A Busy Solstice

It's been quite a day.

When I posted this morning's comments on the origins of Christmas Carols I was grabbing a quick coffee in between our Marking the Moment of Solstice ritual and our Greeting the New Dawn. And then some bright spark asked - had we got it right? After all, was it last night's dusk that brought with it the threat that the days may never get longer again, or tonight's?

A great dilemma. So we discussed the theology, cosmology and pathology of the whole matter. We noted that today is the shortest day (whatever those strange people who think the 21st is always Solstice may think). And therefore today is the day that the sun should set the earliest (it's not). So we got some models out, and "whiteboarded it", as modern parlance has it. We considered the Angle of the Ecliptic, the Precession of the Earth's Axis and the Law of Unintended Consequences.  And we decided that, overall, we don't know.

So we've held another Act of Darkness Fear tonight, leaving the Moon Gibbon Folk in a total state of terror - not least because the New Moon is due on Saturday. Poor souls, it's one thing after another at eclipse. On top of worrying that the Moon's not coming back, they're panicking that the Sun's not either.

So we're going to be up again tomorrow morning to stand in the drizzle, look south-westward and hope for the sun to come back. But at least this time it's going to rise a bit earlier.

Oh wait. It's not? How does that work then?

Chuck another log on the mythical beast, Mable

There's nothing better than sitting in the garden in the darkling gloom, sipping a  celebratory Easter port and chucking the occasional handful of sticks in the chimenea.
Except when you send Young Keith down to the Garden Centre and he gets it wrong and comes back with something that is spelt very similarly.

Basically, if you try putting a few sticks in a Chimera you'll never play the harpsichord again. That'll teach us to go shopping at a garden centre called Dobby's.

Moonrise over Crawley Crossing

And it really did rise over Crawley Crossing today, and it's full, and it's lovely.

I know the moon is a lump of dead rock. But then I also believe that, in some way, Neil Armstrong and all the rest spoilt something special when they went up there. Call me an old romantic.

And when you look at that lump of dead rock, floating orangey-yellow and gorgeous and silent over Crawley Crossing and the roar of the M1, it's a special thing. It's no deity - Genesis told us that. And it's not nailed to its position on the inside shell of the sky -  Copernicus and Galileo and all the rest proved that. It's just serene and uncanny and eerie and beautiful. It shines with reflected glory. But then, don't we all?

A thought about the moon

Here's something about the moon. When you think about it, it's obvious. And to people of generations before, it was natural - just the way things are. But in our sodium-lit century it's not, and we have so many other things to think about...

When it's very early or late in its cycle - very slender crescent - the moon rises and sets near the sun.

When it's full, the moon is opposite the sun in the sky. So in autumn and spring (and especially just now, as full moon nearly intersects with equinox), the full moon is rising just when the sun sets, and vice versa.

There you go. It's obvious when you think about it and purely scientific, and you could have worked it out yourself and I didn't have to mention extreme weather or any other kind of catastrophe. But isn't it beautiful?

Let's Face the Music and Liturgical Dance (V) - Full Moon Moonstomp

At last a dance we can all join in!

The Moonstomp is perfect for all who wear steel-toe-capped boots as liturgical dress.

With the Ultra Violent Light that we have had fitted into the ceiling of the Moot Hall alongside the other, more liturgically conventional, spots and fresnels, we can look forwards to this evening's Full Moon celebrations being exceptionally enlivening.  Since I'm a bit sick of Lent already, all Beaker Folk are entitled for this evening to wear the Hi Viz of their choice.  I look forward to the green, yellow, red and violet of the Hi Viz flashing and fluorescing.  A sight worth seeing indeed.

The Moot will be held at 10pm sharp.  As you know, Beaker Theopsychology holds that the Full Moon is always the best time for doing any kind of business, as our creative juices will be flowing most juicily and the spiritual pathways are completely clear.  There are no properly peer-reviewed studies, but in tests we conducted ourselves, Beaker Theopsycchology is 25% more effective than homoepathy and 17% less secretive than Anthropogenic Global Warming studies.

We had a good time this morning with Moomins.  Moomins is always one of my favourite services - solemn, yet with a hint of Finnish mythology.  The "Moonificat" is always a lovely canticle, and the "Moon Dimittis", with its call upon the Moon to be safe as it wanes once again, is guaranteed to bring a lump to the throat.

In summary the programme for the rest of today is:

6pm - Moonstruck

7pm - Moonstomp 

8pm -  Moongazing

10 pm - Moot

12 midnight - Barking at the Moon

Full Moon

According to ancient lore laid down in 2005, this first Full Moon since the Summer Solstice  is known as the "Siesta Moon".  We will celebrate the Full Moon from sunset to sunrise tonight, so quite a few people will be in need of a siesta tomorrow.  You may remember that it used to be known as  the Pepsi Moon, but sadly they withdrew funding. 

More news on our attempt to "reach out" to younger people.  We wanted to be hip, on the street, where the kids are.  Our recent Fleetwood Mac tribute evening was sadly not as well attended as we expected and renting the Milton Keynes Bowl has pushed our outreach budget way into the red. We consider the attendance of 7 people to be a minor achievement, but since the youngest was 62 years of age we weren't necessarily making the links we hoped.

The " Bring your Parents to the Moot House" event was equally unsuccessful.  OK, we did get a couple of parents along, and who would have thought that old Methuselah Bromswick's parents were both still alive at the age of 109, but all the same Methuselah was missing the point.

In our next youth event, Hnaef will be break-dancing and rapping on the street on the Lakes Estate in Bletchley.  Good for you, Hnaef.  We're right behind you.  About three miles behind you, in fact - at the Green Man in Little Brickhill.  We'll pick him up if he survives.