A RitualArtworK
Curated by Fern Smith
WOMEN OF THE SUMMER SOLSTICE a vigil in the midst of a global pandemic
Women of the Summer Solstice: A vigil in the midst of a global pandemic
with gratitude to Annabel Hollis, Carmel George, Chris Bird-Jones, Emily Hinshelwood, E.S., Daisy Fox, Lis Hughes-Jones, Suzanne luppa, Alison Andrews, Isabel Carlisle, Judith Mills, Phil Ralph, Jo Shapland, Clare Whistler, Sheena McMahon, Donna Males, Marega Palser, Ailsa Mair, Eleanor Greenwood, Eleanor Brown, Phil Ralph and Suzi Gablik.
RitualArtworK Curated by Fern Smith Front cover image: Marega Palser Back cover image: Emily Hinshelwood
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A Vigil for the Summer Solstice June 2020 The Summer Solstice is one of the great turning points of the year and in the Northern Hemisphere represents the longest day and the shortest night. In early June, I sent out an invitation to join me in marking the Summer Solstice 2020 with a ‘socially distant’ overnight Vigil from sunset on mid-summer’s eve until dawn on mid-summer’s day. This went out by email to a number of women friends all of whom either practise or have an interest in ritual and ceremony. Within a week I received responses from over 20 women. Many of whom participated in the creation of this document.
This invitation developed into an impromptu self-organised, socially-distant collective ‘RitualArtworK’. The occasion of this activity was during the gradual easing of the ‘lockdown’ in response to the Covid-19 pandemic with social-distancing measures still in place and restrictions on travel throughout my homeland of Wales which were first implemented on March 23rd. The responses below represent a marking of this significant, traditional earth festival.
This document has been created with a view to honouring and sharing each woman’s individual intention and any reflections or insights gained from the time in ceremony.
I would like to thank with all my heart all of the women for joining me and allowing me to join with them. This gave meaning and helped honour a moment which could so easily have passed without notice given the strangeness and disruption of the times. I believe this form of activity is a kind of ‘sacred activism’ and is powerful in supporting the practice of the ‘art of living’. The Vigil is not only of individual significance, but is also in service of the collective, in terms of representing an act of artful prayer in service of the planet and all beings at this tumultuous time.
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The Vigil within a Global Context The Summer Solstice of 2020 fell, along with the Spring Equinox and Easter, during the time of a global pandemic caused by the Coronavirus disease known as Covid-19. Beginning in late 2019, a series of lock-downs and social distancing measures were implemented in waves throughout the world. The death toll and its impact on long-term physical and mental health, economic hardship, education and social isolation are still being counted. Many of us, including myself, have also spoken about the positive impact of the pandemic in terms of people slowing down a hyper-accelerated pace of life, cleaner air, and having more time to spend with families and loved ones. However, the negative impact of Covid-19 has been disproportionately felt by the planet’s poorer people and people of colour, with higher infection and death rates amongst these groups. During this time of global lock-down, there have been up-risings and protest against the injustice and systemic racism against people of colour in the wake of the murder of George Floyd on May 25 th by a white policeman in Massachusetts. The vigil for the Summer Solstice was held within the context of this social and political unrest as well as the insecurity and fear in relation to Covid-19. As I write this, infection rates in a number of countries are resurgent and again on the rise with local lock-downs now being imposed in the UK, whilst in Wales, where I live, there is a gradual easing of restrictions and the border between Wales and the rest of the UK is open for the first time to visitors. No country is as yet free from the virus and its effects which will surely be felt for years to come.
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The Invitation:
Women Holding Vigil 2020
An invitation to participate in a DIY, Self-organised, Women’s Summer Solstice Ritual Friday 19th June 9.21pm to Saturday 20th June 4.43am
This is a Vigil which involves keeping watch through the dark hours of the night to witness the sun rising at dawn on the Mid-Summer Solstice. We begin our vigil at sunset on mid-Summer’s Eve (19th June) and end on the morning of the 2020 Summer Solstice (20 th June). This is a vigil to honour the dark as well as celebrate the light. The Summer Solstice is the time of mid-Summer representing the longest day and shortest night in the Northern Hemisphere (the shortest in the Southern) before the days get shorter and we move towards Winter and the entire cycle begins again The length of the Vigil is roughly 7 hours. The invitation is to mark this time in a conscious and creative way on your own or with others, by crafting your own vigil or ceremony. This could be simple, this could be elaborate.
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You might hold vigil for a loved one, the whole world, for a dream or for an idea. Vigil: c. 1200, "eve of a religious festival" (an occasion for devotional watching or observance), from Anglo-French and Old French vigile "watch, guard; eve of a holy day" (12c.), from Latin vigilia "a watch, watchfulness," from vigil "watchful, awake, on the watch, alert. Meaning "watch kept on a festival eve" in English from late 14c.; general sense of "occasion of keeping awake for some purpose" is recorded from 1711. https://www.etymonline.com What is it you will mark as you sit in the darkness and wait for the light? We are living through a time of fear, uncertainty, grief, anger and desperation. At this time, many of us have also witnessed countless instances and moments of joy, resilience, human integrity and natural beauty. I believe ritual is ‘the art of arts’ and is a practise we have in our bones to which we can all connect in our own unique way. Some might call it prayer, art, self-generated ceremony or believe it to be a kind of ‘sacred activism.’ Ritual can connect us to our own sense of soul, spirit or self, to the earth and to the energies and potential of these times. It asks that we connect to the deepest part of ourselves as well as to what we love and cherish in the world. We might call this connection to Wisdom, Beauty, Art, Universal Energy, Spirit or God. For me, it can be as simple as a conscious, intentional act of witnessing, marking and noticing. It involves opening myself to ‘what is present’ whether this feels like a celebration or a mourning. I do this work as a creative human being and an artist and not as a follower of any particular lineage or tradition. I’m interested in the art of living and believe that every single human being is an artist. What might it look like to practise living as an art? It’s different for all of us and involves connecting to a deep sense of purpose or calling, even if it risks sometimes taking us to a place of questioning, feeling lost or a hanging out with ideas of failure. This work doesn’t have to be done ‘at scale’ to be effective. Small ritual acts of kindness, loyalty and devotion can have great power. I believe that especially at times like this, offering gratitude and marking the cycles of life, honouring the elements and all beings, can be an immense though invisible force for change.
