Sue Vincent's Blog: Echoes of Life - Posts Tagged "solstice"
The long night
The sky is beautiful this morning after the winds of the night, a clear, deep blue graced with the lights of heaven. The world is still and silent, even the birds are hushed as dawn creeps over the horizon of a rain-washed world.
It was dark when the doglet and I went out, dark still when we returned, for it is Solstice tomorrow, the longest night. But the moon lit the village and touched the rooftops with silver. Branches are down in the lane and few are the leaves that still cling tenaciously to the trees, most stripped away by the vicious fingers of a winter gale.
There is such strength in the grasp of leaf to twig, both so fragile they can be plucked and broken by a child, yet the bond of life so strong it can withstand the most inclement weather. Until it is time for them to fall.
Even when the leaves fall it is part of a greater renewal, the confetti of the marriage of the seasons, nourishing the earth and the tree from whence they fell. The tree sleeps through the winter, seemingly lifeless, husbanding its resources against the coming of spring. Beneath the skeletal surface of this dying time the life within shapes new leaves and blossoms, waiting in pregnant patience for the warm kiss of the sun.
Leaves fall, branches break… the old and sere stripped away by the turning wheel of the year, clearing the way for a green birth.
There is so much laid out before us, even in the avenues of our city streets. The life of nature is so strong and so beautifully balanced. So easy to damage when, with careless hands her children grasp at her skirts, taking anything that claims their attention and desire… yet strong enough to recover when we are no more.
In the little wood where we walk, the small dog and I, man has left his traces. From the earliest times track and road have passed this way, from the air the circled mark of ancient homes can be seen in the fields, the line of a roman road, lost now to plough and furrow. Still we carve this little patch of green to serve our needs. Yet as soon as we turn our back the wild things cover our tracks, reclaiming the earth for themselves, our little lives more fragile than their delicate blooms.
In towns and cities sites that were once hives of industry fall silent as technology moves on and we are proud of our advances, not noticing the quiet crown of plant and sapling our forgotten edifices wear, the gentle but inexorable hand of nature taking back her own as soon as we depart.
The seasons of the earth are echoed too within our own lives… we are part of the cycle, our bodies dance to the same natal song of the seasons. Life springs from death, death from life in an endless round.
The cadence is echoed within us as we laugh for joy beneath the sun of summer and weep in grief when winter touches our hearts. In the dark days we too may feel as if leaf and branch are being stripped from us, battered by the winds of change and the storms of emotion. Yet like the trees only the damaged and broken falls from us… the green heart is strong and holds the pattern of renewal within itself.
As the wheel turns it is easy to become lost in the dark days, feeling a verdant spring to be too far to reach, fearing in the shadows that it will not come. Perhaps, like the trees, we too are then husbanding our strength, withdrawing within where growth and renewal can work their magic unseen, ready to blossom at the first touch of the sun.
Tomorrow is Solstice and the world, still with the worst of winter yet to come, turns, almost unseen, towards summer. We know this, yet the winter is still to be endured. The days will lengthen, the light will be bright on days covered in snow, ice is yet to break open the cracked stones this year, and we will huddle by our hearths as if there is no warmth in the world, forgetting that we have passed the nadir and the eternal dance of the seasons carries us onwards towards a brighter dawn.
When we are lost in grief, gripped by the cold of fear, it is hard to see that light at the end of the tunnel, hard to believe that we have passed the worst point when we see a dark road still looming ahead. Yet this is the rhythm of life itself, as if the earth holds us in the reassuring and loving embrace of a mother and shows us that not all is lost in winter, it merely endures the frost while within, nourished by the fallen leaves that were stripped away by the storms and the turning year, the green life springs anew.
It was dark when the doglet and I went out, dark still when we returned, for it is Solstice tomorrow, the longest night. But the moon lit the village and touched the rooftops with silver. Branches are down in the lane and few are the leaves that still cling tenaciously to the trees, most stripped away by the vicious fingers of a winter gale.
There is such strength in the grasp of leaf to twig, both so fragile they can be plucked and broken by a child, yet the bond of life so strong it can withstand the most inclement weather. Until it is time for them to fall.
Even when the leaves fall it is part of a greater renewal, the confetti of the marriage of the seasons, nourishing the earth and the tree from whence they fell. The tree sleeps through the winter, seemingly lifeless, husbanding its resources against the coming of spring. Beneath the skeletal surface of this dying time the life within shapes new leaves and blossoms, waiting in pregnant patience for the warm kiss of the sun.
