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We started our as sun-worshippers on this planet, and the Sun is the center of our planetary system, as Copernicus, my birthday mate (we were both born on February 19), pointed out long ago. Composed of hydrogen and helium, our fantastic and fiery Sun is actually a midsize and rather ordinary star in the whole scheme of things. An impressive 870,331 miles in diameter, the Sun is 300,000 times the size of Earth. Its gravitational pull affects all bodies within a range of nearly 400,000 miles, which is why Earth and all the other planets circles it so loyally. The temperature at the Sun’s core has been estimated at seventeen million degrees centigrade, and at its surface, 5,5000 degrees. 

Astrologically, the Sun is linked with the sign Leo the Lion. Naturally, fire is the element of our Sun. Around old Sol, all the planets rotate, pulled by the gravitational force of the star. Each of the astrological signs and their corresponding stones has a planetary influence.

Have you spoken with the Sun lately?

Have you said “thanks” recently for his goodly (and godly) gift of light? Of warmth? Have you thanked him for your very life?

If not, why not? Are you in the habit of taking gifts for granted?

(Of course, one might just as readily say “her” here; the Sun is a star and, as such, an ungendered being; or maybe “pangendered” would be better. But we, as humans, gendered beings ourselves, are—as ever—wont to project. He or she is not the point here; you is the point.)

Me, I speak to the Sun every day, individual to individual: when I can, at least. (Alas, it looks as if today, I may not get the opportunity. Historically, December is Minnesota's cloudiest month.) When first I see the Sun in the morning, I kiss my hand and greet him. I thank him; I tell him that I love him. (“Love to you, my Pahh.” ) When he nears the western horizon, I bid good-night, farewell, See you in the morning, kissing again my hand.

(Similarly, I also daily greet the Winds, the Moon, the River...the pagan's day—and life—is filled with gods.)

Does he hear me when I do this? No, probably not. But that obviates neither the relationship, nor the responsibly. The Sun burns in self-sacrificial love; this is his nature. We say “thank you” and “I love you”: this is ours.

What are we, we living beings? Are we not minerals and energy, minerals-in-motion? One from the Sun, the other from Earth. Truly, in the most literal way possible, we are sunlight and soil, children of Earth and Sun.

In us, they see, and think, and understand. In us, they know love and thanks. This is our “why.” Is this not a wonder?

Humans, we speak in words, and dance. Gods speak in what they do, and are.

Soon comes the Yule of the year. Now, we speak to the Sun on our own recognizance, one on one.

Then, we will do so together.

On a whim the other day, I did an image search for “Yule ornaments.” What I found dismayed me.

Or rather, what I didn't find dismayed me.

Pentagrams, runes, Thor's hammers, witches on brooms: pagan schmuckerei for pretty much every taste and tradition.

Out of the first two screens, maybe 150 images in all, I found one Sun.

One.

For a moment, I felt a sense of vertigo, as if I were falling: a giddy kind of kinship with the “Keep Christ in Christmas” folks.

Solstice is relationship: Earth, Sun, Us.

“The only religion that really makes any sense is Sun-worship,” a (non-pagan) friend once said to me years ago.

Name of the Sun

What the Sun's Name to himself may be, we do not know.

(Let me relent and say here, Deep initiates to the Sun there may be who know that Name. If so, I myself am not among them.)

The Sun's Name to us, though: this we know, for it is a relational Name, and we know it of and by our own relation.

What's the single most important pagan ritual that you can ever do?

Hint: you don't need either a temple or a magic circle to do it.

Here it is: Go forth and watch the Sun rise, or set.

Do this as often as you can, and better it be if you do it from a wild place.

At sunset, I often blow a horn when the Sun first touches the horizon. As the Sun sets, I address him. (You can call this prayer if you want to.) This is also a good time to pour out a libation. Then, when he slips entirely below the horizon, I blow the horn again. Then I sing a hymn.

You can elaborate if you want to, but you don't have to. The watching is all that's really necessary.

We have it from the ancestors that the most auspicious time to address oneself to the Sun is when he is on the horizon. In my experience, this is a time of special face-to-face intimacy, not usually present at other times of the day.

If you don't know where to go in your area for a clear view of the sunset and sunrise horizon at various times of year, what kind of pagan are you? Real pagans, being people of the place, are territorial beings.

Monotheists have it easy. They never have to ask: Which god?

For the rest of us, things get rather more complicated.

In time of plague, as now, to Whom do you turn?

Well, when you need help, who do you usually ask for assistance? The near-by, those with whom you already have good friendship: kin, friends, neighbors.

In time of epidemic, for protection for you and yours, you turn to your luck-god, Whomever that may be.

(Bear in mind, of course, that intangible protections are always best used in partnership with tangible ones as well.)

But collectively, to Whom do we turn for aid in time of plague?

In the Old Ways, there's no wall of separation between reality and mythology. Let us start with a simple fact: sunlight kills covid.