I have every reason in the world to celebrate. Tomorrow is the solstice, the summer solstice in this northern hemisphere of Teal Orb on which I live. The longest day of the year…which means that every day after tomorrow the light will be waning. I know I will not really feel the growing darkness until late summer, though—perhaps not even until the autumnal equinox.
For now, I am celebrating.
I feel the light in the world around me this week:
I wake up with the sunrise, which also means I get to hear the prayer of birdsong before my toes uncurl on the floor.
Climbing a hill last Friday, we watch the always.miracle of a tangerine moon rise up overfull, fiction-sized, over the crest of the eastern hills that border this valley.
I learn that one way to experience balance is to hold two contrary extremes (the polarized positions) simultaneously; balance naturally results.
The dark green of flourishing vines, the darker green of fir trees, the burnt yellow grass, tall and swaying in the breeze on an iridescent sunny day; everything seems to shimmer with clarity.
Finches darting close overhead call attention to the nest; once with four eggs, then with no sign of egg or shell or hatchling; now a repopulated nest with five spotted eggs—perhaps viable this time.
Knowing that a final outbreath is what I signed up for, still I feel the impending sense of loss as a hospice patient transitions a bit closer to her concluding inhalation. This too is light, confirmation that we are all “in this together” and that those who suffer also get to rest.
A butterfly, only a shade less orange than the ripe moonrising, lands on the remaining dark pink flower in the heat-wilted garden bed.
All the letting gos and stepping ups and bearing forths are coming to fruition in the form of all.needs.provided; what was given is now received and the cycle of give and take is once more confirmed, made manifest.
Sun, bearing down like a weighted blanket on my exposed skin, wrapping and warming and comforting, smooth as the peace in which my heart now swims.
There really does not have to be a reason. Much less every reason. The simple embrace of a turning of the Earth, of a season, of the particularly striking shine of light and shadow on leaves as I type this: this is enough. I am grateful.
Solstice blessings to you and yours…
(Orig. posted in June 2014)
