Living in the LIght, Seeing the Dark

Summer solstice is about power, right? It’s about finding our own inner power reflected in the strong light of Northern Hemisphere summer. It is about allowing our hearts and minds to follow the waxing Sol to the apex of power. Sure. Summer is about daylight power. Not the deep midnight of winter solstice or the twilight of autumn. Daylight. And the strongest daylight of the year

I have written elsewhere about how the light of the summer solstice can be a warming, illuminating reminder of our own power. How the turning of the Wheel can remind us that we, too, have our noonday, solstice sun within us. The star, Sol, is reflected in our own power—or, perhaps more magically, our own power is reflected in the solstice light.

There is something important, though, that is left out of that analysis, that idea of power.

Solstice strength has been building for a long time, annually speaking, and that strength is fleeting. The second it arrives, that strength and power, the second it arrives, it begins to wane.

The second the summer solstice arrives, we are moving toward the close and holy darkness.

Now, I don’t usually think of solstice as a time of relinquishment. It’s not really the season of laying down.

But…

Solstice, and its waning away, does suggest a certain wisdom, though, that we don’t usually consider.

What would it be like, in our covens, circles, and congregations, if we considered our laying down our power and responsibilities while we were at the top of our game, rather than when we were already suffering burnout?

What would it be like, if instead of simply enjoying the daylight of our power, we remembered that winter will come? Not in a maudlin or miserable way, but in a realistic, tender way.

If our institutions are to outlast us—and outlast us in service, joy, and justice—then considering who may hold the wand after us is essential. I suppose, really, this is succession planning, I’m talking about.

We let our servant leaders burn out. We let ourselves burn out. In fact, some of us, especially founders and joyful leaders, almost insist on burning out. We know that we are effective in our roles and so we hold on, vise grip tight, refusing to see the big picture of the service our group can offer in the long term. If our circles of various kinds cannot survive without our solstice power, then they are not worth the paper their charters are printed on. They can benefit from the twilight and the midnight of our reflections, as well. Serving out in front in public ways are not the only service we can offer.

Strangely, it is summer solstice that reminds me of all this. While autumn is really the time of letting go and winter the time of rest, it is summer when our plans for relinquishment begin to form. On the back burner, thoughts of the future burble away, beginning to come to the place where we will ask for more help, consult with elders, and think of moving on.

For now, though, on the front burner, we may bask in the light of the long days and in the flowering of our power, remembering that if those flowers are to bear fruit, their beauty must be ephemeral.

Blessed be your summer days.