Summer Solstice--Solee Levee

I wake way earlier than my usual time, and I’ve probably only had about three hours of sleep if I’m lucky. The alarm rings at 5:15am. 5:30 will be the sunrise. I need to be outside with my drum before then to sing the song of the rising sun, whatever that chooses to be at the time the golden light breaks over the land.

It is chilly for June, but that works in my favor. In sweatpants and a sweatjacket, the mosquitoes won’t have too many places to try to sneak a bite. Also, the cold keeps the biting ladies at bay, so I really don’t even see one.

I bring out the chair, my drum, and my solar scepter to represent the focus of the action. And then I wait. Where I am, in a bit of a valley with very old, tall trees, the only way I’ll know if the sun has risen is if the elder, Grandfather Red Oak, gives the signal by getting the first golden splash of light.

The birds sing around me. There is much activity as the day’s territories are being discussed at length. I hear a deep “kruk” and recognize the sound. I look up and see a few ravens cut across the sky. Ravens aren’t a popular sight around here, and I’m thrilled!

The scent of Japanese honeysuckles, in bloom during this time, wafts over me. The Earth Mother has dotted herself with perfume in preparation for the celebration of the longest day of the year. I bathe in her scent while I watch the still surface of the deep portion of the creek, wondering what kind of fishes are making the little circles that appear at the top.

I get a quick glance at what I think is a hawk, but I’m not sure because the tail wasn’t spread. That would be a really good sign, but I’m not sure what I’ve seen.

Having waited a while now, my mind starts to wander to websites I was reading the night before and the prospect of discussing a certain test with my doctor. Worst of all, I have a song stuck in my head from a Family Guy episode we watched the night before. Got to get back on track.

First, I start silently singing “Waiting for the Sun” by the Doors. Then I think about the Graxean Mythology that surrounds this day. Lord Sun will make his triumphant dance across the sky today, celebrating the amazing strength of his power and gathering all to celebrate with him. And it will start at the birth of the day. As the day struggles to free itself of the womb of night, the day gets brighter and brighter, but yet no sun. This is also the day that the Lord of Fire and Light takes over the Pillar of Seasons from the Lady of Stone and Earth. He bugs her and begs her to give up the Pillar, but she flatly refuses just to get him riled up. Some days he blasts everything with heat to show he’s ready. Some days he lets it be chilly so everyone knows what it would be like without him. Still, she holds him back. It’s only when the light of the sun is born on this day she will step down, probably while he’s throwing a tantrum and doesn’t even notice the Pillar has emptied.

I start some slow, heartbeat-style drumming to get myself focused. For a while I keep this beat and feel off-kilter if I slip up or miss a rhythmic step to scratch an itch. I think of the strength that the Sun teaches, the power to reign over all adversity. The day starts small, as does strength and courage, but allowed to run its course over the day, it will build until it is at its utmost power, if I allow it and acknowledge it. I take a personal lesson to deal with challenges facing me at the moment.

Finally, I look and see the orange splash of light on Grandfather’s uppermost branches. My drumming has worked! It has called the Sun into birth for the day! (Metaphorically of course, though some cultures once believed this to be a necessity.)

My drumming speeds to a rhythm similar to the one in Dead Can Dance’s song “Song of the Stars.” Caught up in the rhythm, I gently sing the opening verses of the song but with different lyrics, ones associated with the rising of the sun before me. That song concludes with the correct lines from the song: Solee, Levee (Sun, Rise! in French.)

At the call of that last portion, the golden light finally peeks through the leaves and stares straight at me. I called for the sun to rise, and there it has made itself apparent (wonderful timing!) My drumming speeds to excitement. I look around me. Grandfather is bathed in golden light. The other elder trees share in the first taste of the morning sun. The light becomes strong enough to be reflected in the still surface of the creek, but only little spots appear because of the thick leaf cover. It’s utterly delightful to behold, truly sacred, and exactly what I had been waiting for. Though this is the third year I have done this, it’s powerful every time.

I finally end my drumming and welcome the sun with my own words. It is then I hear the cry of the hawk spill across the land. I had been right the first time. The reason for the excitement behind this call is that it is the sign of my unborn son. For a moment, I had forgotten there were two of us celebrating this early morning. And as I begin to talk to him, to explain what we were doing and the drumming he felt, I am greeted by a flutter of kicks.

It is indeed a joyous morning. I pack up my items and bring them inside, then return with my crystal representation of the sun and place it outside to bath in the longest light of the year. I take some extra steps to inhale the sweet scent of the honeysuckles one more time. They are extra sweet this morning. Another short walk to look at the creek and I’m ready to return inside. This is exactly what ceremony should be. This feeling, this joy, this connection along with synchronicity that all came together at the right moment, this is the point of my spiritual practices. I need no set doctrine, no books, no leader to guide me. I only need my drum and my openness to possibility. That and some sweats to keep the mosquitoes at bay.