St John

today - the feast of St John - the midsummer fires, the rites of passage, the out breathing of the northern hemisphere - the half year until Christmas eve. for he who walked in the wilderness baptising in the river - no few sprinkles but a taking you to that edge of drowning, of not quite drowning, of opening the eye that suddenly sees and understands when it is that close to death. And as it should the sun shines, the sky and heavens are blue, the sea a great sweep of reflection, of glinting silver. I sit on the beach watching the blue, watching the patient oyster catcher mine the rich seam of the shore - I remember fires for this day, moments of lighting torches to mark some passing - some moving on - graduation, from student to apprentice - even in the Brownies I flew up to Guides, the moment given special ritual. I remember the salute, the few words and the 'flying up' - not with fire but rite of passage all the same. I remember long haired seeking cotton shirted men, with guitars and Cat Stevens songs around fires. And stories. And being mesmerised by flames and how it can touch a melancoly place that simply sits and stares, not thinking about anything and at the same time digesting everything; the changes, the births and deaths, the places been and left, the friends. Give into the fire whatever in you needs to die, someone said. And Rudolf Steiner of midsummer said 'loose yourself to find yourself.'
Burn. Like the whin bushes on the brae to make space for the new.
glorious summer to you xx