I’m dreading the solstice. I’m not supposed to feel that way, I know. It’s meant to be a time of celebration; we’re meant to be glad about the reborn sun, the returning light. We’re supposed to be happy, and I’m not.
I love the time between Samhain and the solstice; it feeds my need for inwardness, for contemplation. The land and I are in agreement about what we need and I feel at peace. The rest of the year I’m fighting with myself – everything around me feels bright and alive and excited, and I just want to keep turning inwards. In the days before the solstice I can find such deep places within myself, and all I want is to find that level and stay there.
It always falls away from me. That place inside myself is a little like love, I think – you can’t hold it too tightly or you crush it, you can’t hold it too loosely or it slips away. All I can do is adore these few days before the nights grow shorter for the place they help me to find.
I’m trying to learn not to hold things so tightly. I’m trying to learn to go with the flow of things but every year this comes around, and every year it makes me feel like myself again. I miss this feeling the rest of the year.