Summer Solstice Service

by Rebecca A. Watson on June 24, 2015

in Creative Writing, facade, Family, holidays, Recovery, Solstice

The rage of a much older woman smolders inside me — an anger so fierce it burned itself into my DNA.

And I’m going to process it. Deal with it.

Release it so this world is lighter for it. And I’m lighter too, my fire free to burn more brightly in my name.


I wonder why my mother or father didn’t do this, but maybe they did what they could. Maybe each generation took a bite of this pie of fury, until finally it reached me with only a slice left.

Or maybe I’m special — the only one of our line able to tolerate the discomfort, the only one stubborn enough to keep trying.

My ego likes the second option. Of course it would, much like it loves to retell its stories of triumph over divorces, over the insurmountable boozing in its path. It’s always been a story-teller.

I suspect it’s a combination of the two options, which is why more and more I grow curious about my ancestors, the ones who appear in my dreams to tell me they don’t give a damn about a beautiful family portrait.

And this came straight from a woman who loved her family photos.

And this came straight from a woman who loved her family photos.

I’d forgotten that’s part of why I’d come to England, to soak up these roots. They keep pissing me off though, and I wonder if maybe that’s the energy of all those folks in the family who want that rage under wraps.

Even now, generations later, their voices seep into my bloodstream, like a long-forgotten drug, waking up an old addiction — one that consumes, that makes you forget your true purpose. Chaos and drama don’t need flesh and bone to cause trouble. Fake blood has to come from somewhere.

But thankfully, in a place where rebels and scholars have collided for centuries, my cobwebs cleared and I head to sleep waiting for more messages.

And I know that when I wake and shower, I’ll be rinsing off more than my skin. I’ll have shed layers of family history — bits of DNA that don’t suit me anymore — through the night.

And the night after as well, only to be ready for the point of summer solstice celebration where I can truly say: I am ready for the darkness. In fact, I welcome it.

This is part of my 2015 goal to write more and differently. If you want to read more posts like this, click here.

Photo Credit: Ryan Pouncy

{ 2 comments… read them below or add one }

Rachel June 29, 2015 at 2:21 am

Hey Rebecca

Thoroughly enjoyed your post. Love how you put it. Best to shower off that angry DNA that has risen to the surface from generations gone past.

Sounds like the white witch has been working hard on herself. My suggestion is to embrace being uncomfortable. It won’t last, but it will be beneficial.

Talk soon.


Rebecca A. Watson July 2, 2015 at 10:48 am

Thanks for the comment Rachel, and I *love* that you call me the white witch 🙂 yay! hugs to you!


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