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Schedule Friday 19th June: online meet 5pm – 7pm BST. As many of us doing this as possible will meet online on the afternoon of Friday 19th June. We will share a little about ourselves and what we are marking and what we might plan to do. The sharing of our intentions can be very powerful and this can act as a wider ‘witnessing’ of what we are doing individually and together. Sunset June 19th – Sunrise June 20th: Vigil We all mark this time making vigil in our own way. You might do this inside, you might do this outside. Make sure you are safe and can obey social distancing and any Covid-19 regulations in place where you are. Monday 22nd June: online meet 5pm – 7pm BST. As many of us who are able and interested, will re-connect online to share stories, words and reflections on each of our experiences.
What Happens Next? You are invited to send me words and images documenting your Vigil time. I will compile these all into an online document which will be shared amongst ourselves and also be available to share to a wider public. The final document is shared between all of us – no one person ‘owns it’ as such. It belongs to the commons and anyone can share or upload it to their websites as a legacy of this artwork, this moment in time. Everyone who participates will be credited. Feel free to share this invitation to other women and those who identify as women or non-binary.
About Me My name is Fern Smith, I live near Machynlleth in Wales and I’m a Ritual Artist, facilitator, celebrant, coach, craniosacral therapist and rites of passage guide. You can find out more information about my work at: www.fernsmith.uk www.emergence-uk.org www.craniosacraltherapy.wales
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solstice a page totem of the ritual
a time of balance, of dawning stillness of restoring energy a time of dreamtime in daytime of bats of potency of stonehenge, birdsong and pausing ancient through time, a time of alignment a tipping point, a change of direction and time out of time of reconnecting of the indigenous the pivot, the centre, the flight a time of prayers, pregnant and listening of elderflower and sweet fecundity of green and gold, of shifting peak energy a liminal space, a twilight, a threshold a time of birdsong, of beginning, of descent of preparing fruit and fire of dreaming and rhythm of balance and fullness of dawn stillness and the restoration of energy solstice – a mark and a manifesting of warmth, of developing seeds a pregnant chamber an anchoring, a transition a time of space, of lush summer, of fledgling love and death.
Alison, Annabel, Carmel, Chris, Daisy, Emily, E.S, Fern, Isabel, Jo, Judith, Lis and Suzanne,
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Words from the Women of the Summer Solstice
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The image expresses something about how the solstice experience with you all has left its print on me - as I said in my other email to you straight afterwards, I have had a strong sense of being at the ’top’ of the year and that it’s a kind of downwards trip to the winter and this is something that in previous years has made me feel anxious.
After the vigil however, I have found an unexpected send of optimism - and this jasmine (which was looking pretty dead before having been damaged last year) has unexpectedly launched itself into life again. The flowers are opening and giving off the most delicious scent. The two things - the vigil and the flower - have combined at this point in the year to be anchors of positivity.
Alison Andrews
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Summer Solstice Dreaming
June 2020
Listen, listen. Relax and follow The rhythm That is your own Slow, sure And meandering. Step Sovereign Into the dark hours Of this Solstice eve Your Oak tree friends At your back. The night portal opens. You find shelter Under leaf dappled Cathedral canopy. Good night, green world. Blood spattered bark Shocks you awake. Don’t look away From history’s demons, Let the Solstice light Bring clear vision Wishing for a new future Purged of distortion Falsehood and lies, With heart centred Inspired leadership. Rose petals and Raspberries Red Your offerings of gratitude To the trees, To the creatures To the land.
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Sometimes fear is good. Keeping you safe When a threat. The hedge rustling Might be a warning. Memories of male violence Lie deep in the psyche. What woman has not known Unwanted male attention Assault even? The indigenous in you Is rising up from Blood bone depths. The urge to colonise, dominate Amass wealth and power Is murdering Life. Dreaming into prayers Of thankfulness For your Life Your community This Earth Feel your Woman’s Creative Fire Dancing herself free With touch Music, paint And pen. Here we stand At a Choice point, A Holy Pause. Listen to the Wisdom Keepers. They hold the key. The Earth does not Belong to Man. Man belongs To the Earth. Man is just another Creature in the forest. Annabel Hollis
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Tending Fire. The stream remembering itself. Starmaps. Shadow work.
'She went into the dark forest and trusted she'd find her way'
Using the night as inspiration for a work-in-progress musical story called Rope of Light. Beyond the bounds of night & day keeping vigil under the trees and stars. She was not alone (we never are). Embers. Inner light.
This is me now.
Trying to accept myself with all failings. Sleepy, confused, searching, longing for that clarity that comes with both spontaneity and discipline
Blessed to be in the company of the stream again - here is my vigil - it writes poetry in my veins. Come back, again and again ('don't go back to sleep...')
And don't forget it is you - and the forest - that must put wood on your fire. Do not neglect it. Stay with and let your unknowing flourish into itself...
Ailsa Mair
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I decided to go down to Primrose Hill Community Park, ‘my park’, to be in nature for sundown. Reaching the bottom of the steps, on the way, a beautiful fox appeared, looked directly into my eyes, decided not to come towards me, looked away and disappeared down the hill.
As I sat, on the newly positioned stone steps listening to the birds, two bats swooped above my head, the cloudy sky a myriad of greys becoming gradually more pink then deepening into darkness. I picked some wild strawberries.