Leaves fall, branches break… the old and sere stripped away by the turning wheel of the year, clearing the way for a green birth.
There is so much laid out before us, even in the avenues of our city streets. The life of nature is so strong and so beautifully balanced. So easy to damage when, with careless hands her children grasp at her skirts, taking anything that claims their attention and desire… yet strong enough to recover when we are no more.
In the little wood where we walk, the small dog and I, man has left his traces. From the earliest times track and road have passed this way, from the air the circled mark of ancient homes can be seen in the fields, the line of a roman road, lost now to plough and furrow. Still we carve this little patch of green to serve our needs. Yet as soon as we turn our back the wild things cover our tracks, reclaiming the earth for themselves, our little lives more fragile than their delicate blooms.
In towns and cities sites that were once hives of industry fall silent as technology moves on and we are proud of our advances, not noticing the quiet crown of plant and sapling our forgotten edifices wear, the gentle but inexorable hand of nature taking back her own as soon as we depart.
The seasons of the earth are echoed too within our own lives… we are part of the cycle, our bodies dance to the same natal song of the seasons. Life springs from death, death from life in an endless round.
The cadence is echoed within us as we laugh for joy beneath the sun of summer and weep in grief when winter touches our hearts. In the dark days we too may feel as if leaf and branch are being stripped from us, battered by the winds of change and the storms of emotion. Yet like the trees only the damaged and broken falls from us… the green heart is strong and holds the pattern of renewal within itself.
As the wheel turns it is easy to become lost in the dark days, feeling a verdant spring to be too far to reach, fearing in the shadows that it will not come. Perhaps, like the trees, we too are then husbanding our strength, withdrawing within where growth and renewal can work their magic unseen, ready to blossom at the first touch of the sun.
Tomorrow is Solstice and the world, still with the worst of winter yet to come, turns, almost unseen, towards summer. We know this, yet the winter is still to be endured. The days will lengthen, the light will be bright on days covered in snow, ice is yet to break open the cracked stones this year, and we will huddle by our hearths as if there is no warmth in the world, forgetting that we have passed the nadir and the eternal dance of the seasons carries us onwards towards a brighter dawn.
When we are lost in grief, gripped by the cold of fear, it is hard to see that light at the end of the tunnel, hard to believe that we have passed the worst point when we see a dark road still looming ahead. Yet this is the rhythm of life itself, as if the earth holds us in the reassuring and loving embrace of a mother and shows us that not all is lost in winter, it merely endures the frost while within, nourished by the fallen leaves that were stripped away by the storms and the turning year, the green life springs anew.
Inside story
It is Christmas morning. For those of the Christian faith it is the moment that celebrates the birth of Jesus, a fragile babe who grew to change the world. Whether or not we accept that story as literal truth, it is symbolic of one that has wound itself through our human lives, casting its light into our hearts.
Many cultures have told of the birth of a Child: Horus, Krishna, Mithras, Mabon, Zoroaster…. There are these and many other threads to this tapestry. Their stories differ in detail, but a common strand runs through them and it is golden. These are the Divine Sons, the Children of Light who illuminate a path we might tread.
Many are now consigned to mythology by the modern mind that dismisses the miraculous or magical. Few now would accept the story of a Child who sprang fully formed from the rock on this day, whose worshippers came together in a communion of bread and wine. Yet Mithraism was widespread in the world of Rome, and the symbol of the unconquered Sun still persists.
Zoroaster was born laughing, a glow about him… Horus was the Hawk of the Sun… the theme of Light pervades the faith of the races of Man. Religions have risen and faded over millennia, but faith remains ever fresh and constant in the heart of those who seek the Light, regardless of the Name it bears in our tongue, the symbols we use or the stories we have woven.
We have, throughout our history, followed with love and faith the path of the Lightbringers of our age and our belief has changed our lives. Religions, those organised bodies of doctrine, have not always changed the world for the better, but the quiet, personal faith that carries us through the days and nights of our lives, upholding us and comforting us through the dark times, giving joy in the brighter days.. this is a different thing… a personal, intimate thing, a relationship between the heart of man and the Divine. Religious institutions, like any other, may be rife with politics and intolerance, in spite of their message of love. But the flame that burns in each individual heart owes allegiance only to the Source of that Light.
