The Sun Returns

As with all modern myth, indeed as with all myth, this story may strike you, in whole or in part. If it does, I am glad. Take what works, leave the rest. If nothing here moves you, well. That is how things go sometimes. Not all stories are meant for all people. This story is true for me in this time and this place. And that is what matters. Regardless, I hope you enjoy. Stories are meant to be enjoyed, whether or not they have religious value.

Freyr had enjoyed his time in the Mound. It was warm, in the dark. And though it was indeed very dark, there was warm food and good drink and loved ones all around. The ancestors, for they were ancestors now, not merely the dead, were joyous in the presence of their King Under the Mound. Fires burned late into the nights, and the days grew longer and longer Under the Mound. And Freyr’s holy blood soaked deeper into the well-sated Earth.

And yet, and yet, despite the loved ones he had missed so dearly all around him, as the days reached a crescendo under the Earth, a longing slowly grew in Freyr’s heart. For not all those he loved were here with him. He missed the cunning laughter of his sister, and the soft touch of his partners. His law had been set, reset, here among the dead. And they welcomed him for it, abiding by the wisdom in his voice and choices. But Freyr looked around himself in his nights of drinking, storytelling, debauchery, and wise council. And he saw reflected in the eyes of some others around him his own longing to be among the living again. He remembered his promise to return to the living with those among the dead who were truly ready to walk among them once again.

But Freyr was a wise king, and knew well his duty. And so he called council, and gathered his people around him once again, as he had done before he had come into the Mound. And he asked for their wisdom, to alloy with his own. There was distress from some of the ancestors, for they would miss the shining face of Freyr, his laughter and presence among them. But these looked at the longing in the eyes of their fellows, and remembered their own days under the living sun, and they relented. As the solstice approached, preparations were made.

On that day, with preparations made and those of the dead ready gathered around him, Freyr took up his crown and his mantle and his walking stick. And looking out of his kingdom he saw that it was dark and the path was lost, truly lost, in the mist and shadow.

And some of those traveling with him despaired “how can we find our way back to the land of the living? Surely we will be lost and wander, restless and hungry, among the mists and shadows of the wilderness with no light to guide our way!” But Freyr looked again, and saw, far in the distance, the twinkling lights of fires. Fires large and small, bonfires and hearth fires and candles. Small votives lit for ancestors and stoves lit to feed families. Bonfires lit for celebrations and candles that brought soft joy. “Look again,” said Freyr, “there are those that wait for us still. They light fires and wait for the return of the sun. The journey is long before us, but they hold vigil. For our sake and for their own and for their fellows, there are those who hold watch through the long cold night. They will guide us home. Fear not. If there is but one light to guide us, we will make the journey.”

The journey was set, and so they continued. Night after night, they traveled with the sun. The nights grew longer under the Mound. And each day their journey grew shorter. Both the time they could travel in the light, as the sun slowly crept back to the world of the living, and the journey before them. Slowly the lights before them grew brighter. But brighter they grew. Laughter was not common among them, but it was there. And soon they began to feel, in their fingers and their toes. And they began to realize, as Freyr’s face grew brighter day by day as it turned to them, that life was among them again. And the journey, eventually, ended. As it does, every year, here, among us. As those among the dead come back to us, living once again. Whether they are in the faces of our children, or just beside us as we sit. And the sun returns with them, guiding their way, out of the dark, and into our lives once again. Thank you for your journey, o’ holy ones. O’ holy Sun. O’ Shining Freyr.