The house is still, silent except for the tinnitus ring in my ears.
1.15 am suddenly there are excited voices outside, I go to the window, two young girls walking up The Promenade.
Back in my living room I decide to open the suitcase of photographs from my father’s house and spend the next few hours engrossed in family - three generations past, plus my childhood, my brothers, my mother, my father, my grandparents - memories.
4.15 am the sky is lightening I must climb the hill.
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The birds are waking, a cacophony from many seagulls interspersed with blackbird tunes. Two bats swoop over me. It starts to rain.
I keep on going, retracing part of my Beltane path.
By the time I reach the Round School I am dripping wet so I do the sensible thing turn around and head towards home, giving up on my planned circular route via the beach.
The rain stops, sky lightens a little, and then the jackdaws come, fledglings flocking from rooftop to chimney, chimney to rooftop, practicing flight. Detail of painting created 5.30am 20:06:20
6 am I climb into bed, imagining the sunshine and blue sky behind the clouds.
Chris Bird-Jones
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June 21
solstice happened Without me Rain covered the moment of change after yesterday’s meadow carried the sun and its yellow and purple acolyte flowers Today it's rain cloud the bathing the baptism the wash the moon waned unseen and today I greet the solstice in a new raincoat, a sleep deprived body and A mending A loose island unclothed with water and in shadowed light shines with the polish of rain To be soaked is genuinely greeted the note book words dilute I have no ‘Wanting’ No question to ask No affirmation I just stand in rain and let it all be Letting us all be the actionRain
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A visitation on walking home A doe and a fawn We both stood still and eyed each other After time They walked gracefully off
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Clare Whistler
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This is a tale of a healer, a woman in the desert. She packed her flowers and powers And flew to another land, And it was here that she heard her heart speak Under the dark night sky And the shining stars, And it said, Child, you are strong You can heal your broken wounds. So she danced and danced around the fire so bright And the flames, they flickered and followed her From left to right, And the wind around her carried her far away, The wind around her carried her far away. Then one morning in the blazing heat She marched to the nearest dune, And she looked back across the land And made a promise to the sand That she would heal. So she danced and danced around the fire so bright And the flames, they flickered and followed her From left to right, And the wind around her carried her far away, The wind around her carried her far away. She was free.
Daisy Fox
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My Vigil 19th June 2020
I light the candle at my alter/shrine. I acknowledge the relatives and friends I have placed here in photographic form – their smiles cheeky, wistful & happy…they represent a time in their mortal lives where they were physically vital and energised. This makes me smile.
…ah the memories.
I welcome the spirits of all life that have lived before me, to join in honouring this time, this crazy age of lock-down, to acknowledge the atrocities and crimes against humanity that I am witnessing at this time. I start to feel the anxiety and fear that hasn’t really left me since March. I sit with this for a while, then I pick up my Ukulele. The Uke has been a true godsend during these times. It is my new companion, a new mode for me to express myself through music. I am now able to write songs and accompany myself.
I play for hours. I sing, I cry, I laugh, I sob…I am entertaining my guests. I think my Dad is impressed although he doesn’t say as much!
I manage to create a song and record it to send to the other beautiful women who are doing this vigil with me.
I gaze at the pictures of my loved ones for long moments...it’s so beautiful to see their faces flickering in the candlelight…their time here so fleeting...as my time here is also fleeting. I’m sad as I come to terms with my own mortality for the millionth time. Why do I spend so much time sweating the small stuff in life, the nitty picky things that just don’t really matter? I get cross with myself for wasting precious time! I imagine my Dad chuckling and telling me to get a grip “You’re not here long Don, grab your life with both hands and bloody live it!” I hear him say. My Nan is agreeing in her own supportive and loving way. She was always there for me during my childhood when it seemed that no one really cared that much. I love you Nan!
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There is talk of Wales coming out of lock-down in July, and to be honest I’m looking forward to a bit more freedom but I’m also scared, nervous and unsure. I’ve realised during this past few months that the majority of the work I was doing no longer serves me. I don’t want to go back (or forward) to there, depending on how you look at it. During the lock-down I’ve spent many hours in the garden, planting seeds and watching them grow. My future outlook has changed somewhat, I’ve become more green-fingered and I love it. I want to live the rest of my life more in tune with nature. So, after many hours of discussion, my partner and I decided to buy a woodland close to where we live in Tal-y-Bont. We both wish to be the guardians of this woodland, build our own house, grow our own food and transform it into a magical place for future generations to enjoy. The reason I’m scared is because I’ve never done anything like this before. There’s lots to learn about growing food, lots of hard physical labour and I fear it may break me at my grand old age!
…and breathe...it will all work out fine…I think…oh gawd…breathe again Donna all will be just as it is meant to be.
My candles have burnt out and the faces at the altar are no longer visible. I feel our time together has come to a fitting end. I suddenly realise that I’m feeling cold, so I get under the duvet to warm up. I meditate and drift off to sleep. I awake again at 4.30 something, just in time to witness the light of the new day before me. And through the skylight I see the old oak tree swaying gently in the wind…
I fall softly back to sleep.
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Donna Males
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Summer Solstice 2020, an invite to hold vigil, I said yes straight away. In the weeks prior, life felt full, I felt overwhelmed and it kept building and building. I knew I needed to bring myself back into balance, I felt dangerously on the edge and close to spinning off and away, into midsummer madness. I hoped the vigil would re-ground me. My intention was simply for balance, and for an embodied feeling of that, an embodied sense of knowing. I decided to keep it simple, I was to camp out on the land I live on, make and tend a fire all night and welcome in the dawn.