Whatever path we choose to tread, whichever way our hearts are called, it is belief… faith… that shapes us. Even those who profess no faith in the One, by any Name, are shaped by whatever belief their heart holds in Its place. For myself it is simple; all life, all creation is part of the great and multifaceted jewel that is the One. And I believe that we can find the Light of the One within the world, within ourselves and in each other.
The familiar Christmas story is a beautiful one, of a carpenter and his wife far from home, a babe born in a stable and cradled in a manger while a Star lights the way. There are many ways we can understand the tale, from simple acceptance to the deeply symbolic. Imagine that stable… animals and the warm smell of hay, a very earthy, humble place, very much of this world. Yet from this simple beginning a story unfolded… a Light was born… that guides millions of lives still today.
Within our ordinary lives we too many feel far from Home, the humble things of earth occupy our hands and minds while the heart seeks a star to guide it. Yet within the frames of our lives we are carrying that star… that spark of Divine Light… and this is what shines for us in those silent moments of turning within. Seeing it we find our own bright birth in the earthy place we live. We do not have to seek far and wide, like the Magi, nor wait for angelic hosts to point the way.
“….And when he was demanded of the Pharisees, when the kingdom of God should come, he answered them and said, The kingdom of God cometh not with observation: Neither shall they say, Lo here! or, lo there! for, behold, the kingdom of God is within you.”
Luke 17:20-21 (King James Version)
Many cultures have told of the birth of a Child: Horus, Krishna, Mithras, Mabon, Zoroaster…. There are these and many other threads to this tapestry. Their stories differ in detail, but a common strand runs through them and it is golden. These are the Divine Sons, the Children of Light who illuminate a path we might tread.
Many are now consigned to mythology by the modern mind that dismisses the miraculous or magical. Few now would accept the story of a Child who sprang fully formed from the rock on this day, whose worshippers came together in a communion of bread and wine. Yet Mithraism was widespread in the world of Rome, and the symbol of the unconquered Sun still persists.
Zoroaster was born laughing, a glow about him… Horus was the Hawk of the Sun… the theme of Light pervades the faith of the races of Man. Religions have risen and faded over millennia, but faith remains ever fresh and constant in the heart of those who seek the Light, regardless of the Name it bears in our tongue, the symbols we use or the stories we have woven.
We have, throughout our history, followed with love and faith the path of the Lightbringers of our age and our belief has changed our lives. Religions, those organised bodies of doctrine, have not always changed the world for the better, but the quiet, personal faith that carries us through the days and nights of our lives, upholding us and comforting us through the dark times, giving joy in the brighter days.. this is a different thing… a personal, intimate thing, a relationship between the heart of man and the Divine. Religious institutions, like any other, may be rife with politics and intolerance, in spite of their message of love. But the flame that burns in each individual heart owes allegiance only to the Source of that Light.
Whatever path we choose to tread, whichever way our hearts are called, it is belief… faith… that shapes us. Even those who profess no faith in the One, by any Name, are shaped by whatever belief their heart holds in Its place. For myself it is simple; all life, all creation is part of the great and multifaceted jewel that is the One. And I believe that we can find the Light of the One within the world, within ourselves and in each other.
The familiar Christmas story is a beautiful one, of a carpenter and his wife far from home, a babe born in a stable and cradled in a manger while a Star lights the way. There are many ways we can understand the tale, from simple acceptance to the deeply symbolic. Imagine that stable… animals and the warm smell of hay, a very earthy, humble place, very much of this world. Yet from this simple beginning a story unfolded… a Light was born… that guides millions of lives still today.
Within our ordinary lives we too many feel far from Home, the humble things of earth occupy our hands and minds while the heart seeks a star to guide it. Yet within the frames of our lives we are carrying that star… that spark of Divine Light… and this is what shines for us in those silent moments of turning within. Seeing it we find our own bright birth in the earthy place we live. We do not have to seek far and wide, like the Magi, nor wait for angelic hosts to point the way.
“….And when he was demanded of the Pharisees, when the kingdom of God should come, he answered them and said, The kingdom of God cometh not with observation: Neither shall they say, Lo here! or, lo there! for, behold, the kingdom of God is within you.”
Luke 17:20-21 (King James Version)
A simple gift
“…But what would you like for Christmas?”
