The song of Solstice

So, it is told that there is a tribe in africa – where when a woman is ready to conceive a child, she leaves her home. She leaves her village. And walks alone for a little while.

Until she finds a single tree.

She sits beneath the tree she finds. And she waits.

Until she hears a song.

And she stays under the tree until she’s learnt every note of the song.

So she can sing the song with her body. With her heart. And with her soul.

With this song, she returns to the village. She returns to her home. And as she lays with her lover, she sings the song.

If they are blessed with the conception of a child, she teaches her lover the song. And continually hums the notes to the life inside her.

The song is sung as the baby is birthed.

And sung at each celebration of the child. Birthdays. Holidays. Graduations. 

And if the child goes off track for a bit, loses their way – the village gathers around the child.

Whatever age the child may be.

And rather than punish the child, they sing.

They sing the child’s song.

To remind them of where the child is. Of what they are. 

Of who they are.

Last night was the longest night of the year. It was still. It was dark. It was cold.

I stood on a chair in front of 40 women. I closed my eyes. And I sang.

I don’t know if it’s my song. It’s just a song I seem to know. it’s in my body. It’s in my heart. It’s in in my soul.

My mother never sang it to me and I haven’t sat under too many single trees in my time. Yet the women who surrounded me with their curiosity, their faith and their celebration of spirit allowed me to open and honour a space within the dark.

And to burn it in the fire.

Think hip openers, heart openers and kirtan.

We all have a song. It reflects our inner world. Our deeper life.

Our truer Self.

Winter Solstice is a celebration of spirit. It’s about having faith that what we dream will become a reality. It’s about honouring the soul. It’s about breathing in rhythm.

And for me last night, it was about acknowledging the intricate web of women who all have an amazing song to sing.

In harmony sung so sweetly together.

To that mad irish woman with feathers in her hair – you my friend, are Divine. Thanks for helping me remember my song.


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