Winter solstice sunrise, Montreal We don't have to be pagans to feel, deep in our bones, that something has culminated today, and then, slowly, will begin to swing back in the other direction. In spite of all our protective armors of clothing, our central heating and reliable hot water, our automobiles and all the other conveyances that keep us moving comfortably in every kind of weather, and the technologies that manage to distract us from a more primal awareness, we are animals of this earth and this solar system, and we feel the changes in our bodies and spirits whether we acknowledge them consciously or not.
I think often of the millions of humans stuck under cities who have never truly seen the night sky. Maybe one trip to the ocean once was their only encounter with immensity. How profoundly sad that they are missing out on something that should be every human’s birthright.
I've got to read Pig Earth. I've read its "The Three Lives of Lucie Cabrol," anthologized elsewhere. I loved it. Realism meets dreamscape. All the best this holiday season.
Thanks, Beth, for making me feel as if I'm attending Christmas Revels (recently renamed Mid-Winter Revels to include everybody - even semi-pagan Episcopalians like me). I'm reminded of the poem near the end: The Shortest Day, by Susan Cooper
So the Shortest Day came and the year died
And everywhere down the centuries of the snow-white world
I think often of the millions of humans stuck under cities who have never truly seen the night sky. Maybe one trip to the ocean once was their only encounter with immensity. How profoundly sad that they are missing out on something that should be every human’s birthright.
I've got to read Pig Earth. I've read its "The Three Lives of Lucie Cabrol," anthologized elsewhere. I loved it. Realism meets dreamscape. All the best this holiday season.
Thanks, Beth, for making me feel as if I'm attending Christmas Revels (recently renamed Mid-Winter Revels to include everybody - even semi-pagan Episcopalians like me). I'm reminded of the poem near the end: The Shortest Day, by Susan Cooper
So the Shortest Day came and the year died
And everywhere down the centuries of the snow-white world
Came people singing, dancing,
To drive the dark away.
They lighted candles in the winter trees;
They burned beseeching fires all night long
To keep the year alive.
And when the new year's sunshine blazed awake
They shouted, reveling.
Through all the frosty ages you can hear them
Echoing behind us - listen!
All the long echoes sing the same delight,
This Shortest Day,
As promise wakens in the sleeping land:
They carol, feast, give thanks,
And dearly love their friends,
And hope for peace.
And so do we, here, now,
This year and every year.
Welcome Yule!
Beautiful 🙏