Rebirth of the Sun: A Solstice Meditation
AUTHOR’S NOTE: For those of us who are more attuned to the mystical significance of the Winter Solstice than to that of Christmas, I can think of nothing better to read on that occasion than this clever piece of poetic appropriation from the work of Clement Clarke Moore.*
It doesn’t take a doctorate in theology, history or philosophy to recognize that many human religions, both past and present, are or were thinly-veiled “Sun worship” at heart, in that they embrace(d) the concept of resurrection originally inspired by the annual solar cycle. In the superstitious mind, the Sun’s about-face in its southerly flight and growing presence above the horizon after the solstice were nothing short of miraculous, and many rites were performed to hasten its return. This was abundantly evident in the practice of cutting evergreen boughs and bringing them indoors, a bit of sympathetic magic intended to encourage the arrival of Spring. It was later co-opted by secular Christians in the form of the Christmas tree as part of the spirit of the holiday without acknowledging its pagan roots. (Religiously-motivated debunkers grumble that this wasn’t so, but I’m inclined to believe it.) It’s easy to see how these efforts would have been codified in a form of devotion focused on the assumption of a “dying and resurrected god,” since they never failed to have the desired effect. We were always saved from the darkness of Winter. It undoubtedly worked better than the ritual sacrifice of the king after his one-year reign in order to guarantee the success of the following year’s harvest.
We raised our kids to be “devoutly non-religious,” and every December we celebrated on the Winter Solstice rather than on Christmas (their friends were jealous of the early gifting). I did some investigation of the terms “Yuletide” and “Midwinter Night,” finding that they aren’t synonymous with the Winter Solstice. According to my Wikipedia source, these Germanic celebrations occurred during the month of the “lunation” (New Moon) immediately following the solstice. However, that fact does nothing to dampen my enthusiasm for using this poem as a Winter Solstice meditation. Enjoy!
‘ TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE YULETIDE
’Twas the night before Yuletide and all through the glen
Not a creature was stirring, not a fox, not a hen.
A mantle of snow shone brightly that night
As it lay on the ground, reflecting moonlight.
The faeries were nestled all snug in their trees,
Unmindful of flurries and a chilly north breeze.
The elves and the gnomes were down in their burrows,
Sleeping like babes in their soft earthen furrows.
When lo! The earth moved with a thunderous quake,
Causing chairs to fall over and dishes to break.
The Little Folk scrambled to get on their feet
Then raced to the river where they usually meet.
“What happened?” they wondered, they questioned, they probed,
As they shivered in night clothes, some bare-armed, some robed.
“What caused the earth’s shudder? What caused her to shiver?”
They all spoke at once as they stood by the river.
Then what to their wondering eyes should appear
But a shining gold light in the shape of a sphere.
It blinked and it twinkled, it winked like an eye,
Then it flew straight up and was lost in the sky.
Before they could murmur, before they could bustle,
There emerged from the crowd, with a swish and a rustle,
A stately old crone with her hand on a cane,
Resplendent in green with a flowing white mane.
As she passed by them the old crone’s perfume,
Smelling of meadows and flowers abloom,
Made each of the fey folk think of the Spring
When the earth wakes from slumber and the birds start to sing.
“My name is Gaia,” the old crone proclaimed
in a voice that at once was both wild and tamed,
“I’ve come to remind you, for you seem to forget,
that Yule is the time of re-birth, and yet…”
“I see no hearth fires, hear no music, no bells,
The air isn’t filled with rich fragrant smells
Of baking and roasting, and simmering stews,
Of cider that’s mulled nor other hot brews.”
“There aren’t any children at play in the snow,
Or houses lit up by candles’ glow.
Have you forgotten, my children, the fun
Of celebrating the rebirth of the sun?”
She looked at the fey folk, her eyes going round,
As they shuffled their feet and stared at the ground.
Then she smiled the smile that brings light to the day,
“Come, my children,” she said, “Let’s play.”
They gathered the mistletoe, gathered the holly,
Threw off the drab and drew on the jolly.
They lit a big bonfire, and they danced and they sang.
They brought out the bells and clapped when they rang.
They strung lights on the trees, and bows, oh so merry,
In colors of cranberry, bayberry, cherry.
They built giant snowmen and adorned them with hats,
Then surrounded them with snow birds, and snow cats and bats.
Then just before dawn, at the end of their fest,
Before they went homeward to seek out their rest,
The fey folk they gathered ‘round their favorite oak tree
And welcomed the sun ‘neath the tree’s finery.
They were just reaching home when it suddenly came,
The gold light returned like an arrow-shot flame.
It lit on the tree top where they could see from afar
The golden-like sphere turned into a star.
The old crone just smiled at the beautiful sight,
“Happy Yuletide, my children,” she whispered. “Good night.”
Poem author C.C. Williford (with minor editing by me)
*Thanks to Sean Tierseron for posting this on Facebook.
Originally published at http://parsifalswheeldivination.wordpress.com on December 17, 2023.
