this happens at true noon. it happens every day. then you blink, and you forget, and you go [al]on[g] your way. but if you could remember, this is some of what you’d say:
you see true. you see you’ve come through a time of all nows made new by the shines[h]earing edge of your eyes, those windows of soul opened wide to the roll of your sun from top to drop, from autumn fall to springtime rise, and now once again you find light at its height as you gather yourself to say your goodbyes to what’s past, your hellos to what comes, to survey how today your land lies.
in an old tongue, spoken when priesthood presented as prime, this word “solstice” spoke sunstop: a time out of time, a halt and a hold, a measureless moment[um], a gift of the gold. and as day demands dark to provide what it proves, so [sky]line [s]pins [g]round–if sun stills, then earth moves.
you’ve danced at this distance since densest was dust, when the gracile grip of gravity was all the newbornebula knew of latent life or lust or love, and as some succumbed to its pressures and stormed, the cloud condensed to climate and your planet was formed. now fire found itself above: as the world brought forth its fruits so full of fierce and feral feeling, the groundown earth became a floor, the highest sky a ceiling–and with that recognition was a divination done. so it was the star became your sun.
a star can never stop; a sun may, clean and clear. its constance in this cycle gives the concept of a year, and on sensing that circle you conceive your own course: the archetype of all life’seasons must have been your source. you’re the water that bleeds, the earth that walks, the wind that brightens to breath–but this above all: the fire that feeds, whose burning is the banishment of death. you are of sunstuff, you need never be frightened; whenever you rest in its rays, you’re enlightened.
. . . so you say on a solstice, a day of extremes. so you whisper in winter to ward off wan dreams. and what are those places of furthest conviction but the edges of awareness, the frontiers of f[r]iction? all you imagine brings new heat and light to a world without end within reach of your sight. the sun doesn’t end at corona; it touches you daily, it torches, it teaches. as far as it is felt, there are its furthest reaches. so too with your limits, your luminant heights; you carry them crowned in the noon and the night.
so were you born, so do you burn. with every new idea you reaffirm what first you learned: you are the cycle, you are the solstice. the source and the sensing are one. you are the stillness and storming. here and now, you are the sun.