Summer Solstice Scribblings (plain text)
Writings, artings, messagings and images from this summer's solstice
An image-only version of this post is also available.
Dearest summer solstice,
dearest sun, dearest one, dearest you, dearest us.
Do you know of yourself as solstice?
Do you feel your pause in the sky, your greatest stretch from tip to tip along our horizon?
Do rose, grass, fox, Oak, river, sea, soil feel this pregnancy, the sky swollen with light, ourselves engorged?
Faces turned to you, one hand to sky the other to earth, midsummer euphoria begs us not to feel the first chilled bites of exhale.
Hades beckoning Persephone, hand outstretched and awaiting his love’s return.
Crackled thirst of summer wooing the brittle decay of winter.
But you, you of many names and yet one face, remain.
Do you solstice our moon? Do you solstice with Mars? Is it us who solstice from where our feet stomp the ground in ecstatic dance?
And you, you are ambivalent god, goddess, shrine, alter, you the Magician both upright and reversed, illusion of life, casting shadows in your wake at which we snatch and feast.
Dearest sun. We are your solstice.
On my walk from home to the park, I felt nothing but fear. But someone had left a trail of beheaded roses along the path I was taking. So I gathered them for my breadcrumbs. And have gifted one to Oak
Do squirrel and starling feel this solstice Does Oak and grass feel this longest inhale That tonight The scales seek rebalance And winter awaits Or is this just another morning Soil ready for fasts breaking Do the young men On their bikes On the bench Feel what I feel That tonight Darkness wins And that this morning We knot tight The light For keeping
Summer solstice love from by Oak.
I’ve wanted to come to this park for sunrise for years but have been too scared to. I braved myself enough this morning.
Becoming nature in these urban environments isn’t easy.
I feel jealous of squirrel, starlings, wren, parakeet, crow, pigeon, gull, magpie, all who get to experience this every day.
I’m the only human woman in the park right now.
But the solstice sunrise is glorious.
What’re you braving today, as we have our last longest day, before the days start to shorten once more?
The power of the Oak King is waning His crown – encrusted with emerald threaded with song of Thrush and Blackbird – lists. Not yet has Oak King forged his acorned arsenal, bullet and shell His wizened boughs not yet readied, sleeves ragefully yanked up No. Now, he must lick his wounds of their sap Pick the prickled leaves from his flesh Wipe off the reddened juices of his opponent Holly King holds the centre waxes of his victory Crown polished, glistening, straight The Oak King rights his own crest Another jewel dislodges, clatters to the soil The bell rings midnight
As I’ve been learning more about the stories and archetypes that exist in tarot, I find myself thinking of the Fool this morning, and the Fool’s journey through to the final card of their arc - The World.
It’s about taking a leap of faith, travelling light without all your baggage, and being unafraid (the Fool’s card). Carrying an innocence within us, and an openness. And the World at the end of the journey is arrival to ‘wholeness’ of the self. Before the cycle begins again, and we go on our next adventure as the rewewed Fool ;)
And the Fool became my guide this morning - being brave enough to get up pre-sunrise and head to my local park. Something I’ve wanted to do for years but have been afraid to do. And yes, there were only men on the dawn streets. And yes only men in the park. And yes, a man tried to talk to me before the sun came up and as I sat in my spot. And yes, police suddenly appeared exactly at sunrise to investigate something going on in the corner of the park.
And also, holding The Fool close helped me keep going, and to keep my vigilance while also being present enough to work out what was actually danger and what was fear.
And amongst the fear was all the beauty of sunrise in the park this morning, with all the birds and life I’ve never experienced before in such a full way from this place. I’ve been here since 4:30, and after the first hourish of fear, it’s become beautifully calm.
What baggage are we carrying that feels heavy for our creativity and our art?
And where can be embrace the innocence and openness of the Fool, seeing our projects with fresh eyes, of someone about to embark on a new adventure?
Where in our art are we ready for a leap of faith 😘
Be still long enough that silken threads bind you.
Feel the muscles strengthen in your back; you can bear more than you could ever dream.
Sing and hum. Your voice belongs amongst the dawning chorus.
Ignore the first words of the self who wants to write and capture; be your own honourable harvest, and trust the words will still be there for you.
Know when the fear is worth ignoring, and when it’s trying to save you.
Sometimes the poem is the warmth on your skin, not the ink on your page. Perhaps always.
Rise with the sun and mourn all we’ve lost.
Rise with the sun and give offerings of thanks for all we have.
We are both witness and witnessed.
Feeling, felt.
Whose park is this? The mothers who gather as the light weakens golden to the west children tumbling and playing laughs exchanged The bicycled young men who circle the paths before sunrise accompanied by dawn’s beats and the eyes of police The women who emerge all at once at 6:30 am sun now illuminating safety dog leads in hands The couples and pairs who moon at midday Me solsticing dawn to dusk Or those whose home this is and break their fast before the humans descend songbirds chiffchaffing to the ground as parakeets swoop laps mistle thrush screaming in vigilience between hops wren a conker of fluff robin, blackbird, gull squirrel, magpie, crow, pigeon Or perhaps Oak standing still amongst us all perpetual solstice around whom we pilgrimage even Sun, rose and feather gifted, chuckling at my question of ‘Whose’
With thanks to Sean Bennett of A Write & a Pint for the Solstice-themed creative writing workshop on Friday 19th June, in which ‘Dearest summer solstice’ and ‘The power of the Oak King is waning’ were both written.
Thank you also to Moi Tu | 徐 貴 梅, who reminded us to ‘create bad art’.
The rest of these scribbles were written from within my local park, between 4:30am and 9:30pm, where I spent the majority of the day by Oak, from dawn to dusk.
Joyful!
Oh wow. I need to come back to these poems x