Solstice Rites and Winter Lights: Myth and Magic From Stonehenge to Today.
Updated: Jan 13
The Gateway To Tomorrow
The Winter Solstice, that fleeting hinge of the year when the night stretches longest and the sun lingers, pale and frail in its winter repose, has long captivated human imagination. Across ancient cultures, this moment marked a profound threshold—a time when the dominance of darkness gave way to rituals of hope, renewal, and the promise of light’s return. These sacred and celebratory traditions offer a glimpse into humanity’s enduring dialogue with the cosmos: between the earth and heavens, the cycles of the seasons, and the mysteries of birth, death, and rebirth.
Marking both the end of the year and its beginning, the solstice occupies a liminal space—a moment of transition, contemplation, and celebration. It is a time to look both forward and back. The name itself, derived from the Latin solstitium, meaning "the sun stands still," reflects the celestial pause as the sun hovers briefly on the horizon before beginning its slow ascent once more.
In Britain and beyond, the solstice has evolved into Christmas, a season resplendent with carols, prayers, gifts, and jubilant gatherings. Yet, beneath these contemporary customs lie echoes of rituals far older than the holiday itself, stretching deep into our pre-Christian past. The flicker of candles recalls the ancient fires lit to summon back the sun’s light, while acts of charity mirror offerings once made to honour the gods or ensure the community's survival. As we reflect on the year behind us and craft resolutions for the one ahead, we unwittingly participate in rituals shaped by ancient incantations, once believed to guide Fate’s hand. Even modern New Year traditions, like the "first footing," where a dark-haired visitor crossing the threshold heralds good luck, carry whispers of these age-old customs. These enduring threads remind us of humanity’s timeless yearning to influence fortune, preserve hope, and welcome the promise of renewal in the year to come.
This is also a season of memory and renewal. We honour those we have lost and welcome the newly born into the rhythms of the world. Sometimes we overindulge, celebrating a season that resonates with traditions stretching deep into the collective memory of humankind. How often do we pause to realise that many of our customs are rooted in the long-ago practices of our forebears? Christmas is brimming with magic, especially for children, with its rich tapestry of wonder and myth. The season is alive with Christmas elves, flying reindeer, angels, and the enchanting notion of a supernatural visitor descending through the chimney. Yet, how often do we pause to consider the deeper, more mysterious origins of these stories?
Santa Claus, for instance, has roots entwined with shamanistic traditions of the northern forests, where figures clad in red and white—colours mirroring the sacred Amanita muscaria mushroom—were said to travel between worlds, bringing gifts of wisdom and connection to the spirit realm. His legendary flight across the skies also echoes the ancient folklore of the Wild Hunt, a spectral procession led by a god or hero that surged through winter's darkness, symbolising death, renewal, and the eternal cycle of the seasons.
Even the Christmas tree, with its sparkling ornaments and evergreen boughs, carries whispers of pagan rites celebrating the enduring power of life amid the harshness of winter. Mistletoe, hung with promises of love and fertility, harks back to Druidic ceremonies, where the plant was revered as a sacred gift from the gods. Meanwhile, the Yule log, burned to banish darkness and welcome the sun’s return, speaks of a time when fire rituals marked the solstice as a turning point in the year.
These myths and magical traditions, woven into the fabric of Christmas, remind us that the season is not just one of joy and generosity but also of mystery, transformation, and the enduring interplay between the natural and the supernatural. And now a question for you, dear reader, how do you see the echoes of these ancient rituals in your own Christmas celebrations? Have you ever paused to consider the deeper meanings behind our festive customs?
The Sun’s Quiet Repose
Let us now turn our gaze to the days of our ancestors, who too dreamed beneath the vast canvas of painted skies.
In the cold, mist-veiled winter landscapes of Neolithic Europe, they raised stone monuments toward the heavens, silent yet eloquent witnesses to the sun’s cyclical journey. The Winter Solstice marked then as now the year's turning point, the shortest day of the sun’s gentle retreat which had draped the land in death and cold. Here, the sun lingered in its sacred stillness, a week of quiet meditation before rebirth, gathering strength to begin its slow and radiant ascent toward midsummer's jubilant embrace.
