On Monday the sunlight begins, finally, to return to our dark and cold northern existence. Our ancestors monitored the sun’s movements carefully, realizing that their very lives depended on it. After they’d observed the lengthened days for a period of time, to be sure that the light was indeed returning, they held an enormous celebration.
Then one day the Churchiarchy declared that the day had nothing to do with the return of the light …. the day was in fact a recognition of poverty. It was about a little baby, born in a manger because the greedy ultra-rich wouldn’t offer its ragged and transient mother a place to give birth. The baby grew up to be a revolutionary who, like Che or Gandhi or Rosa Luxembourg or Martin Luther King Jr., was murdered because he dared to challenge the authorities and their abuse of power, their corrupt elite system that held the masses in poverty and despair.
The Churchiarchy was so very big and powerful that they not only stole the ancient story, they actually transformed it into a consumerist frenzy that celebrates elves in sweatshops enslaved to produce goods that they themselves cannot afford.
Last night I attended a Yule celebration organized by a Wiccan friend and held at the Quaker Friends meeting house. There aren’t many public rituals, most Wiccans are extremely private about their spirituality, their collective memories acknowledging that generations of agricultural peoples were burned as witches in previous centuries ….
So I felt a special sense of honour and gratitude and, as we were preparing for the ritual, being informed of the process whereby we’d recreate the physical death and rebirth, I thought about the deep significance of what I was about to enter into. We were encouraged to contemplate what we’d write or draw at the four directions, what we wanted to leave behind (death) and what we were willing to promise the earth in the new year (rebirth). We rehearsed the songs …. songs about the returning light, about honouring Gaia – the planet revolving around the sun, the one who gives us life.
When we were all ready, the ritual began. We were anointed with essential oils, we cast the circle of protection, and called to awaken the spirits of the four directions. We offered our fear pain anger despair resentment, other negative emotions, for transformation and moved through a symbolic death ourselves …. actually laying on the floor and being covered with a light cloth as the elder sang gently, easing our departure and inviting our return. When we were awakened into the creative chaos, we moved and danced to the beat of a drum, to the rhythm of our individual heartbeats, chanting OM, each listening to and expressing whatever energy we felt. As the creative energy settled, we again lay on the old wooden floor of the Quaker meeting house and this time we were covered with a white cloth. Our rebirth began … slowly, gently, again assisted by singing and chanting. We were invited to offer a word or drawing to depict our offerings to Gaia, to share how we would each work to protect her air, earth, water, and fire elements.
I realized that the desire for ritual is very deeply instilled within us. Every culture on earth has some form of ritualistic dance or music that reflects their relationship to the earth and creation. Some consume the body and blood of that poor little revolutionary baby. Some celebrate Abraham, the father of Israel, who travelled with his son for three days up a mountain believing that the Lord wanted the young lad sacrificed.
I thought about the power of the people, many of them, who insist that Christmas is about more than propping up the corporate elite. I thought about Charles Dickens’ story of Scrooge, about the Grinch who tried to steal Christmas, about Jimmy Stewart saving the people of Bedford from that nasty bank manager.
Our ritual, last night, metaphorically recreated the ancient cycle of death and rebirth. We ate cake and drank sparkling apple juice as a way to connect with and express our gratitude for the earth’s offerings. We promised to love, honour, and protect the beautiful Gaia from whom all gifts emerge.
And for this our ancestors were tortured, tormented, and burned. Generations of them, spanning nearly 300 years.
I promised not to birth any children, to continue living simply and travelling lightly.
After the ritual we feasted and talked and got to know each other better. It’s interesting to participate in such a powerful recreation of this most intense time of year with strangers. We knew, though, that by showing up at that place at that time for that purpose, we share an appreciation for the magnificence of life, the power of the universe.
And that’s a powerful connection.
Happy Solstice.
