Seizing the Solstice

solsticeI have the grand luxury of being able to watch the sun rise over Lake Michigan.

It’s quite astounding to me  — and I never get tired of noticing — the way the sun appears at a different point on the horizon each and every morning. There were 20,000 revelers gathered at Stonehenge to celebrate the longest day of the year. I sat in my living room and drank coffee.

Hail, Great Hot Pink Ball of Fire! Today’s sunrise was a stunner. Happy Summer Solstice!

From where I sit, our Constant Sun rises every June 21 at a point on the horizon at Montrose Harbor, a spot north of downtown Chicago. Starting tomorrow, the sun will appear just a little south of that point and move a little farther south every day until, at the end of summer, it will show up on the horizon around Fullerton Beach. By the Winter Solstice on December 21, it will look to me as if it’s rising downtown near Navy Pier.

And so it goes. The sun travels up and down the horizon, making its way back and forth, step by step, day by day, inch by inch, over and over and over again. It does what it needs to do. It seems like such a relentless trooper. How crazy the spinning Earth must look to the Sun.

Sometimes I try to tilt my body the same way I imagine Mother Earth is tilting so I can better understand where I am in the universe. And then the realization sets in that I am spinning around really fast in the solar system. It’s too big of a concept for me to get my head around. I feel both painfully inconsequential and absolutely thrilled to be part of such a vast space-time continuum.

Nonetheless, welcoming the longest day of the year is always fun, especially when there’s a little ritual thrown in.

At dawn, I paid tribute to the sun with a made-up pagan prayer and my own extremely awkward version of a yoga Sun Salute.

Tonight I’m hoping to dance around a Maypole or a bonfire — someone will have something going on in the park tonight if it only stops raining. If it doesn’t, I may have to settle for  an indoor spin around a collection of burning candles. But yes, a dance is absolutely in order for the Summer Solstice….and a sunset cocktail, too, a summery one with fizz and fruit.

Frivolity aside, the reality of the Solstice is this: We’re already six months into the year.

And the Giant Shining Life Source in the Sky seems to be asking, “What’s left on your TO DO list? Tomorrow I start setting a little bit later every day. Time’s a’wastin’!”

Yes, Mr. Sun, you’re right. It’s time to seize the day.

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Related articles:

Yoga Sun Salute: http://www.wikihow.com/Do-the-Sun-Salute

Stonehenge Party:  http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2345638/Summer-Solstice-2013-Revellers-rise-dawn-celebrate-drumming-dancing.html

Solstice Cocktails:  http://www.ahistoryofdrinking.com/wordpress/2012/06/20/an-excuse-to-drink-summer-solstice-cocktails/

Auxonne, 1654

259words_01.jpgIn 1654, on a perfect spring day in Auxonne, France, Rupert L’Estrange — at last! — took his beloved Christina to bed. Without hesitation or fear, their exquisite bodies sought frantic pleasure atop white linens….until Christina’s husband stormed in.

“Philippe! No!” Christina cried as Philippe lifted Rupert off the bed and slammed him to the floor. He kicked him hard in the stomach. And kicked him again.

Philippe grabbed Christina by her thick black hair and struck her face. “No, Philippe! No!” Rupert struggled to his feet. He had to save her.

Christina looked at Rupert; Rupert looked back at her. Philippe saw in their eyes the unquenchable passion they had for each other.

Enraged, Philippe pulled out his dagger and slashed Christina’s throat.

At the site of her slumped body, Rupert let out a moan that came from deep inside his soul. Numb from sorrow, he didn’t even feel the dagger that Philippe drove into his side.

Death came in an instant. But his scream didn’t stop.

The sound of Rupert’s agony echoed in Philippe’s mind until he was driven to madness and hung himself from the highest beam in the stable.

Nearly 349 years later, a yowling little dog, a mix of fluffy and sweet, appeared on YouTube.

When the dog’s owners chanted “Rooo-pert, Rooo-pert,” the dog spun in circles, startled and scared, not sure what horror lived inside of him.

The dog howled. It wasn’t a dog howl, but the agonizing moan of a demon.

It was the eternal pain, the eternal scream of Rupert L’Estrange.