Friday came. I felt very low. The day got later and later and I still hadn’t prepared for my camp out. Earlier in the day I remembered that exactly ten years ago on the solstice I was in a redwood forest in northern California, wild camping amongst the trees. This had been a moment of huge awakening, of coming alive, and where so many threads that formed this past decade were born from. I realise the significance of this and desperately want to mark it. I remember a short film I had made of this time and a photograph that I had taken, a rainbow halo around the sun which I had never seen before and never seen again which had felt so special to behold. I decide to search through old hard drives and files to find these things, but instead of finding them I go down the rabbit hole. I trail through old photos and videos, a trip down memory lane that feels like a journey into the underworld.
Memories, all the places I’ve been and things I've done, people I’ve lost touch with, people who have died, people loved and lost, so many varying moments and times of my life that I miss. Images so vivid and alive, but so far away now. None of them fill me with joy, but instead a sadness, then a numbness and then depression and despair takes its grip. I move on to my phone and decide to delete the contacts of people who I am no longer connected with. So many names, deleted and gone. I cannot bring myself to delete the names of my friends who have died.
Grief is laying heavy now. I feel lost. Confused by the past, afraid of the future, and the complete unknown. I don’t know what the fuck I am doing. I decide to pass on the group zoom call with the other women keeping vigil as I can’t face anyone. I fall deeper and deeper. These memories had really got a grip. All the roads untravelled. All the things that could have been. Free fall decent. Comfort eating and smoking cigarettes, anything to numb this feeling. My ‘sacred ritual’ plan up in smoke. Intense anxiety hits about what the future holds, and the trauma of recent past.
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My vigil intention of balance in the fullness of midsummer and the embodied knowing of that seems ludicrous now. I want to call someone but there is no one that seems right. I want my phone to ring, something, anything, to break into this feeling. Yet I know I have to go it alone. The evening is here and I let go of all intention to ‘hold vigil’ or ‘do a ritual’. I decide the best thing I can do is go gently on myself. I close the curtains against the light and shut off this longest day, eventually drifting off to sleep and dwelling in strange dreams on this shortest night.
I wake in the morning, relief at first to have made it past yesterday, but before long I’m flooded again, but this time the grief finds its way out. Tears are flowing and I curl up into a ball for what feels like hours. At some point, I really want to hear music and choose Tracy Chapman, her voice soothing and washes over me. Next, I want to listen to my own songs, the ones I’m in the process of making. They bring forth more grief but back into a sense of myself, remembering some purpose, knowing these are a channel somehow, they help me live.
Suddenly I get flooded with a new song. The lyrics come in one go and then into music. I record the track immediately, knowing it is one of the songs that feel sacred to me. When they just arrive like that, I know they hold some medicine. I name it ‘kaleidoscope mind’ and it crystallises the experience of this solstice time. I listen to it on repeat. The emotion washes through me for the rest of the day and by the end of the weekend I'm exhausted.
Only then do I realise, this has been my vigil, my ritual, in the most unforeseen way. I asked for embodiment and I got it. A chance to feel all the grief that had been locked up for some time, and then its emergence into song, and the relief that brought me. Being with the dark and seeing it through ’til the light. Being with the process of dying and living. I wanted to do a vigil, and the vigil did me.
Eleanor Brown
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Silver Solstice
Silver light and water, rain and heavy wet grass Sunshine-light, sun-water, light-water Connecting with a turbulent flow of emotions in these strange times Be like the water and go with the flow The stream joyfully tumbles down Not caring where it is going or where it will be next A gentler solstice, silver and sparkling Shielding from the bright outward light of the sun Giving time to reflect as the world pauses Before the in-breath.
Eleanor Greenwood
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Summer Solstice 19-21/6/2020
Driving down a lane, a buzzard takes off from his perch as we pass and follows us, closely above. We pass three wild horses. As the sun sets, we stride up to the top of Cefn Bryn – flat wide land, thick grey clouds. Beneath, over Rhossili Downs, gold light that gradually reddens.
Saying something out loud for the first time, the truth brings tears. I tell Daisy that I feel restricted in my current life. I’m longing for wider horizons. But I’m worried about leaving everything I have known - my home, my relationship, my security - when I don’t know where I will go or what I will do. I feel a leap of faith that is being asked of me. I admit, for the first time, that I’m scared. Naming the fear brings instant relief.
We walk down, unburdened, breathing the wind in deep, and stooping to wonder at glow worms.
Back at the house, we eat. I’ve been fasting for two days, and the food – an aubergine and coconut curry I made – tastes delicious. We go and set up our space in the cabin. We light candles, burn incense, and meditate. We chant 9 Oms, our breath becomes synchronized. We sit in silence for a while. Then we talk. About these times and about women’s bodies; about how much work women have to do to free themselves of internalized patriarchy, to reclaim their bodies and step into their full power. Then we dance, by turns shyly and unreservedly.
I give Daisy a brooch of the moon. Daisy sings me a song she has written, about a woman in the desert. More tears. I’m deeply touched to have my experience witnessed, understood and reflected back to me in such a beautiful way. Daisy sings another of her songs, about being inspired by the light. Then, we go outside. The light is starting to come up now. It’s around 3.30am and misty rain falls softly. Looking up at the top of a tree swaying in the wind I see the shape of a dancing figure. Tired, we go into the house, eat and talk a little more, then say goodnight. Just as I’m about to climb into bed, I’m drawn back out into the garden. As I open the gate into the field behind, the rain becomes torrential. I walk about the field of long grass, 27
ringed by tall hedges and old trees. I stand admiring them. A raucous dawn chorus and the sound of rain as the light unfurls, soft and grey. I discover a gate I’d never seen before.
I peel off my soaked clothes and climb under the covers. I read a book Daisy handed to me earlier – The Book of Fortune, open hands and a crystal ball on its cover. I fall asleep reading about the stars.
