A Solstice Frog
A Solstice Frog . . . Summer Solstice 2002
Drove in the dawn’s early light to the beach to celebrate sunrise and awaken my crystal friends in the ocean waves on this fulcrum day when the veil is so thin. Never in my experience, thirty-five winter and summer solstices, has it ever snowed or rained. No wonder I am oblivious to my flapping windshield wipers pulling into the beach parking lot. I pop open the van’s tailgate, get out and awaken to the reality of being soaking wet by the time I’m under the tailgate's umbrella.
In front of me, neatly packed away last night, are my altar cloth, candles, drums, sweetgrass, abalone and turtle shells, feathers and wings, tingshaws, Tibetan bowl, medicine bag, and wedding shirt. Under the waterfall of the tailgate, I cannot envision a solstice ritual without candlelight, smoke tendrils, and dancing with sound-waves. No way! Ah, but if by the magic of ‘there are no accidents’, against the front seats rests my large blue Swiss exercise ball. It is obvious there are only two things impervious to water here, me and the ball, so we go to the beach for sunrise; hoping to return for our ritual’s props when the weather lets up. After all, solstice isn’t till 9:24.
The beach is wild with rain dancing on gusting winds clocking the compass rose – strikes me that we always begin the solstice ritual by inviting in the seven directions – Mother’s wind and rain make it all the more sentient. Towering thunderheads begin appearing offshore from the backlighting of an unseen sun.
Find my knees sunk in the sand at surf’s edge, body arched limply over the ball; the beginning of our morning stretching ritual. Exhale and rock over the ball until my head is on the sand and my feet in the air. The familiar feeling of the blood rushing to my head accompanied by the surprise of my ears being under the waterfall of my back. Delighted I slowly rock back and forth letting the ball support the all of me. The rain comes harder and my play goes deeper – I howl in the knowledge that the police are coming with the white canvas shirt adorned with strings hanging off the cuffs to carry me away.
There is no time now, through the vale, between the parallel lines, Marshmallow playing in the sandbox of Mother’s maelstrom, delicious warm chaos washing all over me on this teeter-totter of the infinite. My body begins to dance on the ball – shimmy and shake – rock and roll – helter skelter forever.
Once more knees sink into the sand; my chest, head and arms lay on the ball. The me I came with . . . gone. The frog, long dormant in my DNA, lays claim to my shell. My eyes bug out, the ball becomes my proud blue chest, I am burping air, my digits are sticky – I am . . this is . . . . so fun. Tears of joy mix with the rain and wind.
The frog I've become is innocence personified, so at peace, open as the sea, earthly. An inquisitive mind appears on the other end of the teeter-totter from my whole frog. We teeter, and we tooter yet never feel ‘odder’. Mind inquires about the frog being a barometer of the two-leggeds stewardship. Frog blinks and burps, wise enough to not engage any man in fight or flight. Innocent of mutation or death or extinction. “No longer being a mirror for mankind is only about man. Mother takes care of me.” I am in that care this moment. Such simple peace and joy; truly the love that passeth all understanding.
An eternity later, I shiver back into my warm-blooded, cold-skinned self. Solstice has come and gone, and I with it. No crystals to be awoken this day, no rituals required. I am left pondering frog’s parting comment, posed as a question:
“Where is the human race to?”
The flow invites you to drop out of the race and be a frog with me this day.
Love is . . . one belching-good “RIBBBBBBBITTTTT”