Flame Spirals: The Nocturnal Photography of Stu Jenks:
Chapter Sixteen: “Solstice Rock, Catalina Mountains, Arizona” © 1998, 2008
[December 21st, 1998; The Day of the Winter Solstice]
I've just passed Windy Point and it's beginning to snow. Oh boy oh boy! I'm leaning a little forward in my seat in my old King Cab, looking out the windshield at the flurries, as I continue to climb the winding two-lane road up Mt. Lemmon. My heart rate has increased just a bit. I can feel it pound. I light a smoke.
My truck is not good in snow. No weight in the back. A 2 x 4. Just a couple years ago, when I was coming up here to pray at Solstice Rock, I had to turn around for I was slipping and sliding so much. I ended up praying north of Prison Camp instead. But today, it's just starting to snow, not much on the road yet and if it does snow a lot while I'm up here, I'm pretty sure I can get down. Getting up is the hard part, and I've only got another few miles to go anyway. I can make it.
Soon, I reach the pulloff near Solstice Rock. It's snowing quite a bit here. Less than an inch on the ground, but it's sticking. I park the truck, pointing it downhill toward Tucson and pull the hand brake. Screw it, I'm going. It's powder so I'm probably OK.
I put on my Boo Boo hat, slip on my old gloves, and zip up my blue polar fleece jacket. And lastly, I wrap my old tan wool scarf around my neck and tuck it into my coat. A scarf that my sister knitted 30 years ago. Not knitted for me personally, but I ended up with it anyway. My favorite scarf. I lock the pickup and walk across the road to the little trail that leads up to Solstice Rock.
Just a short walk up to the Rock. It's delightfully cold. Within minutes, I'm standing on a ledge made of flat granite slabs and huge granite boulders that I call Solstice Rock. No one else calls it that. Just me. A grand view of the Rincon Mountains opens to the east. A thousand foot drop is right below my feet. Snow is coming down heavier now. Best back up a bit away from the edge. Think I'll go to my praying place now.
I've been coming here since 1988 on the day or night of the Winter Solstice to pray. I pray other days, at other places, quite often actually, but this is the place I come to pray big prayers. I take a deep breath. I close my eyes, then open them. What to pray for this year? I empty my mind. Something short, simple, true. Light. Yes, Light.
I begin locally. I speak out loud. No Americans around to think I'm crazy for talking to myself. Actually, I'm talking to God. Ok, Stu, empty your mind again. Light. A prayer about Light.
"God, it's me again. Not that you don't hear from me often, but I'm up here on Solstice Rock to do my Solstice prayers, like I do every year. God, I call you for Light. Bring Light. To Annie, bring her Light. To Michael, bring him Light. To John and Beth, bring them Light. To Mary Ann, bring her light. To Lisa, bring her Light. To Mike, bring him Light. To James and Julia, bring them Light. To Len and Virginia, bring them Light. To Jeff, bring him Light. To Linda, bring her light. To Dirk, bring him light. To Karen and Steve, bring them Light...."
I pray for God to bring Light to all of my friends and acquaintances I can think of, a few people that used to be friends and a couple who unfortunately are enemies now. Then I expand the circle to include strangers. To every one in Tucson.
"God, Bring Light to all those who are struggling to recover from addiction. To all of the poor, bring them Light. To the rich too, bring them light. To all who suffer, bring them Light. To all those in the Tucson Valley below, bring them Light."
I turn to the face northwest toward Prescott.
"To Byron and Shawn, bring them Light. To all in Arizona, bring them Light."
My voice begins to rise, stronger, louder.
"To all in the West, bring them Light!"
My arms spontaneously open by my side. I face to the east.
"To Mary and Stuart and Pamela, bring them Light. To all I know and don't know in North Carolina, bring them Light. To all in Virginia and all up and down the East Coast, bring them Light. To all of America, bring them Light."
My voice is quite loud now. The snow's coming down hard and fast.
"To all who are suffering in the world, bring them Light. To the people in Europe, bring them Light. To all in Asia, Africa, South America, The Whole World, bring them Light. God, please, bring them Light. Bring us all Light."
Tears are flowing down my cheeks. I cry every year.
"Bring them Light!"
My voice gets quieter.
"Bring me Light, God."
Almost a whisper now.
"Please God, Bring us all Light"
The snowfall is heavy, with many little and big flakes. I tilt back my head and watch the flakes come down. They hit my glasses but I don't care. I watch them for a few seconds and then I adjust for the slight wind. I spy one I want.
And then, I catch a big snowflake with my tongue.