in those minutes. What happens is that for once nothing is asking for your attention. There is no page, no flame, no face. People are rarely in that condition now, and many find they have not been in it for years. What comes up is usually ordinary: a worry, a tune, a name. Now and then it is something that has been waiting a long time for a quiet room.
If you can manage only three minutes, keep three. I started at four.
How I keep the calendar
My duties are small. Each year I work out the dates and check them against a printed almanac. The figures on this site are calculated from the average length of the lunar month, which is why they can be a day out, and why the gloss on the article allows the night before or after. I also keep a record of how many keepers observed each month. Nobody is reproached. I keep the count because it is honest, and because it has never once been five out of five for a whole year.
That may be the most useful thing I can report. The people who wrote the rule miss it too. The moon is not offended. It will be dark again in a month.