A few hours of sleep, and a lazy morning. We talk about ideas for a short film we’re going to make together. We go for a walk, down through the woods, across the dunes. We sit on the beach in the midday sun, absorbing its heat through our skin into our bodies. We run to the sea and swim in its cold clear water. We talk about men, love, the ways people heal one another, time. We head back. Later we’re surprised to discover our faces burnt red in just a couple of hours.
Back at the house, we eat salad in the garden and chat. Daisy, Anis and their friend lark about on a trapeze, then leave for a late climb. I’m too exhausted to drive home, as I had planned. Daisy suggests I chill out in the attic. I lie on the sofa and tune into Wonderland just as Charles Eisenstein is about to speak. He speaks eloquently and with wise heart: about love, courage, change, the future. He asks, what do we want to claim for our future?
Then, I tune in to a live druid ceremony. A wide bucolic landscape, bathed in golden light, a stone circle, 2 women, 2 men, the roots of an upturned oak, a hunk of Merlinite, flaming torches. They perform a Solstice ceremony, turning the circle.
After this ceremony, I tune in to two simultaneous live webcasts – a sound journey in New Zealand and the sun setting at Stonehenge; listening to the sound of the former while watching the images of the latter, full screen. I find myself on my feet, my tired body starting to move. I send a text to my soul brother “Are you watching and listening now?” I open the skylights to let the evening air in. The deep drone of the didge escapes out across the quiet village. It fills my body. I turn in a circle, stretching out my arms to call in the directions. I lift my foot and as it strikes the floor, a drum beat starts. I am dancing on the very tip of this moment as it unfolds, on the edge where the future touches the present. I feel plugged in to a vast web of connections.
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I breathe the air in deeply and draw in my connection to this land, Gower, where I’m from. Being up in the attic I am at the level of the tree tops, moving in the wind. I feel connected to them through the wind on my skin, and again I discern the top of the tree as a large dancing figure.
As I dance I pray, calling upon all allies, human and non-human, to come together in this moment, to shift the timelines and set a new course for humanity, uplifting our consciousness and bringing us into harmony with nature and Spirit. I pray that humanity moves swiftly now towards fulfilling our highest potential as divine beings, bringing a new consciousness of unity, love, peace and justice. I pray that everyone who yearns for this will come together now and put their shoulders to the wheel. I dance burning with the flame of this prayer, this yearning.
Once the sun has set on Stonehenge, I listen to the music of Kel Assouf. The Sahara. I dance gently now, remembering, longing to return to the desert. I hear Daisy, Anis and their friend arrive home. I join them for a while and then go to sleep.
On Sunday, I go to meet my dear friend Clarity. We meet at Shepherds and walk through the woods and the valley to Three Cliffs. The weather is wild, fast moving, wind and rain, then sun. The sea is frothy with strong waves. We go in, riding the waves with delight, feeling the pull of the undertow. Afterwards we drink hot tea, share a cinnamon swirl, fruit and nuts. We witness each other naming our souls sisters, blessing and giving thanks for these women and for each other. We sing a song Clarity has recently learnt from her singing teacher “We are creating the world we want to see.” We dance and whirl on the beach. We skip up the beach, laughing.
We rest in the dunes, and I tell Clarity that I am ready for a new life, to go where I’m called. I still don’t know what or where, but the fear has gone. We walk across the stepping stones. We stand in the middle of the river and proclaim our intentions. I walk Clarity up to the castle, where we say goodbye. I stay for a while, watching the tide coming in, the river filling up. I admire its serpentine shape, and silver colour, like mercury. Three rooks circle and return, circle and return, circle and return, each time passing just metres over my head, so that I see their open claws quite clearly.
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I leave around 7, driving home in time to see Seckou Kieta live. When a friend had sent me the programme for Wonderland, Seckou’s name had leapt out at me. I’ve seen him live a couple of times in Cardiff - so magical! His music deeply touches my soul. I danced in a state of absolute bliss and love, completed suffused in his music and his beautiful voice. He dedicated one of his songs to “all the Sufis out there”.
Wonderland draws to a close with the wisdom of Woman Stands Shining.
Post Script Thanks to lockdown, I have found 2 wonderful women teachers – Jean Rankin and Sue Rickards – who I have been dancing and journeying with, in community with other dancers, 4 times a week for 10 weeks. These dances continue to be of powerful healing and prayer.
And, in writing this and reflecting on my experience, I feel that they are also a kind of training in how to open to and honour the truth of one’s experience in any given moment.
This has been the most powerful and beautiful Solstice I have experienced to date. For the past few years I have done rituals and ceremony on my own. This Solstice has gifted me a profound and deep sense of connection and community, with all of life, and a lived understanding of how exponentially more powerful ceremony is when it is a collective endeavour. It has also gifted me the courage and vision for my future.
E.S.
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I prepare to hold vigil in the garden where I’m living now in Melinbyrhedin not far from Machynlleth, the ancient capital of Wales. I’m facing the yew tree, my back to a large rickety shed and the compost bins. I did an ‘Earth Lodge’ in this exact place under the supervision of my teacher David Wendl-Berry on arriving at this our new home, almost two years ago. This was another sort of vigil, involving a ceremonial ‘dying practice’, fasting in the darkness of a tiny home-made enclosure completely without food or water for 36 hours. And now at the eve of the Summer Solstice 2020 during the time of lock-down in Wales, I choose this time, to hold a vigil for life. The commitment I make is to ‘being here and to life’. These are the words I am sitting with through my hours of darkness waiting for the day to dawn.
I am sitting at sundown at a little after 9.45pm on Friday 19 th July 2020, preparing to light and feed my fire which I plan to keep going until morning. It’s in a heavy earthen-wear chiminea as tall as me which I’ve hauled out from the back of the shed. I plan to sit facing the fire, feeding it, tending it, watching it until dawn. As simple as that.