It is always a difficult thing to decide what to give sons who are grown with lives they have filled with things you no longer know, especially on a tight budget. As children you are aware of their needs as well as their changing tastes, as men they have huge chunks of life you are no longer intimately acquainted with. You may know the ‘bigger’ needs and dreams, but that doesn’t mean you can still provide them in the way you did when they were small. Or can you?
“A home-cooked Christmas dinner. It’s all I want.” Well… that one was easy to provide… and a joy, as it meant I got Christmas with my eldest son. It was one of those invisible gifts for me too… I love cooking, love feeding people…and it was good to set a pretty table with glass and candles and a shared meal. There is something magical in that.
His gift to me was also magical… a moment of adventure earlier in the month, his awe at the landscape I was able to share with him in the northern hills that I love. Then Christmas morning out together taking photographs in a sunny world.
My younger son has been adopted into his partner’s delightful family … he was made for the big, close family we do not have and he has blossomed in that warmth. He was made for the kind of celebration that spans the generations in laughter and it is a joy for me to see that. Yet he and his Laura are always on my doorstep on Christmas Day and that is a gift in itself.
They came, as always, bearing gifts… the cosiest slippers and something special they had made themselves… a miniature bottle of their ‘Christmas pudding vodka’ and handmade chocolates, beautifully done with ribbons and a gift tag Laura had embroidered herself.
I remember vividly the years of making hand dipped chocolates, decorating boxes and painting cards as a young wife. I often wondered back then if people were just being polite in their thanks. To have someone do that for me now tells me they were not… for what you are being given here is time, love and care and that is priceless.
The other gifts I was given show the same loving thought… and it is that intangible gift that truly matters. The warm fleece that shows a very practical care that arrives with the little luxuries a friend knows you would not buy for yourself… a sparkling bit of beauty… the gifted words of books specially chosen… messages that are gifts of time and thought; the knowledge that you are held in the heart and mind of those far away.
These are symbols of a deeper gift. Warmth and friendship, care and kindness cannot be wrapped and tagged. They are the true gifts behind the presents, and all are faces of a simple gift that cannot be bought, cannot be held and which can wear many faces … and one. What is truly given is a priceless gift we can all afford … the gift of Love.
And today I am a rich woman.
It is always a difficult thing to decide what to give sons who are grown with lives they have filled with things you no longer know, especially on a tight budget. As children you are aware of their needs as well as their changing tastes, as men they have huge chunks of life you are no longer intimately acquainted with. You may know the ‘bigger’ needs and dreams, but that doesn’t mean you can still provide them in the way you did when they were small. Or can you?
“A home-cooked Christmas dinner. It’s all I want.” Well… that one was easy to provide… and a joy, as it meant I got Christmas with my eldest son. It was one of those invisible gifts for me too… I love cooking, love feeding people…and it was good to set a pretty table with glass and candles and a shared meal. There is something magical in that.
His gift to me was also magical… a moment of adventure earlier in the month, his awe at the landscape I was able to share with him in the northern hills that I love. Then Christmas morning out together taking photographs in a sunny world.
My younger son has been adopted into his partner’s delightful family … he was made for the big, close family we do not have and he has blossomed in that warmth. He was made for the kind of celebration that spans the generations in laughter and it is a joy for me to see that. Yet he and his Laura are always on my doorstep on Christmas Day and that is a gift in itself.
They came, as always, bearing gifts… the cosiest slippers and something special they had made themselves… a miniature bottle of their ‘Christmas pudding vodka’ and handmade chocolates, beautifully done with ribbons and a gift tag Laura had embroidered herself.
I remember vividly the years of making hand dipped chocolates, decorating boxes and painting cards as a young wife. I often wondered back then if people were just being polite in their thanks. To have someone do that for me now tells me they were not… for what you are being given here is time, love and care and that is priceless.
The other gifts I was given show the same loving thought… and it is that intangible gift that truly matters. The warm fleece that shows a very practical care that arrives with the little luxuries a friend knows you would not buy for yourself… a sparkling bit of beauty… the gifted words of books specially chosen… messages that are gifts of time and thought; the knowledge that you are held in the heart and mind of those far away.
These are symbols of a deeper gift. Warmth and friendship, care and kindness cannot be wrapped and tagged. They are the true gifts behind the presents, and all are faces of a simple gift that cannot be bought, cannot be held and which can wear many faces … and one. What is truly given is a priceless gift we can all afford … the gift of Love.
And today I am a rich woman.
