Better Late Than Never

Merry Christmas Comrades

I'm even capitalizing the C to maintain the spiritual peace of the winter holidays even though the Christians stole the Yulemas from the ancient Druids of Stonehenge.

Meán Geimhridh commemorating the shortest day of the year predates the Bronze Age. The original rituals from over five thousand years ago have been lost for ages, however every December the sun signals the winter solstice at the Newgrange burial tomb. For seventeen minutes the rays of the dawn pierce a hole in the roof to light the interior of the Neolithic monument. Farmers slaughtered their livestock in preparation for a long winter and more importantly wine, beer, mead, and other spirits reached maturity in late-December.

The pagans had a very happy Meán Geimhridh.

Julius Caesar adapted his Julian calendar to mark December 25 as the winter solstice and later the Christians adopted this heathen feast for their own religion.

Meán Geimhridh was all about the sun and earth and beer and the eternity of the cosmos.

So milla failte to my loving son Fenway in Thailand.

An ancient tribe loves you always.

mas.

He is a good boy.

The Longest Night

Stonehenge has endured time. This morning the sun rose in the east. Light passed through the massive portals to cast a path marking the winter solstice. Beer and mead were ready for drinking after the season of fermentation. Both were served as food through the winter. I have always called the Winter Solstice the holy day Beermas.

I celebrated it often during the cold months.

Modern historians paint a bleak portrait of the Bronze Age.

The time after Meán Geimhridh was known as the famine months.

Neanderthals and Cro-magnons survived the annual starvations, but thanks to the fermentation of beer.

This morning I woke this morning to the sun rising over Brooklyn.

The light was gold on the tall buildings to the west.

The flash of dawn honored the time and the day.

Four years ago I drank beer and Irish Whiskey with friends.

I drank Irish whiskey.

It was a good beermas, but now there is no beer for Sean Coll and I will read through the longest night.

Brionglóid milis or sweet dreams.

The Holiday of Imbolc

Today Celts around the world celebrate Imbolc, the midway point between Winter Solstice and Spring Equinox.

Groundhog Day is an adaption of that ancient Gaelic festival during which Cailleac, the hoary hag, decides how much longer winter will last. A nasty day means that the bad weather is almost over and today in New York is a wintery day of mixed sunshine.

Tomorrow I will light a candle at St. Patricks' Cathedral in honor of St. Brigid, the Hibernian goddess of poetry and healing. The more candles the faster comes the spring and if that doesn't work then I'm going to drink a little wine.

It's an old tradition.

New here, but then now is the time for the awakening of the cosmos.

ps Punxsutawney Phil saw his shadow.

Six more weeks of winter.

Forty-two days.

Today was one of them.