Winter Solstice Meditation

As our planet turns away from the sun may we earth-dwellers rest easy in the darkness, finding in it a place of regeneration and creativity. As we each light our small flames to remember the greater radiance, to call ourselves back to it, let us remember that we are creatures born of the light and the dark, our bodies and minds attuned to the rhythms of a greater universe.

In an age when we worship light and stake our lives on the power of electricity, may we remember the wisdom born of darkness and rest with openness and fortitude in its cloak. As the days go by, may we greet the return of the light strengthened by our sojourn in the mantle of its conjoined twin, the darkness, without which the light could not exist.

If, as the Mayans believed, we are moving into a new cycle, may it be one in which we come to understand fully our place among the other denizens of our world; may sacredness return to all our transactions, those between ourselves but also those with other living beings and with the material elements of earth. At this time of gift exchange, as we strengthen our bonds with family, friends and neighbours, may we understand that the gifts and talents of all, not just our own small circle, are needed by us all and therefore nurturing each other is an act of mutual benefit..

For all things we share this world with - whether they are animate or inanimate, seen or unseen - have gifts to offer - to us, to each other, to the earth. If, in true reciprocity, we honour what they are, what they give, may we come to know ourselves as true citizens of the earth and find an undreamed of fulfillment and harmony in sharing, exchanging and nurturing rather than in plundering, appropriating and dominating.

Rob fír fírthar, rob bríg brígther (Old Irish) - May it be a truth that is fulfilled, may it be a power that is enacted.

Christmas, the Light of Winter-Time

Picture by Margaret Tarrant: Medici Cards

Although not a Christian, I always celebrate the festival of Christmas as the light of winter time. The birth of a child who brings light to the world is as good a metaphor as any for the rebirth of the life-giving sun.

The festival of Christmas was a part of my life from the beginning, being embedded in the culture I grew up in (although my parents weren't religious), and I fell under its spell, entranced by the candlelit carol services and the poetry of the King James bible. I still recite Isiah 9:2 as I light the Christmas candle:

"The people that walked in darkness have seen a great light: they that dwell in the land of the shadow of death, upon them hath the light shined" .

When I go to bed on Christmas eve I always have a sense of something wondrous about to happen. Perhaps it is simply conditioning because of the childhood magic of waiting for the coming of Santa Claus and, growing older, this becoming merged with the carol 'O Little Town of Bethlehem' with its opening picture of the dark streets, sleeping but dreamless, and then:

How silently, how silently, the wondrous gift is given

So God imparts to human hearts the blessings of his heaven

These days I'll think of the return of the sun as being the wondrous gift but the concept of the sun shining on all and giving its blessing to everyone is a good one and in this spirit we may think perhaps of our own hearts not only receiving a blessing but also radiating it out to others.

Although I abhor the way Christmas has become commercialised and degraded it seems to me that it still retains a memory of ancient times - a midwinter feast in defiance and celebration just as we slowly begin to move forward from the deep heart of darkness to face the hardest days before the light gains enough strength to nurture life again - a delicate and precarious time rather like convalescence.

Christmas is a time when the promise of love and fellowship, family, peace and joy is never quite or even wholly realised but nevertheless a time which stands as a testament to our human desire and hope for these things. So although often more honoured in the breach than in the observance, we still value them and they serve as a point of orientation which this festival remembers.

I celebrate the Solstice too so my festivities start on the 21st with the lighting of one of Peter Neuman's Solstice and New Year candles and - for the last few years - a Solstice tart. Morrisons supermarkets sell these in December and although they call them 'fruit flans', to me they are sunwheels with their radiating pattern of fruit, gleaming like treasure, culminating in mandarin oranges arranged around the outer rim.

The days from the 21st to the 25th are special days and one day I'll be organised enough to be restful as the sun rests until the 24th, but because I usually get caught up in the general rush and expend more energy than I have, I'm grateful for the 'time-out' that occurs during those few days of the Christmas holiday - a time of stillness echoing the sun's stillness of the previous few days; a time when everyone can catch their breath and step off the relentless merry-go-round for a while.

So often out of step with the contemporary world, I actually welcome Christmas as a festival where I can share the Spirit of the Time with my fellows on this little island in the north of the world...