A solstice wander
Psychogeographical musings
We have just experienced the winter solstice here in the UK: the shortest day of the year, and the point at which the light starts to return. Although I have not previously been in the habit of taking a walk to commemorate the solstice, I realised I had done so on each of the other three solar festivals (spring equinox, summer solstice and autumn equinox), and so it felt right to venture out one more time. I’d like to share some of my thoughts around the four walks, focusing on their symbolism for me and how this final one, in particular, has helped me gain a renewed clarity around what I want for my life: a most appropriate outcome for this time of year!
(Note: the term ‘psychogeography’ refers to the study of the effects of the physical environment on people's feelings and behaviour, and conventionally refers to urban habitats. However, there is a growing body of work from writers & artists who explore this subject in other environments, from liminal edgelands to remote natural landscapes. I am adopting the term in this looser sense.)
I was initially expecting to spend yesterday visiting Glastonbury with a friend, but the lurgy struck him down, and then I succumbed to a lurgy of my own, so at first it looked like I wasn’t going anywhere. But I was determined to complete my quartet of solar walks, even if I only ventured out for a couple of hours. My destination was chosen based partly on this practical need, and partly by looking at the routes I’d taken the previous three times. I realised there was a symmetry to where I’d been, and yesterday’s route seemed to offer a natural conclusion to this pattern.
For the spring equinox I travelled westwards, visiting Llangorse Lake in the Brecon Beacons and climbing Mynydd Llangorse. It was a drizzly, misty day, and became something of an epiphany for me: I found myself experiencing a number of mental, emotional and spiritual breakthroughs that brought an unexpected clarity around what I wanted to do (and where I wanted to go) in the next phase of my life. Although I have certainly moved closer to this ‘next phase’, I am not entirely sure it has been by conscious effort on my part; rather, it feels as if the universe has pushed me forward, with events taking on a life of their own. This may be why, until last night, I have felt so thoroughly disorientated, and have written so many posts wrangling with emotional issues. It feels appropriate that it is the latest solar festival that now returns me to the thought processes set in motion nine months ago.
For the summer solstice I travelled eastwards. Starting in Chepstow, I set out on a circular walk around the Wye Valley in Monmouthsire, heading up the western bank of the river to Tintern, and then back to Chepstow on the eastern side. This was a much longer walk than March’s, but the weather was better and the hours of light gave me the time I needed, so it was an enjoyable challenge rather than a harsh one. I had no spiritual breakthoughs on this occasion - the trials were largely physical - but I felt a glorious sense of freedom, roaming such swathes of the landscape, with nobody to answer to but myself. As I have done many times, I made a vow to keep up the practice of regular long-distance walks - but this is still something I have not yet been able to maintain as I have felt buffeted hither and thither by ‘events’. With energies shifting, maybe this is something I can now begin to change.
For the autumn equinox I travelled southwards. This was to Glastonbury, so at least I don’t feel I’ve missed out on a visit! The walk this time was simply a climb up the Tor and a wander round the town, but it felt significant nonetheless. It was the second time I’d explored the place, the previous time being a year ago - and I am going to cheat slightly by explaining its significance in terms of what I experienced on that first occasion, not all of which was repeated this year. I encountered all five elements: air (a breeze at the top of the Tor), water (drinking from the Red and White Springs), fire (in the pub), earth (mud on my boots), and spirit (everywhere, but especially the prayer wheels we spun on our way up to the Tor). I felt I had experienced all facets of existence, received a spiritual embrace that I was able to bring back with me into my daily life - but having visited there in company twice now, I wonder whether next time should perhaps be a solo expedition: to truly step over the threshold unaided.
