It’s hard to believe that Summer officially began last Saturday, June 20, also known as “Summer Solstice.” Maybe it’s because of our current state of lock down, the sense of timelessness since mid-March, when we began to really understand the ravaging impact of COVID-19 not just on us, but on all of humanity. During this time, I’ve found it important to tap into nature, whether it be a walk in the neighborhood, a visit to the backyard to read, sip tea, and watch the birds and squirrels or the occasional rabbit that hops about in our backyard.

In such isolation, it’s easy to forget how really connected we are to other people and to nature. Last Sunday, I was grateful to be reminded of  UU’s Sixth Source: “Spiritual teachings of Earth-centered traditions which celebrate the sacred circle of life and instruct us to live in harmony with the rhythms of Nature.” Selena Fox, Wiccan priestess, interfaith minister, environmentalist, pagan elder, author, and lecturer in the fields of pagan studies, ecopsychology, and comparative religion, spoke during our online church service.

You may want to listen to Serena’s sermon. It could answer any questions you might have as to her spiritual journey and how it can be viewed alongside other religious traditions.

In recent years, because of my various ventures into ancestral traditions, I’ve come to deeply appreciate our seasonal connections with nature to remind us in the very deepest sense, that we are not alone. I was particularly drawn to”Ygdrassil,” by photographic artist, Danny Rebb. Finding out about the rituals associated with this sacred tree reminded me again of the interconnection of everything to nature.

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My poem by the same name ends Portals: a Memoir in Verse. (the cover photo is also by Danny Rebb).

Yggdrasil

after Danny Rebb’s photo, “Yggdrasil”

At first, snow-covered tree, stark against sepia sky,
barn-rust-colored building, Private Property on
its side. A second glance of what winter
approximately spreads onto lilies-of-the-valley  
scattered below as if falling from the sacred tree,
as if spreading seeds, as if Yggdrasil expands
with noisy, clanging voices, shouts rising
above raucous shouts to be heard.

1.

Sacred arbor, cousin to oak, Druid for door, lore
of ethereal, higher ground. I want to mount the silver
tree, climb up, up through branches until I reach what?
Perhaps those Viking blood origins of ancestor,
Rollo,protector of Normandy and my last name.

2.

I am swallowed up into this tree, in its white erasure.
I hear rude blood voices, silent for all these centuries.
I want to touch my oak, my sign, sister of the ash,
I want to hear, to be my wren, bird of singing, bird of soul.
I want to fly to the blue stones of Wales,
sarsen stones pulled, dragged hundreds of miles
to this place of worship.

3.

In deep winter,
I see people in red, green, ram’s horns, arms lifted
to greet the dawn of shortest day. I want to tell them
that a stream of light will mark the day after
the day of ending darkness, that all will turn
warm with yule log burning and holly branches
to grace the halls and walls of human spirit.

4.

In Midsummer,
the festival of LithaI,
the scent of bale fires drives out evil spirits.
I see Druids in white gowns, men, women,
children with wagons, horses.
With them all, I welcome the flourishing
crops. With them all, I wait for sun as it rises
between ancient stones,
as it brings the longest day.