Summer Solstice - Solar Destiny

 Solstice, fire's festivity, ever ablaze,

The flame's thrust, its emblem displays.

Stalks of straw, tar barrels held high,

Kindled symbols to the water they fly.

For in these sacred nights, liquid receives,

The sun's consecration, its fate it believes,

To venture once more into the depths, unseen,

The knowledge of this destiny, Germanic's keen.

Within, the tragic essence of their lore,

The merging of human fate with sun's encore,

The union of creative solar might,

With earth's maternal forces, shining bright.

And fate's decree, betwixt the two,

The consecration of a community true.

In ancient images, this understanding thrives,

From primordial memories, it derives.

The victory journey of the sun's hero old,

Carved in stone, amber, runes unfold,

Proclaiming his ascent to summer's height,

In Schleswig, midsummer pole in sight.

The ancient Mann rune, its sacred sign,

Raised arms of the sun hero, so fine.

But none compare to the reverence and worth,

Of Questenberg's celebration since birth.

A rock's summit, above the village's dwell,

An oak trunk stands, the solstice's spell.

A mighty wheel wreath adorns the wood,

Renewed each year, tradition understood.

At dawn's first light, as sun's rays awake,

The village gathers, horn calls they make.

The old wreath removed, adorned anew,

Fresh foliage wound, with intentions true.

And within the wheel, village leaders reside,

Feasting on bread, meat, with spirits tied,

Passing the drink, a symbol of unity strong,

Binding all within this community's throng.

At noon, the wreath is hoisted high,

Leaves renewed, with a joyous cry,

"The quest is hung," the new year's start,

Announced with gusto from each heart.

Those who partake in this sacred rite,

Feel a connection, deep, shining bright,

To generations past, who once knew,

The communal experience, the world's view.

The wreath, a symbol of the cosmic sphere,

Binding all, casting away fear.

Destiny's fellowship, none can flee,

Embracing all, safe and free.

Elsewhere, maidens weave herb-laden bands,

To toss in trees or solstice's fiery lands,

Secretly yearning for life's purpose to be,

Embraced by symbols of destiny's decree.

Once, a wreath adorned the mighty tree,

The Thinglinde of Nordhausen, for all to see,

Merichslinde, where guild and council did dwell,

Celebrating solstice night in leafy cell.

And still today, wreaths and crowns are found,

Adorning doors in thatched homes, renowned.

In days of yore, a pewter cup passed,

Drinking "Minne," memories amassed,

Of the living and the departed, they partake,

Linked in kinship, as one, their fate.

A celebration of light and fire it has remained,

The thrust of flames, its emblem proclaimed.

But straw bundles and tar barrels on long poles ablaze,

And burning pitch wreaths into water they raise.

For the liquid element receives the sun's sacred rite,

In these hallowed nights, its fate to return to the night.

The knowledge of this destiny's inescapable hold,

Gave the Germanic people a tragic sentiment bold.

Yet also the understanding of unity profound,

Between human destinies and the sun's cycle round.

From this understanding, the myth of radiant Balder was born,

Descending from his sunlit life's blossom, forlorn,

Into the dark realm of Hel, the spear's fatal blow,

By the inescapable fate that all living things know.

But to the Germanic people, fate is no rigid imposition,

From an alien world, disrupting their own disposition.

At its deepest core, we're all connected, you see,

For universal laws shape our own destiny.

The independent conscience, a sun on our moral day,

In meaningful harmony with the ancient myth's display.

Thus, it's fitting that the greatest tragedy of Germanic lore,

The fall of the Nibelungs, unfolds during a solstice's door.

"At a solstice, the great murder took place," they tell,

And the knowing one, Hagen, with a joyful cry, does yell:

"Now let us drink the memory and offer the king's wine!"

The Germanic people as a whole have traversed this fate,

And each who gives their best may find, be it early or late,

That depth to pass through, where sun's destiny resides,

Where despair may tempt when all effort subsides.

Yet within, they keep the spark alive, burning bright,

For the Germanic soul knows the eternal law's might,

Of dying and becoming, as their myths and symbols decree,

They do not bow as slaves, to a law they can't see.

Like a freeman, they carry their light through the abyss,

For all that is luminous will reclaim its height and bliss,

Just as the sun, whose reflection they hold dear,

This certainty is granted by the solstice's myth and cheer.

And as long as you lack this "to die and become" lore,

A somber guest, on this dark earth you'll endure.

A poetic English interpretation from "Das Erbe der Ahnen"

by CR Meyer