As soon as the dark descends, I hear noises of scratching and the skittering of little feet – it’s the rats of the compost heap which I’ve seen signs of, but not encountered ‘til now. Part of me is enjoying the joke of me sitting with the rats for company, but another part is feeling uneasy and frustrated that I’ve chosen this of all the possible beautiful places I could have chosen in the garden and surrounding fields to hold my vigil. And now, the rain begins. It starts gently but is soon torrential or at least sounds like it. I’ve dragged out an enormous plastic tarpaulin sheet in readiness for this eventuality which I now wrap around myself. I sit in my foldaway camping chair, literally knee to knee with the chiminea which is by now blazing. The great, green, plastic tarpaulin becomes an enormous cape which surrounds me completely. I feel as if I am, in the words of Wordsworth’s poem: ‘Intimations of Immortality’, ‘trailing clouds of glory...’ and thank the gods of plastic, often so perniciously maligned.
The sound of the rain muffles and to my relief, silences the sounds of the rats. Either that or they’ve given up due to the inclement weather and gone back inside the dry shelter of the sheds. My worry is for my fire, but the water seems to enflame it more. It burns and sizzles bright orange, white-gold as the rain drops steadily plop and sizzle, plop and sizzle. The rearranging of my green plastic cape, trying to look out, not catching it or myself on fire whilst at the same time, trying to keep myself dry engages my attention for most of the dark hours. I’m pretty hot inside my make-shift shelter. With the many layers of clothes I’ve piled on to keep warm overnight, my proximity to the fire plus the unbreathable plastic membrane of the tarp, I spend most of my time in a hot sweat. It does feel good though and
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keeps me as present as I can be. Given these conditions, I definitely won’t be drifting off to sleep.
I have brought with me a small alabaster Ankh strung on a red ribbon which a friend bought me from the temple of Luxor in Egypt. The Ankh represents the hieroglyphic symbol of Life. I also have with me a silver necklace pendant of Hathor, the great cow goddess brought back from Egypt by the same friend. I play with and dangle these in the fire light, enjoying the interplay of shadows and witnessing an alchemy of fire, water, earth, air with the ancient archetypal ideas of death, life and re-birth. A vigil in the middle of a global pandemic feels the right time for such pondering. Lock-down and a simultaneous uprising in the wake of the murder of an African American man called George Floyd at the hands of the police in Minneapolis just three weeks ago. The earth is in a state of balance and surge at the same time.
As I sit, I remember the names and the faces of the women who are holding their vigils at the same time. One woman, who lives a mile away at the other end of the valley, another only a few miles further towards Aberangell. Others in South Wales and the valleys …. and…
(… as I write these words… a magnificent heron, steps brazenly in front of the window where I am sitting writing at my computer facing out to the garden. We face each other a few feet apart, the pane of glass between us. This is no every-day event. It has actually never happened before. I take my hands off the computer keys and go still. It stays there unmoving for about a minute before it turns and exits stage left… At that moment, an email notification pops onto my screen – it comes from the RSPB. I look at the bulletin, it begins: ‘Nature has changed since the start of lockdown, and we’ve all had front row seats.’
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Perhaps a messenger to tell me to begin to wrap up my Solstice story…)
My vigil continues. I sit under the starry sky, I see one fall. I see the milky way. The milk from the breast of the great goddess Hathor, the one who generates life and gives sustenance to all.
I think of the women sitting in the darkness. I know I am not alone. The rain eases. The bats venture out. I have my great green plastic cape for warmth and more wood to burn.
The darkness turns dusky grey. I can’t yet see my hand in front of my face but the early birds have started to sing. I sit. I wait. I listen. This, the shortest night heralding the longest day. I had a vision for this year. My ‘2020 Vision’, I would announce to anyone who was interested. I had lots of plans, lots of things I wanted to do, to run and organise this year. A Vison Fast, a small group nature retreat, a retreat on Bardsey Island. Then the world went into lock-down. Lock-down has forced me to let go of all of these plans, let go of certainty and all known structures. To descend into the earth, into the depths of an empty, questioning, unknowing often lit by anxiety and fear.
I simply mark this Vigil by committing ‘to being here and to life’. At times, this feels easier said than done. As someone born under the sign of Gemini with a late May birthday, I’ve felt much of my life, I’ve had a foot in ‘both worlds’. This sometimes makes me feel as if I’m not wholly committing to life. I’m aware that a powerful initiation or ritual, can offer the opportunity of undergoing a conscious ‘re-birthing’ of oneself. During this time of global pandemic, lock-down and uprising. I commit to being here whilst I am still alive as well as having a relationship with and respect for ‘the mystery’.
I make sense of the pandemic in the only way I can – personally. Perhaps this is what I needed to do. To let go. To let go some more. And then, more again. To let something new arise. And in this place of the new, the sun rises on my Vigil on this 20 th day of June 2020, the day of the Midsummer Solstice. In this place of possibility are 20 women who accompany me and I, them.
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Fern Smith
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Invisible Liturgies Birch Vigil (midsummer eve).
I gaze, long time.
Little Silver and Polypore my field of sensing. Birth and Death in synergy for Life regeneration. My loom’s lineage at my back, I tend my womanly hearth. Two Spirit branches reach.
1) BIRCH A hush of tiny tinkling silver bells they manifest in subtle sway. Smaller zones make up this whole, this constant choreography.
2) POLYPORE Time magnifies A continuum of random interchange between
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slow slowing glowing and shady fading filling.
