Liz wrote:
Thanks Cilla. You’ve said it much more economicaly than me but here is my piece.
We met at Sydenham Hill Station. There were Cilla, Kris and myself, and Jo and Mike. Trui did very well and was only about half an hour late, Jan, a long time solitary pagan joined us for the first time.
The weather was perfect. Clear blue sky and a melting frost, the skeletal trees showing to best advantage as we did an impromptu talking twig session outside the station (although I had remembered most other things I had forgotten to bring the talking stick). We reviewed the year and thought about where we were at this moment of the sun’s movement away from the Northern Hemisphere. As ever, this varied but we were all looking forward to marking the return of the light.
Once we were all there we set off into the woods. There was oak and holly aplenty, and after climbing over a fallen tree, trunk wreathed with thick strands of ivy, we left the path and were drawn ever deeper into the woods until, creeping beneath holly brush we arrived at the perfect glade on the side of a slope, protected by a tall oak tree. The light of a pale amber sun filtered through the branches and blackbirds flitted high up in the trees.
Trui had brought oatmeal to mark out a circle which he did while Kris and Mike (holly king and oak king respectively) prepared crowns of the relevant leaves. Kris’s oak crown, glittering with tinsel was particularly impressive. The ceremony began in the usual way but then came the battle from supremacy between the holly king and the oak king. They were equally matched in strength and histrionic power but eventually the holly king succumbed as the oak king’s spear penetrated his side. He showed great dignity in defeat, knowing, of course, that his time would come again, and that he had the pleasure of resting his head in the deep bosom of the Goddess for six months (I quote Mike’s words in the ceremony).
Then Cilla lit a candle to symbolise the return of the light, and I lit three smaller ones to mark the presence of those of our group who were not there with us. Libations of mead followed, and then a healing meditation for all those in need of it, especially our order and in particular the OBOD camps part of it – which has gone through some turbulence of late. The day was so still that the candles burned steadily throughout these observances with no protection, a small pool of yellow fire resting on the wet rotting leaves.
After closing the ceremony we set off for the pub, it being too cold and damp to sit in the forest with no tarpaulin underneath us (Oh Greg where wert thou?) But getting there proved harder than we anticipated as we were pixie led through the wood in a large circle, in a liminal russet glow as the sun set, making the dead leaves of the occasional beech tree glimmer here and there among the trees. There was a three quarter moon, and the western sky was all those blended shades of pink and orange that are so impossible to describe. It created a foxy light of unreality, which was fitting given that we had had three fox sightings that day: two of them outside the station and one that suddenly streaked past us in the woods, followed a few moments later by a large honey coloured dog. The dog came pell-mell towards our circle, skidding to a halt at the oatmeal border and circling off in pursuit again. Reminders of wildness and cunning and solid faithfulness – qualities sometimes at war in our souls perhaps. Well, OK they are at war in mine. Then one of those weird post ritual picnics that Cilla has described, the relaxation of the time between the ritual that has stripped us momentarily of our worldly concerns and re-entry into that world of electric light and mobile phone signals.
Happy Solstice everyone.