Stonehenge: The Sacred Axis of Solstice
At Winter Solstice, as the sun dips below the horizon, Stonehenge aligns perfectly with the sacred path of the solstices, a line that stretches through space and time from yesterday into tomorrow. Between these luminous nodes the monument stands as a sentinel across the millennia, its silent stones pondering the deep mysteries of the cosmos with an unerring precision that speaks of the quest to understand our place in the universe. Like a grand celestial clock, Stonehenge reveals its profound significance not only in the vivid colours of the Midsummer Solstice, where crowds gather like moths to a flame to witness the sunrise behind the Heel Stone, but also in the more subdued, yet equally poetic, sunset of the Winter Solstice. This alignment encapsulates the cyclical nature of time, connecting us to both the past and the future in a moment of serene beauty. It is here, in the embrace of dusk's long shadows, where the true heart of Stonehenge beats.
The sunset alignment of the Winter Solstice, considered by archaeologists to be the monument's core design, is when the great god Helios, like a weary traveller, finds his rest between the imposing, stoic trilithons. The rays, like golden fingers, reach out to both ends of this sacred alignment, touching the pivotal Heel Stone on both solstices. This is often overlooked yet crucial.
The Heel Stone and the Echoes of the Sun God
The name "Heel" might well be a memory from the deep past, a corruption of Helios, the Greek sun god, transforming this monolith into the "Sun Stone." This guardian, with its silhouette like the face of an ancient King staring eternally at the mid-winter sunset, marks the golden mean of the solstice line. His gaze is fixed on the very moment when light begins its victory over darkness. The Heel Stone stands not as a mere watch stone but as a probable primal artifact, not transported here like his younger siblings, but a glacial erratic, dropped by an icy titan in this very spot, with the excavated pit still bearing witness beneath his hoary feet.
This natural monument is an emblem of nature's own handiwork, placed by the hands of giants to mark the sacred line, unearthed and raised in honour. If he was the first marker to be planted here, then he becomes the key-stone to unlock the narrative of Stonehenge, with the entire monument entwined around him like vines around an ancient oak.
The Sacred Marriage
The Sun engages with the Heel Stone at both the dawn of summer and the dusk of winter. At the Summer Solstice, the sun rises behind him, casting a phallic shadow that stretches like a divine promise into the heart of Stonehenge. A grand theatrical metaphor for the Earth's impregnation by the Sun. Professor Terence Meaden interprets this as the ancient concept called Hieros Gamos in Greek, the symbolic union between Father Sun and Mother Earth. His discovery is important, yet he does miss the extended allegory here. Nine months later, at the Vernal Equinox and the traditional start of Spring, the earth literally gives birth anew from this union at Stonehenge. Intriguingly, this date also aligns with the Christian feast of the Annunciation, where Mary's conception is announced, intertwining ancient pagan celebration with Christian festivity. Around again and nine months later, we celebrate Christmas, the birth of Christ, the return of light to the world. Perhaps the circular shape of Stonehenge itself is but a reflection of this new preoccupation with the circles of time and the cosmos above.
I have written in more depth about how circles signify religious and cosmological change in the mid Neolithic and Bronze Ages here.
Ancient Rites and Solstice Lights
Across the globe, other ancient sites kneel before the spectacle of sun and shadow, each etching a chapter in the celestial saga of our bond with the cosmos.
At Newgrange, in Ireland, the Winter Solstice sunrise transforms the inner sanctum of the ancient tomb into a glowing chamber of gold. As its first rays pierce the narrow passage, they ignite sacred symbols and then the central chamber in a brief but breathtaking display of celestial choreography—a divine promise that the light will return.
In the Orkney Islands, at Maeshowe, a similar spectacle unfolds. The setting sun sends its fiery rays down the long passageway to illuminate the heart of the temple-tomb, weaving light into darkness in an act of cosmic renewal.
Across the sea, at the richly carved passage tomb of Gavrinis in Brittany, the same phenomenon of celestial display is present. Here, at sunset, its intricate spirals and motifs are bathed in light, some reflected by a shallow stone basin built into the floor.
