Midwinter Solstice - Old stories, Trunks, Buds and Values and a new story

Hello,

Now the trees are bare we can see their trunks and main branches more clearly - does this represent anything to you? Read on to find out more...

I find starting the day more difficult at this time of year… how about you? I usually start my day with a stretch and some form of exercise outdoors. As we get to the longest nights of the year I am always amazed at how long it is before the sun rises in the morning...and so grateful that it does when it does, and that where I live in the world the sun stays above the horizon all year round.

As we know, there are some latitudes where it doesn't - I can't imagine that... and think I would just want to hibernate like a dormouse!

I once heard Danny English re-tell a story about how Mother Reindeer sets off to bring the sun back after it has disappeared below the horizon. Her journey is fuelled by a red and white mushroom given to her by a lichen-bearded man in the forest, who takes the gift from a sack, and tells her it will help her fly south to reach the Sun Goddess. Mother Reindeer carries the Sun Goddess back north in her antlers and spring returns. Did you know it's only the female reindeer who keep their antlers through the winter? You can listen to the story here.

The story reminds me of the strong, fierce and protective feminine energy within us all that is needed to help us get through the winter. Winter weather can be penetratingly damp, dark, soggy and wet, and also shatteringly dry, bright and cold. There is a ying and a yang, and many layers, to the feminine energy that I only can only dream of understanding more deeply.

As we know stories have many layers of meaning to them too, and traditionally this time of the year has been one to remember the old stories. Stories form our culture. In some spiritual traditions and festivals we are also reminded of certain values that help us all get along. I think I like those stories that come from a place below the level of a particular book or discipline, the stories that come more from "The Book of Nature", or basic morality and ethic, from the place that reminds up of what it means to be alive, the right way to play out a part in the story of the land and share the world with thousands of other beings.

The other morning I woke up at 2am to the sound of rain drumming on the roof and a story popped into my head. If you would like to read the first slightly edited version of please read on to the end of this blog.

Talking of "The Book of Nature" I also look to the trees for metaphor and guidance at this time of the year. I particuarly notice their trunks, silhouettes and buds... and have a couple of thoughts I would like to share with you incase they are helpful.

I imagine the trunks of the trees represent my core values and needs, the branches other values and needs important to me... leading up to 'lesser' values and needs at the twigs. I turn to my core values in my darker moments, to remember that even when I am feeling frustration, despair and gloominess, love and kindness are core to me... it helps bring back the light.

What would you put in your value tree? Here is an example of one from a recent mentoring day with a team in London.

Looking at the tips of the branches there are buds, all ready for the next solar cycle. Resting. Holding on to the vision, the dream of being that particular tree during the next year. Not all buds will successfully open, or survive as leaves until the autumn... but each one is part of the bigger picture, holding on to the what-it-is-to-be-this-tree-in-this-place-ness, the tree's North Star if you will. It's like every bud has a bit of wisdom in it.

What wisdom will you take from the last year to help you grow and nourish your being and relations next year?

And resting. We need to rest. The sun 'rests' a while at the solstices, on its journey back and forth along the horizon towards the poles. So I wish you give yourself permission for moments of rest over the next few weeks.

Ok, that's all I've got time for today.. the last school forest school sessions of the term call. I must also acknowledge the lovely cover image for the blog by land artist James Blunt before I go... thanks James for creating wonderful things.

I wish you love, peace, strength, hope and joy through the solstice, Christmas, New year and onwards.

Feel free to share this with colleagues, friends and family if anyone comes to mind,

Chris

To find out more about the mentoring, coaching retreats and team development I offer click here

PS Here's the story. Do let me know your thoughts as it is work in progress and I hope this will be one of my buds that opens during 2025. It's aimed at 8 year olds and above.

The Lost Stories

Once upon a time a raincloud let its’ children fall from the night sky as droplets. 

“Welcome to the world,” The World said.

As the droplets fell they carried stories and memories of other lifetimes inside their being.

Some of these droplets drummed on the house of a human. 

The human inside the house woke up to the sound of the rain and with an idea for a fresh story in their mind. They got out of bed and wrote the story down.

Once upon a time there were 1000 stories kept alive by just a few special storytellers who had heard the stories in The Wind’s voices and in the rhythms of all the different dances on The Earth.

These stories could hurt or heal the worlds of the listeners. Told in the wrong way they could bring about damage and crisis. Told in just the right way, in just the right places, at just the right time to bring a deep soul medicine to a listener. 

The stories were like magic onions. They had many layers of meaning to them and each layer, though a similar flavour to each listener’s ears, grew into different images in the minds of the listeners.

 These 1000 stories could bring medicine to the mind, beauty to the body… journey to the feet, craft to the hand, a song to a quiet land,  satisfy the greed of a hungry mouth, fill the emptiness of a heart, nourish the barrenness of a desert, bring clarity to muddy river, re-assurance to a soil lacking in trust and goodness, diversity and relationship to a forest stripped of meaning. 

The people told the stories to each other. Ears listened. Earth listened. Minds imagined. Hearth fires crackled. Rivers ran clear and air passed pure from leaf to sea and back again and everywhere in between.

When the solar pulse came and the humans found more liquid sun/black sun in the earth than they knew how to handle they let it free because at first it made their lives easy. It seemed like everybody could have everything they wanted and they didn’t need the stories any more. 

The storytellers and the stories started to die. People forgot to listen and ate their hearts out trying to remember how to live. Life was too complicated and busy with go go go! to remember all the stories that fed the souls and soils that needed to be nurtured. 

Some people wanted more and more but The Earth belonged to too many to be owned by a few and so a great change was coming.

When one of the storytellers who kept the stories alive let out last breaths and lay down to change,  a child who liked listening to stories with their whole heart cried and cried in despair.
“Who will tell the stories that help us clear the air and grow the grass that feed the tiniest fish in sea?” they cried.

 The child set out to find the ones who still remembered. Over the land, across the sea and through the web they travelled. Nowhere was there one storyteller who could remember all the stories. Everywhere the stories were told slightly differently, sometimes in a wrong way, sometimes in new, but right way.

The child sat still for a while by a deep pond and the sun and stars reflecting and connecting in the ripples and patterns. 

The child wished they could be like the wind and earth, the fire and fungi and gather up all the right ways of telling the stories and send them round the world again.

As the child wished, they remembered the stories.  In their heart they knew they ware the leaf that grew, the soil that nurtured, flock that danced as one for a moment, the voices that laughed, the sun that radiated, the water that connected and the warm wind that carried tiny water droplets gently up into blue skies where a raincloud mother gathered her children, ready to set them free on another magical cyclical journey. 

Thanks for reading, do post comments below if you have any thoughts.