The start of a new year brings a fresh calendar of celestial events, and 2026 is kicking off with a bang!! The Quadrantid meteor shower is one of the "big three" annual displays, capable of producing over 100 meteors per hour.

However, unlike the reliable Perseids of summer, the Quadrantids are famous for being difficult to catch. They are short, sharp, and this year, they’re bringing a very bright guest to the party. Here is everything you need to know to see the first great light show of 2026.

Most meteor showers are the result of Earth passing through the icy tail of a comet. The Quadrantids are different. Their parent body is Asteroid 2003 EH1. A "rock comet."

Astronomers believe this asteroid is actually an extinct comet—a celestial body that has lost all its ice after too many trips around the sun, leaving only a rocky core behind. Some even link it to a lost comet recorded by Chinese astronomers in 1490. Because the debris is more rocky than icy, the Quadrantids are famous for producing fireballs: exceptionally bright, colorful streaks that can shine right through even the most light-polluted skies.

This year, the universe has thrown us a curveball. The peak of the Quadrantids coincides almost perfectly with the Full Wolf Moon (which is also a Supermoon this year).

The Quadrantid peak is notoriously narrow— lasting only about six hours!! If you aren't looking at the right time, you’ll miss it entirely.

Since the moon won't be setting before the sun comes up, you have to work around it. Here are the best tips on how to do that:

In the world of astronomy, we usually name the wonders of the night sky after the eternal: gods, heroes, and ancient beasts. Think: Orion the Hunter, Pegasus the Winged Horse, and Draco the Dragon.

But every January, the sky plays host to a "ghost" shower—the Quadrantids. It is the only major meteor shower named after something entirely man-made, and arguably, entirely forgotten. It is a tribute to a constellation that no longer exists, named after a tool that is now found only in museums.

In the late 1700s, the "Mural Quadrant" was the pinnacle of human ingenuity. It wasn't a telescope you could move; it was a massive brass arc bolted to a stone wall, perfectly aligned with the north-south meridian.

To use it, an astronomer would sit in the dark and wait for a star to drift across the quadrant’s sightline. It was tedious, back-breaking work. In the 1790s, French astronomer Jérôme Lalande used one to catalog the positions of 50,000 stars. To Lalande, this tool wasn't just brass and wood; it was the key that unlocked the dimensions of the universe. To honor it, he took a "blank" patch of sky near the Big Dipper and named it Quadrans Muralis.

By the early 20th century, the "Wild West" of the night sky was being tamed. Astronomers had invented so many constellations—including a printing press, an electric generator, and even a cat—that the map was a mess.

In 1922, the International Astronomical Union (IAU) "standardized" the heavens. They drew 88 official borders and deleted the rest. Quadrans Muralis was cut from the map and its stars were handed over to its neighbors, Boötes and Draco. The Mural Quadrant, once a source of scientific pride, was officially evicted from the sky.

While the constellation was being erased from the maps, the tool itself was becoming a relic. The invention of the "transit circle" and later, motorized telescopes, made the fixed mural quadrant obsolete. We no longer needed to wait for a star to hit a fixed wall; we could follow the stars wherever they went.

Today, you won't find a mural quadrant in a working observatory. They are silent, polished ghosts in the corners of science museums—beautiful, intricate, and entirely "extinct" in their practical use.

Well- even though we deleted the constellation and retired the tool, the universe refused to forget.

Because the meteor shower was discovered and named in 1825—after the tool was famous but before the constellation was deleted—the name stuck. Every January, when the Earth passes through the debris of Asteroid 2003 EH1, the "Quadrantids" return.

As you watch the Quadrantids this year, I invite you to look through the lens of a Psychonaut—an explorer of the inner landscape.

This year’s Supermoon represents the Ego: bright, loud, and demanding all your attention. It tries to wash out the subtle, "blink-and-you-miss-it" truths of the universe. And, without intent and conscious effort on our part, it usually does. To see the meteors, you have to intentionally shift your focus to the periphery. You have to look into the shadows and wait for the "Gnosis" of a fireball—that flash of insight so bright it punches through the noise of daily life.

As your Transpersonal Guide, I invite you to see this "extinct" constellation not as a scientific footnote, but as an archetype. We are told the Quadrant is gone—deleted from the map in 1922. But the dust still falls exactly where the lines used to be.

This is the ultimate transpersonal lesson: Energy doesn't care about our labels. Just because we "delete" a part of our history or retire a tool of measurement doesn't mean its influence disappears. The sky is holding space for a ghost, reminding us that while our technology and our borders change, the infinite still reaches out to touch us exactly where we sit in the dark.

As you stand or sit or lay back in the cold January night, waiting for a fireball to pierce the glare of the Supermoon, here is a mental exercise created just for you, just of this specific event. Close your eyes for a moment and visualize the Mural Quadrant—that massive, ancient brass tool used to measure the stars.

Now, look inward.

1. Identify Your "Retired" Map Think of a belief, a routine, or a "tool" you once used to make sense of your world but have since "deleted" or outgrown. Maybe it’s an old career identity, a childhood faith, or a coping mechanism that no longer serves you. In the official map of your life, that "constellation" has been retired.

2. Watch the Debris Field Even though you’ve deleted that map, notice where the "fireballs" still strike. Do you still feel the echoes of that old belief in your gut? Does your body still react to the world using the coordinates of that retired tool?

3. The Transpersonal Realization Realize that the "dust" of your experience still falls exactly where those old lines used to be. The energy of who you were is still feeding the fire of who you are.

The Question: If a committee of astronomers can delete a constellation but cannot stop the meteors from falling there, what parts of your soul are currently "extinct" on paper, yet still raining down light in the dark?

Sit with that. Don’t try to map it. Just watch the streak of light and acknowledge that some things are too real to be contained by a name.

So, when you head out into the cold this week, remember: you’re looking at more than just burning space rocks. You’re witnessing a celestial memorial. Even though we’ve retired the brass tools and erased the old maps, the sky hasn't forgotten.

It’s a powerful reminder that while our "official" borders change and our egos try to wash out the subtle stuff, the universe keeps its appointments. The dust still falls exactly where we once sat in the dark—just a bunch of humans trying to measure the infinite. Whether you’re there for the science or the soul of it, don't forget to look past the glare. The ghosts are still there; you just have to be willing to see what isn't on the map.