There are many other examples where Apollo’s sacred spear pierces the heart of a temple- tomb with its gilded radiance, reflecting the deep symbolic preoccupation of the ancients to join humanity to the heavens.
The Sacred Harmony of the Seasons
The mighty monument of Stonehenge stands as a silent scribe of time, its stones steeped in the mysteries of celestial balance and earthly harmony. Its great pillars frame the horizon, marking where the sun rises in summer's warmth and sets in winter's chill. This ancient monument captures the interplay of light and shadow, the eternal rhythm between day and night, warmth and cold. In its enduring form, it embodies the essence of polarity—a testament to the cosmic dance where opposites reflect and balance one another, creating an equilibrium that resonates through the natural world.
Each stone is steeped in secrets while voicing a story of connection—of human hands striving to touch the stars. The solstice line transforms Stonehenge into a bridge between the profane and the sacred, an architectural symphony celebrating the sun’s cyclical journey. Its sacred geometry is engraved with the rhythms of time, the pulse of the seasons, and the heartbeat of the cosmos in the landscape. Here, at the meeting point of earth and sky, Stonehenge stands as a witness to the universe's vast, silent song.
But what of the ancient New Year that the Solstice marks? It has moved from its original day.
As I sit, I can hear the clock ticks, and tocks, as the sands of time trickle closer to midnight. And as we all stand still, waiting for midnight's sweet release, what tales of the past rise to the surface in the pools of imagination? What tales of futures past does the tongue of history tell us?
Let us travle back in time...to Rome's Saturnalia, a celebration of renewal that shaped our modern festivities. Here, the transition from pagan to Christian celebrations mimics the cycle of time, blending ancient practices into the New Year's dawn.
Under Saturn’s Joyful Gaze
In the heart of Ancient Rome, the Winter Solstice heralded the raucous revelry of Saturnalia, a festival drenched in mirth and under the auspices of the Lord of Misrule. Streets echoed with laughter as masters and slaves traded roles, tables brimmed with food and drink, and gifts exchanged hands beneath the lingering shadow of Saturn, the god of time.
This was not merely celebration but defiance—a joyful rebellion against the dark, where candles burned brightly as though coaxing the sun back to its throne. Romans gave each other presents, brough nature into their dwellings to decorate their lives with seasonal depictions of the day. Sound familiar? It should! The Roman celebration echoes through time, linking us back to the pagan heart of the festival. Yet other traditions also shape our present.
The Enduring Flame of Yule
In the frozen North, where winter’s relentless grip held the land tight within its icy fingers, the solstice brought forth Yule, a festival steeped in fire and endurance. At its heart was the Yule log, a massive piece of wood placed in the hearth to burn through the longest night, its embers a fiery prayer for the sun’s return. Its ashes, imbued with symbolic power, were scattered to bless crops or protect homes from ill fortune.
A recurring theme the season is the preoccupation with the preservation of the spirit of nature through Winter. The Yule log, in its fiery defiance of the dark, stood as a potent emblem of life’s endurance through the harshness of the icy months, a promise that nature would survive and thrive once more.
The Tree of Unyielding Life
Alongside the Yule log, evergreen trees also carried profound symbolic weight. These trees, retaining their green vitality even in the depths of winter, became powerful markers of nature's resilience. Ancient peoples revered them as signs that life endured even as the earth lay barren and cold. Over time, this symbolism evolved into the modern Christmas tree—a decoration that continues to embody the promise of renewal. Adorned with lights and ornaments, the tree mirrors the return of the sun's strength, its vibrant green a reminder that life, like the light, is never fully extinguished, even in the darkest moments.
The Wild Hunt
Amid the flicker of firelight, tales of the Wild Hunt filled the air, a spectral cavalcade led by the Norse God Odin, sweeping across the stormy skies. Yule was his celebation, a liminal moment, a doorway between the worlds of the living and the dead, where families honoured ancestors and gods in rituals of survival and gratitude. This ancient Norse tradition resonates with the modern image of reindeer flying through the night sky. Odin, also known as Jólnir, the Yule Father, rode Sleipnir, his eight-legged horse, which some believe inspired the myth of Santa's reindeer. The Wild Hunt's nocturnal journey, much like Santa's Christmas Eve flight, symbolizes the crossing of boundaries, from the old year to the new, from darkness into light. Both tales celebrate the return of the sun after the longest night, embodying themes of regeneration and the eternal cycle of life, with the Wild Hunt's eerie passage through the heavens mirroring the joyous flight of reindeer, guiding us from the depths of winter into the promise of spring.
