SUMMER SOLSTICE AT STONEHENGE

from “Buildings of the Season” © John M Johansen

At early dawn we follow the ancient leys of Salisbury plain.

We find our way not by sight, as they are invisible,

but rather guided by emanating magnetic forces.

Their pulse intensifies as we approach our destination.

At last, the wraiths of night withdraw

revealing in dim light,

the majestic standing stones of Stonehenge.

We touch the surfaces of liken, fern and moss

of these great stone-capped megaliths as we pass into the circle.

These mighty shafts were moved some 4 millennia ago

from distant Wales and placed here they say by giants.

By giants indeed! Yet giants of high intelligence;

a priesthood of engineers, astronomers and architects as well.

These early Britons waited here each year for Sun

to reach alignment with headstone and with altar;

to mark the day when Sun, seen through mortal eyes, stood still.

From this, these agrarians set their year long calendar,

to order their lives, their cattle and crops in devoted husbandry,

to synchronize order on their Earth with that of a greater Cosmos.

For guidance they listened to the voices of their Gods.

Their god, the Sun, had risen this day to engage their

Earth Goddess in the most impassioned embrace of all the year.

This was the time to celebrate in their procreation.

Her bounteous new life in all its forms

they expressed in solemn ritual as well in antic joy.

We come upon this mark which man has made upon his Earth;

a mark expressed in three most disparate terms;

a feat of high technology; an unfailing solar timepiece;

a temple carpeted in emerald sods.

We join these early Britons in common faith at Stonehenge

where they dared to take the measure of their Gods.

WINTER SOLSTICE AT NEWGRANGE

from “Buildings of the Season”  © John M Johansen

In darkness and in cold

uphill we grope toward the passage tomb

of the legendary Kings of Tara.

Still honored and celebrated there

as having lived and died and hopefully reborn

to another life unknown

yet surely in the company of gods.

Before the light of day, this mighty mound

is silhouette against a dawning sky.

We enter, compelled by unknown powers.

Through the passage, flanked by heroic upright stones

and spanned by a corbelled roof,

we move with trepidation and in awe.

Guided only by our sense of touch

our fingers trace, in Braille, curvilinear patterns

chiseled on stark surfaces;

symbols whose meaning five thousand years ago

are long since lost to us.

Deep in that great mound of Earth

we reach the chamber of the dead.

There we wait in dark and deathly silence

for the moment; for Nature 's great performance to unfold.

The moment now has come.

Our breath is short; our pulse is quick;

in space and time suspended.

for along the passage floor we've trod

a straight, sharp beam of light injects itself;

piercing, full depth of passage

to strike the altar stone

in that innermost chamber.

The chamber now is a flood of light.

Those of Tara witnessed this and saw the sun,

as masculine generator of life;

penetrating this vaginal passage

to touch Gaia 's uterine altar

in immaculate conception.

Encased within that rock bound womb,

for a moment we are seeds awakened

to further germination to another life as well.

Released from this birth passage

we emerge to our mundane life.

Yet now we look upon it differently

reborn we are with clear insight.

As for the legendary Kings of Tara

who sought rebirth from death,

there may be for us, the living, rebirth within while here.

At Winter Solstice, may we join

our humankind, of five thousand years ago,

in that eternal act of faith:

that for each year, each life, our Earth, their purpose not in vain,

there will be a death for each in time

yet will be life again.

THE HORREOS  AT AUTUMN EQUINOX

from “Buildings of the Season” © John M Johansen

Like citadels, the "horreos" of old Iberia

stand guard over the fields of corn below.

These are granaries, which by their timely function,

are symbolic of the Autumn Equinox.

Built with chiseled joint of heavy quarried granite,

proof against rodent, fire and rain;

built not for the season but for seasons in all of time.

Built to protect that precious staff of life.

For these people, corn meant kernels of a plant they tended.

Yet for them, as well, meant Divine dispensation:

a gift of grace for which no payment was exacted,

only what they gave as faith in an unknown providence.

In stately rows, "horreos", styled as chapels,

offering space, not for worship within,

but for sanctuary of ingredients for a sacred bread

to sustain 'till spring, their bodies - as well as their souls.

SPRING - THE VERNAL EQUINOX

from “Buildings of the Season” © John M Johansen

In the company of all that grows this spring

I grow my house!

With curiosity, man has always witnessed Nature

in this, her secret process.

Now man, in Nature’s process can take part.

I place a “seed,” a coded D.N.A.;

blueprints for what my house will be.

Planted, as in earth, the roots will reach

to nourishment for molecular growth,

as they replicate and vastly multiply.

A vascular system distributes up as well

through stalks and trunk - my columns;

to branch and rib - my structure and support,

into living membranes - my canopy and roof.

Will I live within my living house, in symbiotic peace?

I may live there with troubled soul

for I have intervened in Nature’s secret ways.

Again, I may find peace, if I design with spirit

yet not “outdo the modesty of Nature.”

And so I will partner in the glory of this spring.