3) SYNERGY Spiralling from toes to crown you blanket me with verdant leaves underside silver overside dark waxing and waning lunar phasing
Two Spirit branches reach silver slivers electric swimmers raised left zone lowered right mirror to a hand held healing streaming
This luminescent dance in the dark
and within your aura
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little silver stars so close, and rapid, these silver slivers electric swimmers, that they foreground glinting night sky infinity. A mirror to hands holding healing streaming This luminescent dance in the dark
silver bells sway subtly Smaller zones, Tiny tinkling this constant choreography of hush this random continuum. This threshold that bridges us says “KEEP MOVING!� (with bodymind pliancy with heart, mind, body and spirit
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with this constant choreia.)
Sun up Solstice birth. after long time non time then Vixen’s voice is visceral Blackbird is bound in reverberating the nightsong liturgies And with focus and purpose From the point of rising to the point of sinking Heron, flying, foretells the path of expansive daylight ahead When Green fountains spiral from root through crown
Jo Shapland
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Solstice at my House, Harrow on the Hill 19th to 20th June 2020
Sunset from my bedroom window 21.19 pm
People on Church Fields watch the sun go down, an ancient tradition 21.19
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My small nature garden 22.13 pm
Looking up at infinity, connecting with The Pyramids, Bryn Celli Ddu, and the stars, smelling Jasmine. 22.30pm
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The sun emerges after the rain 5.10 am
Morning sunlight in the garden 5.50 am
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The Solstice Experience
A Blackbird sang sunset’s last post. One called in the sunrise too. In between a star calls me to infinity I feel the universality of energetic connection I see my co-vigilantes’ faces. Moths are alive in my nature haven. I can smell the wood mouse and the Jasmine Suddenly a need to cleanse. This was not in the plan. I met serenity, took in the light and encountered the eclipse’s darkness. A time for dismembering and remembering. I emerge again. Just as the sun does each eclipse, each year, each day.
Judith Mills
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1. There was no plan ... no obvious plan Just the simple act of BEing - witnessing BEing. * I saw the sun setting twice in one evening Checked in with a friend to see if their voice still sounded from their darkness And eventually stayed conscious going into sleep. * On waking the word ‘LOVE’ was there in BolD. * 2. Rolling down a hill at dawn in the sunshine, rain and dew And then into the woods ...( i go go go, to lose myself and find my soul ) Narnia meets Tarkovsky’s Stalker * In the WasteLands of the city is where you find the most diverse mix of plants, growing amongst rusty cans, used needles, and other human made waste. Nature grows - stronger than ever. * ...and then Rilke appeared... ’be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and to try to love the questions themselves like locked rooms and like books that are written in a very foreign tongue. Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer’
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SkyScapes
HillScapes
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WasteScapes ( the old Sainsbury site ) with : St Johns Wort & Rosebay Willowherb)
Marega Palser
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My intention for Solstice vigil: 1. I sit in this present time and pray for guidance & clarity on what to focus my energies on for my own work & for the earth 2. I pray my son Tom finds his way with his work, life & relationships & has support 3. I pray for healing for this beautiful planet & all life & for the wisdom of the old ways to meet the light of the new with understanding to build a positive green future.
I said my intentions out loud to trees & earth in the daytime. I made a small altar. I tried to tune into the group ‘Zoom’ energy whilst working to feel connected – just being aware it was happening. I lit the candle at 10pm giving thanks to the Earth for everything she gives us & totally feel how dependent I am / we are on her for absolutely everything. Said intentions to candle and universe and earth. I felt very tired. I did fall asleep for a while. I woke feeling very alert and chose not to let myself feel guilty for sleeping! I sat by candle & altar. Shadow stuff came up… thoughts of dislike, anger towards a couple of people, doubts, fear, anxiety. I just watched thoughts & feelings come and go. Becoming aware of patterns in myself & gently wondering how to change them. Somewhere between 2am & 4am came a great sense of stillness. A pregnant full / empty dynamic silence & stillness. I loved this – felt myself held in it like a deep enveloped / cave. I got clear for a while what I wanted to do with my time in the next year & wrote it down. Light started to creep in & suddenly the birds were singing. I went outside. A lone star hovered over the mountain silhouette & I just sat feeling enfolded in a sort of mysterious love as the world around slowly woke up.
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I repeated my intentions with thanks and went & made a cup of tea. I did a medicine walk later that day & sat in the place that called me.
These words came: The earth sings softly Melodies & rhythms weave Through the summer breeze Tumultuous storms thunder out warnings of climate change Gentle songs of flower & insects drift like currents on the wind Echoes of times gone & times to come call out call out calling, calling, calling calling us home I sit I listen Bones turn to rock Blood to water Fire of sun on my skin & in my belly Wind softly touches my skin I breathe in Dance of the four elements Daughters of beauty Listen deeply Open heart Deep gratitude Appreciation Join with others Don’t force, don’t push Act from heart only what is asked.