Three Goddesses of Winter
The divine spirits of winter embody the solstice's dual nature: the sorrow of loss entwined with the promise of return. These divine figures, deeply woven into myth and ritual, reflect the eternal cycles of death and rebirth that the Winter Solstice celebrates.
Demeter, the Greek goddess of agriculture and fertility, stands as one of the most poignant figures of this season. Her grief over the abduction of her daughter Persephone to the underworld mirrors the barrenness of winter. According to the myth, Hades, God of the underworld, takes Persephone as his bride, leaving Demeter in profound mourning. Her sorrow causes the earth to wither and the crops to fail, plunging the world into a barren winter. It is only when a compromise is reached—allowing Persephone to spend part of the year with her mother and part in the underworld—that the earth comes alive again. This myth underscores the winter solstice's themes of loss and eventual renewal. During these ancient rites, pigs were sacrificed to Demeter, their remains buried in the soil to fertilise the earth, symbolising the giving of life to sustain the community through the dark times and ensuring future abundance.
In the North, the goddesses of winter often take on darker, transformative roles. Figures like Skadi, the Norse goddess of winter and hunting, are tied to the harshness of survival during the cold months. Skadi’s mythology speaks to endurance and strength, as she chooses a life in the icy mountains over the comforts of Asgard, embodying the resilience required to withstand winter's challenges.
In German myth, Frau Holle reigned in winter and was said to "shake her feathered bed" to bring snow to the world. She also governed the transition between life and death - the personification of the liminal threashold between future and past that the Winter Solstice season signifies.
Like Demeter, these figures carry the dual aspect of winter’s austerity paired with the promise of renewal when the sun returns.
The Solstice Feast
Returning to Stonehenge, at the nearby contemporary site of Durrington Walls, the winter solstice unfolded with a crescendo of life and death, a ritual where the earth’s bounty and human hands converged in ancient ceremony. Due to forensic archaeology, we know they partied like it was 1999 (BCE). Imagine being present at their Solstice feast. The air hanging heavy with the tang of blood and woodsmoke, as pigs and cattle—symbols of nourishment and sacrifice—met their end in their hundreds under the long shadows of the shortest day. Fires roaring like ancient suns, and the crackling of fat on the spit mingled with the rhythmic beat of drums and voices lifted in solstice song. The feasting that followed was no mere indulgence but a celebration of survival, a communal bond forged in shared meat and mead, as people honoured both the animals’ offering and the promise of the returning light. This tells us that from the earliest days of the age of farming, winter feasting was present. Livestock could not all be kept over the fodder-less winter, what to do with the surplus? Consume in a mass orgiastic feast of course! The remains show there was too much to eat, and much was left unconsumed. Does this sound familiar, are we not reminded of our own gluttonous feasting at this time? And, if I may be as bold to ask, what rituals or customs in your own life serve as a bridge between the natural world and the human experience? Especially during times of transition like the solstice?
The sacrifice of pigs during these solstice-linked celebrations resonates in later traditions. The boar, a sacred animal in many ancient cultures, becomes a symbol of strength and sustenance during the darkest days of the year. We have already discussed the connection between Winter goddess Demeter and her swinish companions. This connection lived on in medieval England, preserved in the grand tradition of the Christmas Boar’s Head Feast, an elaborate ritual celebrated particularly at Queen's College, Oxford and at Cambridge Universities from at least the 14th century to the present day.
At Yuletide, a roasted boar’s head, garnished with fruits and greens, was paraded into the great hall accompanied by music and presented with great ceremony, symbolising abundance and survival in the leanest of times.
