I tune in online to watch the summer solstice at Stonehenge. It’s cloudy at Wiltshire, England and there isn’t much to see. The only sound is the wind.
I watch for a while, remembering what it was like when Gerry and I stood on that ground in the cordoned off area looking at the stones, and take a moment to scroll through comments made by others watching.
They are refreshing. No anger. No fighting and arguing. No name-calling. Just peaceful greetings from people all around the world.
It is as if they—we, I suppose—come together in harmony, opting out of the madness happening around us. We set aside our opinions and our right-fighting and our anger and simply sit In silence and watch light change and clouds move above monolithic stones.
Many feel a need to connect with others. Some express gratitude to English Heritage for arranging the livestream. Others raise a virtual hand just to say “I’m here”.
“Greetings from Scotland.”
”Watching from Charlotte, NC.”
“Hello from Mexico City.”
And people gather together virtually around something as ordinary as a sunset over something as extraordinary as a livestream broadcast at the site of these massive stones and there’s just a sense of peace.
”It’s so wonderful. The clouds are beautiful.”
“Thank you for sharing this peace and calm.”
“So soothing and peaceful.”
I’m so worn out by the polarization and disregard for basic decency, the half-truths and out-and-out lies, and the sense that we’ve opened a box and released something horrific.
In a world where if I say something’s pink someone will argue and say it’s really purple and what kind of fool am I for thinking it’s pink anyway and we can’t remain friends in light of such disagreement, the stones are a haven.
I don’t think there’s anything supernatural about the henge, at the solstice or any other time, but there is certainly something magical about a peaceful gathering of 127,000 people from around the world gathering virtually around them.