Like most Americans, I've been busy getting my last-minute summer solstice shopping done.
The longest day of the year is Thursday, and there are altars of light to be built and lavender to be gathered and "how do you celebrate summer solstice" to be Googled.
Though I'm not a pagan _ I'm more druid-curious _ I like to celebrate things, and the longest day of what has already been an intolerably long year seems like as good a reason as any to leap naked over a bonfire. (Like I need an excuse!)
The summer solstice in our Northern Hemisphere marks the point at which the Earth's axis is most inclined toward the sun. If you happen to be standing on the Tropic of Cancer _ the imaginary line that encircles the Earth, not the racy Henry Miller novel banned in the 1930s _ the sun will be directly overhead. (It's worth noting that if you stand on the Tropic of Cancer _ the circle of latitude _ while also standing on the Tropic of Cancer _ the book _ the sun will still be directly overhead. It makes literally no difference and is a matter of personal preference, though Miller would probably want you to stand on the book while explicitly detailing your sexual encounters with Parisian bohemians.)
Traditional summer solstice celebrations involve all manner of activities, including expressive performances that honor nature through poetry, dance and music. Because there are few things more dreadful than people expressing their love of nature through poetry, dance or music _ for more on that, see my least popular YouTube video, titled "A Journalist's Interpretive Dance for Moss" _ I recommend skipping those activities and moving on to some of the more exciting stuff.
Like hanging out with fairies.
Some believe the summer solstice is when the veil between this world and the world of the fay is its thinnest. I find that particularly interesting because my wife long ago convinced our children that she is part fairy and, while they seemed to buy it, I won't be convinced until I meet some sparkly, winged relatives.
I imagine the introductions would go something like this:
WIFE: "Rex, I'd like you to meet my cousins, Thistle Sparklesprite and Amber Rainbowmoon."
AMBER: "Hi, Rex, can we sprinkle you with fairy dust so you can fly?"
ME: "YES! YES, PLEASE GIVE ME THE ABILITY TO FLY! And can I get a fairy name as well?"
THISTLE: "Yes. We'll call you Barkmold Thunderfart."
ME: "Well, that's kind of disappointing."
Anyway, in order to pierce the veil between the two worlds, you need to perform a ritual. I researched this practice and found it requires the creation of a circle of gathered stones (your neighbor's decorative garden is a great place to find those) and the recitation of a poem like this one from a summer solstice article on the website HubPages written by Mackenzie Sage Wright, a Wiccan.
"A circle, thrice, we cast this night
To seal the magic portal tight;
The first time that we come about,
We shut unwanted spirits out;
The second time we go around
we cleanse the air and sanctify the ground;
creating a sphere of sacred space,
a safe and hallowed meeting place;
The third time round, as we go,
As above, so below,
We seal this circle round times three,
As is our will so mote it be!"
Not sure what "mote" means, and I'm too tired to Google it since I already had to Google "summer solstice celebrations" and "fairy incantations" and whatnot.
So I'm going to modify the poem and make it a bit more current. After you build your fairy welcoming circle out of your neighbor's decorative garden stones (don't worry, the fairies will carry them back when you're done), clasp hands with your loved ones or your neighbor (assuming said neighbor is unaware of the garden stone heist) and recite the following:
"Fairies hear us, we want to see,
That you are real and good and free;
We built this circle and say these words
At risk of being labeled nerds.
Please, oh fairies, don't ignore
Our desire for a glimpse of lore,
Come out, come out, don't fear or skitter,
We want a pic to post on Twitter."
If you follow these carefully researched steps, the nude bonfire jumping and general light worshipping of your summer solstice celebration will be fabulously augmented by sparkling swarms of magical fairies.
That's a guarantee. Or my name isn't Barkmold Thunderfart.