Pigs have long been entwined with Christmas traditions, their association with fertility, sustenance, and sacrifice carried forward from pre-Christian practices. The Christmas ham, a centrepiece of many feasts, echoes the ancient reverence for the boar as a creature of vitality and renewal. In Scandinavian Yule traditions, the ceremonial slaughter of a boar was dedicated to Freyr, a god of fertility and prosperity, and its meat shared as a communal blessing. Even in modern carols, traces of this legacy endure, as in "The Boar’s Head Carol," sung at Oxford's Boar Head Feast to honour the ancient custom.
From Demeter’s grieving heart to the festive tables of winter feasts, these myths and rituals weave a story of survival through darkness and the unyielding promise of the rebirth of the light. They remind us that even in the coldest, bleakest moments of the year, life continues its quiet, patient cycle, waiting to burst forth anew.
As then so now. This sacred portal, this liminal between, this icy threshold that bridges today and tomorrow. As is fitting for such s portentous time it is also surrounded with myth, ritual, portents and prophecy.
Midnight’s Spell: The Magic of New Beginnings
Tonight, as I lie cradled in the embrace of night and the clock edges closer to midnight, a quiet communion of old souls begins to stir. This ancient earth, steeped in the mists of time and crowned with the legacy of kings, still whispers the echoes of traditions long passed. The 'First Foot' custom endures, where the first to cross the threshold after the bell tolls casts the die of luck for the year ahead. A dark-haired man, stepping confidently into homes, becomes a harbinger of prosperity, his gifts like seeds sown in the fertile soil of the new year’s promise.
The air hums with the timeless strains of "Auld Lang Syne," an ancient incantation that binds friends and loved ones across the expanse of time. In some homes, as the clock strikes twelve, a single candle is extinguished and another lit—a small but potent ritual symbolising the end of one chapter and the bright beginning of another. These modern customs, though cloaked in the trappings of today, resonate with the deep rhythms of our ancestors, who too sought to shape the unknown future with symbols of hope, connection, and renewal.
In the fjords of Scandinavia, the night is a canvas painted with the northern lights, where myths seep into the bones of the earth. Here, the Yule goat, a figure both jovial and ominous, prances through tales, symbolizing the sun's return. Fires blaze, not just for warmth but to chase away the long shadows of winter, to coax the sun back from its slumber. And as the last moments of the year melt away, the people feast on pork, for the pig, always looking forward, ensures the year ahead moves in the same direction.
Germany, with its heart as old as the Black Forest, weaves its own magic. Here, the New Year's Eve is a festival of metal magic, where molten lead, like the fate of the year, was once poured into cold water, its shapes foretelling the future. Modern health and safety have transmuted it into wax or tin, but prophetic divination remains at the ritual’s heart. If a pig emerges from the Solstice scry, it promises good luck and prosperity. And as elsewhere, the night ushers in the new as the sky erupts in fireworks, each burst a star falling from the heavens, bidding farewell to the old while welcoming the new with a symphony of light.
On the Isle of Man where the sea murmurs secrets to the shore, the Qualtagh, the first person to enter a home, is more than a guest; they are also a prophecy. The island, wrapped in sea god Manannán mac Lir’s misty cloak, sees the Qualtagh not just as a harbinger of luck but as a herald of the year to come. If dark-haired and male, the year is promised to be one of abundance; if light, the omens might shift. As the night deepens, the islanders might hang an onion on their door, a symbol of growth, a silent prayer for the year ahead to unfold in layers of fortune.
Thus, across these lands, New Year's Eve is not merely a passage of time but a ritualistic dance with destiny, where each tradition, superstition, and myth is a note in the symphony of the seasons, playing out under the watchful eyes of the stars, with each country offering its unique verse to the eternal song of renewal.
Personal Reflections: Hunting the Wren
As a young boy my Manx grandmother would regale and terrify me with legends and myths of the Island of Mann where she was born and grew up. The myths of the Black Dog at Castle Rushen, or the Pixies under Fairy Bridge are steeped in shadow and fear, echoing the eerie tales of the Isle of Man’s folkloric past. My grandmother once spoke of them as though they were a living legend, her words curling around the firelight at Christmas like the smoky breath of a spirit while I hung on her every word. Christmas of course, as Dickens readily reminds us, is the traditional time for ghost stories.