And so to the winter solstice. When considering my route, I realised that, as I had previously travelled west, east and south, north now seemed a timely choice. I also noted that each of my earlier trips had brought me into contact with water in various states: the static lake at Llangorse, the flowing river in the Wye Valley, more flows in the Glastonbury springs - and so this time it seemed apt to aim for another static body. Given my lack of physical energy and the need for a short walk & easily accessible destination, one clear option presented itself: the Monmouthshire & Brecon Canal, heading north out of Newport towards Cwmbran (and beyond). I am familiar with the Crumlin Arm of this canal, regularly walking stretches between Malpas and Fourteen Locks, but I had never ventured up the main arm, so I felt an exploration was long overdue. And in addition to the symmetry of compass points and water states, the attraction of this route was that I could simply walk as far as I felt able, then turn round and retrace my steps.
The walk was not enjoyable. This could have been partly due to my impaired state of health, or the residual effect of the day’s earlier terrible weather. But I knew it was more than that. I felt in my bones the creeping recognition of just how much I didn’t belong here. Newport has been my home for the past five years, but I have never felt settled. Although I have made friends, gained a social life and played some part in the artistic activities of the city, it has always felt like a transitional place, somewhere I would escape from as soon as the time was right. And walking up this stretch of the canal brought all of these feelings flooding back - back, in particular, to my epiphany of the spring equinox, where my primary (frankly rather disturbing) realisation was that I had outstayed my welcome in Wales and now needed to look at moving back to England. This had been quite an unexpected resolution, and I had formed no clear plans as to how to achieve this (or, indeed, where to go), which is likely why life has run away with me over the past few months. But walking up this canal, where the natural beauty of trees and hills on one side was offset with roads, town houses and back gardens on the other, had me yearning quite painfully for something… well, something I still couldn’t articulate. But something - somewhere - that definitely wasn’t here.
I continued walking as far as my health and the daylight would allow; then, thoroughly miserable, I turned and set off back home. I remained depressed for the rest of the evening, and took to my bed early, in the hope of banishing the blues with a good night’s sleep. This did not happen, but… oddly, as has sometimes happened before (with regard to art and grief), my hours of wakefulness yielded a surprising revelation. I found myself desperately longing for a place I had visited back in May: Chanctonbury Ring in Sussex. A post I wrote at the time spoke of this experience, which was followed by a second trip to the area in September, where I climbed the other hill fort, Cissbury Ring. From the top of both hills I had a view of the sea and, at 4am last night - the longest night of the year - these memories filled me with the overwhelming certainty that this was where I needed to go: this - the sea - was where my heart belonged and where I needed to get back to. I had known this before, when I lived on the seawall, but in the chaos of the past few months I had all but forgotten just how powerful that sea-urge was. And now I had my wake-up call.
Back in May I wrote of Chanctonbury Ring: ‘Rather than trying to take something away from the place, I chose to leave something there. I think it was love.’ I now wonder whether I did indeed leave my heart there, and whether this is why I have experienced such difficulties in the months since: whether, even when good things have happened (such as receiving funding for my art course), I have simply not had the ‘heart’ to feel settled in Newport. I’ve talked about moving elsewhere to find romantic love, but even that hasn’t filled me with the passion I feel for the sea, which is where I need to go for myself and myself alone. It really was quite an extraordinary thing to find myself feeling in the small hours, but also intensely liberating.
This does not mean that I now know exactly what I’m going to do. I still need to figure out how to fund a move, identify exactly where I want to live & work (Hastings, further east, has often seemed a possibility) and then actually make the break; and I can’t do any of this until June at the earliest due to the tenancy agreement on my current place. But those are practical decisions that I can now apply myself to resolving. The missing factor, the one thing that was preventing me from making concrete plans, was the desire: the overpowering, visceral urge to go, just go, to the place where my heart belonged. And now I have that back in abundance.
My final ‘solar festival’ walk of the year has brought me to a good place. I feel more at peace with myself than I have done in a long time, and I am in tune with the season. The light is returning out of the darkest of places; and I too need to return, from the shadows of my own life, to my heart, wherever it belongs. I will find it, go there to meet it, and live with it in joy.