Sheena McMahon
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Fox at Solstice / 5000 mi from Tulsa “For one to be free there must be at least two.” —Zygmunt Bauman
The summer’s first day is matted together of mouse hair and cherry-stones pounced at, skitting the top of crust, battered by hooves run along the edge of set-aside, weaving wild oats scooted under, leaving black-tipped tufts. The hour is black, rocked back by shot tuned-in to by the uptick of ears. Stuffed effigies are the rage this season, nailed up to poles or strapped to plinths. The hour is black, eclipsed by smoke. Night digs with nails kept short by a burrow it comes up a delta field hoed flat, picked clean runs along a path pounded by hooves at the sound of a pack— no, a mob holding batons and twisting lengths of rope but this night is lamp-shy, new moon ink. Lopes over open fields parched-bleached white. Open fields are full of terror, owl-wide, laying up in trees behind the famous Route 66 and the Meadow Brown sign. In Greenwood at midday, joyful, in peace, singing, dancing, one hundred years passing between riots
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burning out hard-won community, and a population of libertarians— now hands in the air bouncing to the song with the device to their lips their young following close, learning through contest. The bleached-white grass it was best to play dead in is abandoned for a block-party, and food is passed in from hand to hand, dropped on the asphalt scavenged with a keen nose, broken open and chewed at the back of the jaw, spat out if no good taken into the throat and brought back to earth in a time of plenty, a corn-growing season. If a cub does not thrive, it is absorbed back into roots and the bellies of its brothers and sisters to make the rest of the family strong, more fit to survive. When it rains, and sheep bleat in one field corner, the sun comes out, dull but bright, running along a furrow-plan, before sitting downwind in a clump of cat’s eye. The sun eats every red cherry caught in hedges, dropping, scattered by blackbirds and magpies. The sun suns itself. It is not a young man getting hauled out of the car his father bought him to get safely from A to B at college, especially at night, dragged into hands which join at wrists where pulses quicken using force, as his girlfriend screams, terrified, and the taser makes contact with his body. The same hands that loop the reins and wrists with lively pulse
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when giving chase. The sun’s behind the moon at daybreak. That sun may be her jaw, set while she states her version of events to the news camera, looking back to her young lover who is still suffering shock. He composes his words so carefully. It compels her to stop and look for hours by the kitchen window, at the rufus running back and forth on the lawn like a fresh midfielder. Taunting the occasional swoop of wings, with an smile to the sky. My young lord. Suzanne luppa
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Index of Contributors
Alison Andrews Alison makes site-specific performance work in Leeds with people where they live, work, study, play, or seek residence, and also performs with other artists to raise issues about identity and consent. www.aquietword.co.uk www.365LeedsStories.org alison@walkingtalkingproject.eu
Annabel Hollis Annabel is a practising massage therapist (15 years) and admin. assistant for the stop Ecocide Campaign. Love to dance, participate in ritual and create with word and image. Passionate about the earth and celebrating her beauty and diversity. www.annabelhollis.wordpress.com
Ailsa Mair Ear to the Earth & Art from the heart: I am a professional musician, newbie storyteller and explorative crafter placing myself at the thresholds of land, sea and sky, earth and cosmos, darkness and light to be an open vessel for creativity... Am currently finding my thread through songcloth, story-yarn, ritual art, and wild notes. Cello meets birdsong & remembers the swoosh of a mermaid's tale! www.ailsamairsong.com
Chris Bird-Jones Chris Bird-Jones is a visual artist living in Swansea www.chris-bird-jones.co.uk
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Clare Whistler I am an artist of the elemental, from a movement background, so performance and ceremony will find a way into many things I make. www.clarewhistler.co.uk http://elephantpress.co.uk/
Daisy Fox I was born in a little flat in Swansea, but spent the majority of my life growing up on Anglesea, North Wales, before moving back to reconcile with Gower in my late teens. I love Ancient history, the mysteries of life, and continuously discovering the world from every perspective my experience has to offer.
Donna Males Donna Males is a Wales based Performer/Singer/Song writer. Blue is the Colour – Song for Solstice https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fylL_8mu_B4&feature=youtu.be https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC1Ih_euyY_FTy95UU_dt41Q
Eleanor Brown I am a songwriter and music maker, living and working on the land, connecting to the changing times, creating from both the descent and the rising. www.eleanorbrownmusic.com www.eleanorbrown.bandcamp.com
Eleanor Greenwood Art, Film, Photography, Creative Journeys. www.eleanorflaherty.co.uk
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Emily Hinshelwood I live in a small village in south Wales growing a glut of lockdown vegetables and currently on the hunt for a good sauerkraut recipe.
Fern Smith I am a ritual artist living in Mid Wales. I also work as a craniosacral therapist, coach, rites of passage guide and facilitator. www.fernsmith.uk www.emergence-uk.org www.craniosacraltherapy.wales
Jo Shapland A mature artist producing work in a variety of media. At its core is dance, whether through changes in materials and objects, film imagery or the body moving through space. Nature connected ritual and ceremony are integral. www.matroi.wordpress.com www.vimeo.com/mantroi
Judith Mills. A Welsh woman living in London and Criccieth. A coach and facilitator supporting people and organisations to become future focused in their work in the world. Passionate about Theatre, Music, The Mystical and meditates for a loving world to emerge. www.intuitivecareermanagement.com
Marega Palser Marega is a Mover, Shaker, ScriBBler-maker of pictures, words and songs. A keen Gardener and scaTTerer of seeds. A coffee addict and eX-smoker. Latest haBit- offering PoSiTive gestures into Negative and over-looked spaces. Marega is one half of Mr and Mrs Clark and the ‘CointeenFeMale’ half of CointeenTrash. www.mrandmrsclark.co.uk
Instagram – Horsegal
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Sheena McMahon I moved to Wales 4 years ago mainly to follow my love of nature and to live more closely with the land and seasons. I share looking after 14 acres with others in a co-operative which is challenging but a rich learning experience. I am presently learning about permaculture as am interested in sustainable ways of living. I am qualified in Craniosacral therapy amongst other things. I follow a shamanic type path alongside Tibetan Bon Buddhism and am an artist loving to paint and work with colour. I have many varied interests. www.sheenamcmearthbeauty.co.uk http://sheenamcmahoncraniov3.weebly.com/
Suzanne Iuppa Suzanne Iuppa is a poet, community worker and conservationist living in the Dyfi Valley, mid Wales. Her poems can be found in literary magazines including The Lampeter Review, Ink, Sweat and Tears, Zoomorphic, Slipstream, The Lake and many others. She enjoys watching foxes, badgers and pine martens visiting her garden at this time of year, and writes her first full poetry collection with a very loud goshawk for company. Twitter: @wildernesspoet Facebook: Refuge / poetry by Suzanne Iuppa
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Dedicated to the spirit of the Summer Solstice, the energies of the earth, the air, the fire, the water, and all those that honour them.
A RitualArtworK curated by Fern Smith, www.fernsmith.uk July 2020
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