She spoke of the tradition called the Hunting of the Wren, a tale that cast me into an ancient world where myth and memory intertwined. Her stories effect on my imagination transformed them from mere recollections into enchantments, gilded with the frost of Celtic and Viking lore. As her voice wove through the crackling firelight, I was no longer a child in her parlour—I became a traveller in a realm of mist-cloaked hills, roaring seas, and shadowy glens, where the fragile wren bore the weight of the year’s departing spirit.
She spoke of the wren with the reverence one might reserve for a king in disguise, its tiny form a paradox of power and fragility. Between the still solstice seam of the sun’s rest and the turning of the year, she spoke of the Sacrifice of the Wren. On St. Stephen’s Day, bands of villagers would venture out on a sacred hunt, their footsteps crunching through the frost-laden fields, the air thick with anticipation and the chill bite of midwinter. The wren’s soft, panicked flutter was the prelude to its capture—a sound that seemed to mirror the faint heartbeat of the waning year. "We hunted it not to harm," she would insist, her words carrying the cadence of both apology and pride. "It was an offering, a promise to the land that the sun would return."
When she described another tradition, of the presentation of a robin’s body in the church, her tone grew softer, almost sombre. She told me that “if a robin does not sing in the church yard, it means it is haunted,” as my marrow froze, she went on, “The robin is the wren’s brother in spirit. In its crimson breast lies the story of sacrifice, the sun’s blood spilt to seed the earth with light once more.” In my mind’s eye, I saw it laid upon the altar, a quiet herald of nature’s unbroken cycle, the small form radiant in the dim candle glow of a stone sanctuary. The robin, like the wren, became a symbol—of endings and beginnings, the old giving way to the new, a fragile bridge between this world and the next.
As her words enveloped me, the mundane world fell away, and I wandered in my familial inheritance, a mytical Celtic-Viking landscape. I saw myself walking among ancient oaks, their branches like gnarled hands clutching the grey winter sky. The hunt became a sacred quest, the wren a trickster spirit darting through the glen, its song echoing like a siren call in the stillness. The villagers, clad in rough-hewn cloaks, became figures of legend, their laughter carrying on the cold wind like an incantation.
The hunt was not merely an act; it was an allegory of life itself, a performance where every participant—from hunter to hunted—played their part. The wren, though caught, was never diminished, its small body a symbol of resilience, its spirit believed to rise with the returning sun.
My grandmother’s voice carried me deeper, into the realm of gods and giants, where the wren was whispered to be Loki in disguise, or a bird of Lugh, the Celtic sun god, who demanded its tribute before warming the land again. The frost-cracked air, the low murmur of solemn prayers, the rhythm of boots on frozen ground—all became part of the song of the seasons, a melody as old as the stones that marked the solstice.
As the tale concluded, her voice fell to a hush, and I was left suspended between two worlds. The wren’s capture was not an end but a beginning, the robin’s presentation not death but rebirth. In those moments, the Isle of Man was not just a place—it was a doorway to a time when people, land, and sky were bound by rituals that sang the same song of light and darkness. Her stories were not just memories; they were pass-keys, unlocking an ancient, sacred rhythm that echoed in the flicker of the hearth and the beating of my own heart.
Other memories surface, my Irish mother banging a loaf of bread around the walls of the house on New Year’s Eve to “chase away the spirits and ensure there is plenty to eat next year”, and my father leaving an old shoe outside our door, “for luck son”. Shoes are symbols of good luck in many cultures and this custom remains in Scotland but no doubt my dad’s bow to fate came from his Manx heritage. A I glance upwards in the soft hush of this night, I see robins on my tree and the numerous Christmas cards spread around the flickering hearth, fateful reminders of our symbolic heritage. And of course, dear reader, I will be putting an old shoe outside myself on New Year’s Eve as a remembrance of him and all the others before. And you never know, perhaps the spirit of the season will bless this house. I for one feel more connected to the world and my ancestors for enacting these quiet little prayers to the past. And now its your turn, dear reader, you deserve a solstice tipple to have read so far! Once you are suitably libated and ready, pray tell me, do you have stories from your own family that connect you to a mythic past or a sense of the magical? And how do these stories influence your view of the world? Save that thought! Comments are at the end!
