12/21/2023
Every year, on Solstice Eve, our community gathers on Ocean Beach at sunset to take a plunge into the water and wash away the frustrations and disappointments of the year that has passed, and to light a fire, sing and chant and raise power for all we hope for in the year to come. This year it almost didn’t happen, Some of our key ritual-makers were sick; rain was pouring down all morning, messages were flying all over the internet—“It’s cancelled.” “It’s on.” “Let’s postpone it.” “It’s on.” Finally one person simply said, “I’ll show up, and bring some wood, and if other people come, we’ll create the ritual when we get there.”
And we did. In the end around thirty of us gathered at the beach, the rain stopped, and it was as if Mother Nature applauded and rewarded us with the most spectacular sunset, gold and lavender and rose under a lowering gray clouds and shafts of light. We gathered, we plunged, we lit a fire and raised power to use the darkness and this time of turning inward to awaken our vision, to ignite the sparks of justice and freedom, to plant seeds.
We humans tend to fear the dark, the unknown. The dark night sky is the womb of Mother Night, the matrix of all possibilities, and that’s frightening because she contains all possibilities, not just the ones we hope for. And right now, in this world where so many suffer tonight from pain and war and hunger, where the forces of cruelty seem on the rise everywhere, it is easy to swirl down into the darkness of despair.
We ward off the dark with stories. We tell ourselves tales in the night, for comfort, and we are surrounded by spinners of stories right now so that it’s often hard to discern what is true and what is a blanket to swaddle us or a delusion that spurs us to do horrific things to one another. We tell ourselves we are chosen and they are not, that we are righteous and they are evil, that we are victims and whatever we do to defend ourselves is justified.
But the story we choose to tell, as night falls on the beach and the sun dies in splendor, the Solstice promise is that Mother Night is in labor to bring forth the new sun, the new year, born again on solstice morning, that always out of darkness, light is born. We are the midwives. We determine, with our choices and actions, which sparks will spiral out of the void, which seeds will grow. And it starts by simply saying, “I’ll show up.”
We are entering a crucial year, a crossroads. What will you show up for in the coming days? What cords will you cut? What birth will you midwife?
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I hosted a beautiful Winter Solstice ritual with my friend and sacred musician Evelie last weekend. We recorded it if you would like to join in our Solstice honoring via video tonight. It's available to all by donation, even $1 will get you immediate access. Here's the link: https://bit.ly/winter-solstice-2023-w-starhawk