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SOLSTICE

 

We had to do something when we saw the sun was dying,

It was inconceivable to do nothing - for we felt only the end of things.

There was no sense then, of the turning of the year.

Only the now - and the trepidation at what must come.

 

You see - we were all as children then, barely conscious of our place.

We carried within us the primordial genes of aeons of mystery.

What we felt, we knew - and that was an end to it.

There was no sense then, of the turning of the year,

Only decay - and anticipation of the death of time.

 

So - we had to do something when we saw the sun was dying.

A few had a notion of otherness - a need to understand, beyond self.

The rest knew little then, but were yearning hard for reasons.

Then, my tiny, potent seed of hope - a cosmic mind controlling this?

Something to communicate with,

Petition even?

 

I therefore proposed that the sun might know we all headed for extinction

And could be putting us at fault.

That case, I said, was also signalled

From wolf-howl winds across our land,

From growling, spitfire clouds and raven skies -

To warnings from a sometime shadowed moon.

 

So - we had to do something to prevent the sun from dying.

And all agreed - we must reach up, talk somehow to seemingly immutable forces,

Give something, as to other tribes, returned by promises of peace.

But how? And what could be the form of words

With power and strength enough to ring a hearing

From that vast, untouchable, unreachable vault?

 

Amongst us, I and some few others,

Shared the birth of understanding, a first faint notion - of gods.

We few, under my direction, began to create structures, rituals,

Means of reaching up to plead our cause, atone for our delusions.

We took old stones and raised them, intuition-placed in sacred circles.

Directing prayers through rocky portals,

We focused songs and drummed to catch that dying disc.

And there, before the heart-red sinking sun,

I bled a chosen, precious gift of life!

 

It worked! Not straightaway you understand, but longer term,

In breathless time, we noticed movement signifying change, re-birth.

Small signs grew one upon the other, feeding hope and springing confidence,

Which justified that blood of sacrifice,

Confirming what was done was right

And setting out a template for the future.

And there was sense then, of the turning of the year

And of dialogue with gods, devotion, worshipping -

And never-ending power, authority, for priests!

İRichard Hill

Solstice [5:30] - soundscape composed by Paul Hill

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