Myth: The Golden Thread Between Past and Present
The ubiquitous seasonal robin red breast, along with the Manx folklore that so ignited my imagination as a young boy, reminds me of Christian legend, where the robin emerges as a symbol of divine empathy and sacrifice. The tale unfolds on that fateful day of the Crucifixion, where the skies wept, and the earth shuddered under the weight of humanity's sins.
Amid the sorrow, a humble brown bird, the robin, was drawn to the scene of suffering. With a heart full of compassion, the robin flew to the side of the crucified Christ, its delicate wings softly reciting a silent prayer. Seeing the crown of thorns cruelly piercing the Savior's brow, the robin sought to ease His pain.
In a moment of tender bravery, the bird tugged at one thorn, trying to alleviate even a fraction of the agony. As it did, a drop of the Redeemer's blood fell upon the robin's breast, staining it a vivid red. This crimson mark, a badge of its courageous act, was bestowed forever upon the robin, symbolizing its divine connection and selfless love.
Thus, the robin's red breast stands as a symbol of the timeless act of kindness and the profound beauty of compassion, eternally echoing through the annals of faith. The bird, small yet mighty in spirit, carries this celestial scar as a reminder of the love and sacrifice that bind all creation, a fitting symbol of Christmas with its themes of love, charity and good will to all.
Celtic Echoes
In time, I discovered that these mythic traditions were woven into Celtic solstice lore, where the Holly King—whose bird is the robin—and the Oak King—whose bird is the wren—stand as twin monarchs locked in an eternal struggle. Their rivalry embodies the shifting tides of the seasons. The Holly King, crowned in spiked green leaves and crimson berries, mirroring the robin's scarlet breast, reigns supreme as the days grow shorter, his power reaching its zenith at the Winter Solstice. Yet even in his victory, the shadow of his fall begins to grow. As the Oak King rises, tender and bright with the promise of spring, he challenges the Holly King’s dominion, heralding the sun’s slow return to strength. Their battle is not born of malice but of harmony, an ancient rhythm in which each yields to the other, ensuring balance. Together, they form the heartbeat of the year, a timeless reminder of nature’s cycles—death and renewal, darkness and light.
The Reign of Holly, The Promise of Oak
Beneath the solstice fleeting light,
The Holly King is crimson bright;
Yet seeds of Oak stir deep in earth,
Spring brings the promise of rebirth.
Like phoenix from the ashes, green,
The Oak King stirs from dreams serene;
His roots reach out, a silent shout,
To push aside the winter's doubt.
With "Crack" and "Snap," the old year breaks,
New life from ancient slumber wakes;
Beneath the solstice fleeting light,
The circle turns, from dark to bright.
Alex Peach, Winter Solstice 2024.
The End, and the Beginning: The Eternal Embrace of Hope.
I could say more, the Holly, Ivy and Mistletoe all deserve a chapter, but as I sit by a crackling Yule Log fire, my toasting toes crinkling with warmth in the cosy haze, comforted by a drop of fine Port and a homemade mince pie, with the Christmas tree lights twinkling like fallen stars as the night grows old…I am reminded that this mid-winter missive grows long. So as a final coda in my Solstice Hymn, before its time to put away my pen an ascend the wooden stairs to night’s restful dream, I would like to finish with a couple of quotes from my favourite novella, a text I have taught many times and read each Christmas, A Christmas Carol by Charles Dicken’s. An original copy lies on my bedside table, complete with illustrations and I hear the call to commune with its’ golden heart from here.
