I woke up early this morning with things to say.
I brushed my teeth, put in my contacts, washed my face, patted the dog, hugged my partner, poured my coffee and opened my laptop.
So I could say what I wanted to say.
It’s something I’ve wanted to say, something I’ve been working on for some time. It feels important to say and, as I put together the plan for my week, I scheduled today as the day to say it.
But then the sun started rising over the mountain.
And I looked up from my laptop to witness what we humans have witnessed for thousands of years.
The summer solstice is here.
A bit of trivia for those who care about such things: “Solstice” comes from the Latin words “sol”–sun–and “sisto”–stop.
I love that.
Today is a day when the sun stops.
And, if the sun can stop, can’t you?
Or is whatever you have to do today too important, are you yourself more important,
Than the sun?
I know I’m not. I mean on a good day, I might be Pluto-important, but I’m never sun-important.
Certainly not today.
Whatever I woke up wanting to say, needing to say, can wait.
I’m going to join the sun, the light, up here on the mountaintop, in that exquisite betwixt and between space that is neither ascending nor descending.
I’m going to do what my, what our, ancestors have been doing since at least 10,000 years before Christ.
I’m going to dance, sing, celebrate.
And look up in wonder.
One more thing before I go. Here in New Mexico, the solstice arrived at 4:07 a.m. this morning.
It was still dark. Pitch black dark.
But the light was there.
Which is the extra blessing of this particular solstice: A reminder that, even in the dark, the light is always there.
That’s a blessing worth sharing. Especially in these times which, let’s be honest here, are no different than all times.
The light is always there. Pretty cool, huh?
And, now, shall we dance?