Midsummer in an Autumn Soul
Midsummer is such a bittersweet time to me. The golden magick of the Sun reaches its height, painting the world in champagne, and gilded dances of light.
The beginning of its long goodbye.
A moment that felt so long in coming.
My autumn soul begins to stir, knowing that as the Moon waxes and wanes, so the time of fiery release, gentle chill and crisp apples draws ever near.
I’m not a fan of the heavy heat of summer, much preferring the balanced comfort of late September, and of course, the powerful magick of October (plus sunscreen is a pain yet wildly necessary when you have this many tattoos and want to protect your investment).
But I can appreciate the presence of the heavy heat and what it reminds me of. Those lazy, dog days of summer when all is calm and slow; there’s no rush, no hurry, no urgency. On those days I like to lie in bed with a book, a perfect breeze flowing through the window, the leaves outside shaking in joy. A lofi artist’s dream.
Mmm, yes please.
There is much about summer that I take slow, my soul finding this my time of rest, in a way, more so than the deep months of winter.
But oh, how I love a summer storm.
Since childhood, watching from the garage. As a teen, when I first noticed the way it made my hands tingle. As an adult, when the storm seems to know me in a way no one else does.
I love watching a good summer thunderstorm roll in, and all it awakens within me. A powerful show of nature, of the Goddess, of the Gods of old. There is an unspoken strength in the storm that can only be felt to be experienced. It doesn’t need to be understood; it draws attention to an understanding in you.
The dance of the lightning, sometimes soft and slightly hidden in the dark folds of the clouds, a mountain range turned upside down. Sometimes it comes in a great flash, as though the heavens are cracking with unfiltered, unhindered power.
The voice of the thunder, sometimes far and deep; a baritone song of long, long ago, when the mountains knew gemstones and dragons. And sometimes in a great crash, a scream unleashed, the world unearthing all it feels. Is it agony or triumph? Pain, or perfection?
The soft pattering of rain; a gentle letting go.
Or a maelstrom of release, raining relentlessly against the earth, calling forth all that does not serve you to be cleansed away, away, away….
Give it to me, let it go. Come, come; feel alive with me.
…the storm seems to say.
What does it say to you?
What do you hear, hidden between its whispers, deep within its roar?
What does it call forth within you?
What, in you, calls back?
Clarity or Chaos. Vibrant truths, or deep, unanswered questions.
Who are you, in the eye of the storm?
“In the gentle fall of rain from Heaven, I hear my God.
But in the thunder, I still hear Thor.
That is my agony.”
– Athelstan,
“The Choice” (Vikings)
Paradox, perseverance, passion.
Voices, voices, voices in the deep.
There is little in the world that makes one feel alive like the epic power of a force far greater than us, that reminds us we are of the earth, but She is not ours.
When I let the storm within me, I never know what will arise.
Sometimes it’s memories, moments I shrank, times my power was muted and I froze.
Times I wish so greatly I could go back to and act differently.
I see faces I never cared to see again, remember voices that are long gone, feel places that held me in ways humanity never could.
Sometimes my skin comes alive, my blood electrifies, and I surrender to the cosmos that speak in such crescendos, reminding me of all that I am, and all that I have forgotten.
For I am more than this flesh, this voice, these bones.
I am more than all that I am told I am allowed to be.
I am…more.
Eyes that see more; eyes that see magick…
Power lies not in what we can do, but in what we believe, and what we know to be true.
The storm begs you to remember a deeper truth.
There is more.
Surrender.
Over, and over, and over again…
Surrender…
…and be more…
See you in the storm,