Charles Dickens weaves a rich mosaic through his celebrated story of redemption, sacrifice and rebirth, with characters, symbolism and language that vividly embodies the very soul of the Christmas spirit. Written in an era where the festive season had been attacked after the English Civil War, tarnished and diminished by Puritan disdain for its "Pagan" roots. The new zealotry of the victors led to them banning Christmas – and much else - as sinful in their stoney eyes. This legacy hung over Britain into the early 19th century until Dickens emerged as the reborn Holly King of Christmas and a herald of renewal. He looked backwards and forward with his tale of the present, past and future, and wove a timeless tale of magical intervention by the three spirits of Christmas. With his pen, he rekindled the embers of celebration that still sat undimmed in the hearts of the people, masterfully reconnecting the ancient rites and supernatural prophecy with the modern festivities, thereby reviving the spirit of Christmas for generations to come.
At the novella’s heart is the truly Christian virtue of redemption, where even the most dreadful of sinners can change and be saved. Also values of kindness, family, generosity and compassion for those who suffer. At the beginning of this most Christmas of tales, the contemptable character of Scrooge is described thus:
"Oh! But he was a tight-fisted hand at the grindstone, Scrooge! a squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous old sinner! Hard and sharp as flint, from which no steel had ever struck out generous fire; secret, and self-contained, and solitary as an oyster."
And yet, following the interventions of the three spirits the scales fall from Scrooge's eyes, revelation and change is kindled. Scrooge realises that all his woes stem directly from his own greed, stubborn self-reliance, and harshness of heart. Undergoing a profound transformation, he repents of his sins, changes his ways, and in doing so, is bestowed with salvation, rebirth, and joy:
"He became as good a friend, as good a master, and as good a man, as the good old city knew, or any other good old city, town, or borough, in the good old world."
Within the winter's tale lies a universal lesson. During this tranquil, contemplative season, when the boundaries between worlds seem to thin, the Winter Solstice serves as a mirror for the soul, a time when the world pauses in anticipation of the dawn. Reflecting on the story of solar renewal, where the Sun, after its lengthy sojourn, is reborn, and reflects the human spirit's capacity to find strength in despair, to learn from the past, and to blossom into the promise of a new day. This story transcends mere celestial occurrence, embodying a tale of hope, a call to resilience, and the eternal interplay of darkness and light, good and evil, which must first find harmony within us all before we seek to bring joy to the world around us. To imbibe fully the spirit of the season we must all ask ourselves to embrace reflection. Ask yourself, how does the solstice inspire me to seek balance or change in my own life? What personal darkness or light do I see reflected in this ancient cycle? Can I change? Improve and receive the gifts of rebirth?
To Breath in the Past
In this exploration of the Winter Solstice, we’ve journeyed through time and culture, from the ancient stones of Stonehenge to the modern rituals that echo their ancient counterparts. We’ve seen how the solstice, at its core, is not just about the astronomical event of the sun's return but is a profound metaphor for human life, resilience, and the eternal cycle of death and rebirth. It’s a time for contemplation, celebration, and the forging of connections - between past and future, earth and sky, darkness and light.
This solstice narrative reminds us that within the quietest moments of darkness, there lies the potential for the greatest light. It teaches us the value of community, the power of personal transformation, and the enduring magic of tradition. As we stand on this threshold of time, we are reminded that we, like the sun, have the capacity to rise again, to grow anew, and to illuminate the world with our own light.
So, as we embrace the solstice, let us carry forward the lessons of our ancestors - to honour the past while looking to the future with hope. May we all find joy in the smallest signs of life amidst winter's chill, and may our hearts be warmed by the fire of community, tradition, and the promise of renewal.
As we pack up this journey through the ancient and the modern, the mythic and the personal, I invite you to join the conversation. How does the solstice and its myriad traditions resonate with you? Do you have your own unique customs or family stories that honour this time of year? Share your reflections, your stories, or even your poetry in the comments below or through our social media channels. Let's weave together a tapestry of shared experiences, connecting the past with our present celebrations. Together, we can explore how these timeless themes continue to influence our lives, bringing light to our darkest days and a sense of renewal to our spirits. Join us, and let's keep the spirit of the solstice alive through our shared stories.
And so dear reader, as we all stand together at the gates of the solstice dawn, I would like to wish you a Merry Christmas, a Joyful Solstice, a Jolly Yule, and a Happy New Year!
And, to give Dickens the final word:
"God bless us, every one!"
Alexander Peach
Winter Solstice
2024
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