HIGH HOLY DAYS IN THE NORTHERN HEMISPHERE

My first experience of Winter Solstice came in 1970 when we had dropped out and tuned in to Native American ways, thanks to the teachings of Sun Bear, and Oh'Shinnah. A bunch of us gathered for "Earth Renewing," as some First People's call the longest night of the year. We fasted, still drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes and "medicine weed;" we listened to teachings from Salish, Chippewa and Apache elders, and the men did their first sweat lodge together. And there was feasting. Thus began a series of annual celebrations in my life, each one differing from the last, depending on the group, the state and the weather!

For years here in Montana, I experienced sweat lodge with my sisters down beside a creek in a cottonwood grove. We began fairly loosely, ritual to a minimum. Living in the banana belt of Montana had it's advantages when it came to Winter Solstice: could be forty degrees, could be thirty. Most often it was twenty, and only occasionally was it below zero. We gathered around the fire pit, sang songs, shared our hopes and fears surrounded by nature. We called for inner strength within the little lodge of canvas-covered willow. We bore the heat of glowing rocks brought lovingly from the lava fields of Eastern Washington. Blinded by steam, we sang chants from various tribes, and from women's circles through the years. We cried, speaking our suffering from emotional wounds, diseases, losses and fear. We emerged to be baptized by another sister with a bucket of chilling creek water, yipping and yowling like coyotes. Our rosy faces glowed with the sheer abandon of ritual in the woods, away from jobs, obligations, linear lifestyles to stand in solidarity with proud women all over the planet.

More recently Solstice finds me with a mixed gender/generation group after dark around a campfire, singing some of the same songs, and gazing lovingly into each other's eyes that reflect the dancing flames. We move indoors to a ritual of increasing light with candles, meditation and singing. We still pledge our hearts to peace, to each other and feel the blessing of companionship into the new year. More and more of us profess this to be our Holy Day, and actively resist conscription into capitalist Christmas.

This year I am more deeply translating the journey of Jesus as the Journey of Divine Light that feeds consciousness, just as the return of the sun feeds our beloved blue planet. It is easy to see Mary's surrender to conception as the quickening of life in seeds awakening in spring. And now I see Jesus on the cross as Divine Consciousness being crucified by the forces we still contend with, both outwardly and inwardly. And it's not just Jesus' journey, it is other saints and prophets from indigenous peoples as well as traditional streams. We are all in this together: aware, struggling, resurrecting, over and over.

Is it a mystery why all traditions celebrate Holy Days in the deep of winter? At the time we are most prone to hunger, both physically and emotionally, humans have gathered to pool their spiritual and material resources. In the face of death, we have celebrated! For thousands of years Our prayers have echoed in the darkest night for the return of abundance, warmth and strength. And communally our eyes fix on the coming of new life.

Regardless where these dark days find you, may you see Light, sing prayers of hope and feel the kinship of beloved spirits.