The Dance of the Spirits

I'm a quarter Finnish.

Yeah, I know It doesn't quite show when I look like the hellspawn of Satan and some mediterranean woman, but I swear at some point that blood hadn't ran out on me yet.

But, alas, no blond hair or bright eyes for me. Shame. I did get a few things from them, though. I got pride for the Winter War, savage business as it was. I got a grudging respect for the cold and the snow, even if I love to feel them on my skin. I got a thing for long, dark nights and soft winds. I can drink like nobody's business.

And I FUCKING.LOVE.AURORAS.

I could go on and on the scientific explanation for auroras but I have several reasons not to:

a) We don't understand them fully yet.

b) It would defeat the pupose of this post.

c) That would be telling, and a good magician never ever reveals his secrets.

(Several is defined as "more than two, but not many", so sue me)

So I'm gonna go with the less scientific, more fantastic interpretations, mostly because they are more interesting, beautiful and cool, but also because I'm a sucker for mythology.

The Finnish name for the northern lights is "Revontulet", can be roughly translated as "Foxfire". According to a folk tale, an arctic fox is running far in the north and touching the mountains with its fur, so that sparks fly off into the sky as the northern lights. They also talk of how the snow its tail sweeps gets thrown into the sky, where the sparks and moonlight, reflected in the snow, make such a display

For the Saami (People who live in Lapland, in the artic circle) the northern lights are called Guovssahasah, which means both "The sun glowing in the sky at dawn or dusk" and "The fire lit by the Siberian Jay". This last one comes from the fact that, though no one has been able to confirm it with hard facts, everyone agrees that the aurora produce sounds that sound like a fast clap or a low shriek.

The Inuit in the Hudson Bay area think that the spirits of those who died a voluntary or violent death and, strangely, those of ravens hold torches for everyone else to follow into heaven, thus creating a path through the sky.

The Eskimos in the northern parts of Canada believe that the northern lights are merry spirits dancing and pranking each other because the sun is missing, so they can finally play. They dress themselves in that eerie light and fly through the sky. The dance of the spirits, they call it.

There are many more explanations. Scandinavians thought it was Freya, the goddess, riding her horse. Scots believed the spirits of the fallen in battle kept waging war across the skies. American indians, depending on the tribe, fashioned them as the spirit of their enemies, trying to have one last revenge, a benevolent giant fishing in the northern seas or a God that cared for pregnant women.

The fact is, whatever the explanation or the origin of these wonders, they are a sight to behold. One that most definetely would take anyone's breath away. One to watch with the right person, or people, by your side. Things like this can halt the turning of time. Can bring back faith. Can cast away all loneliness. Can set the world right.

If only for one night, of course. But sometimes, a night is all you need to pick yourself up.

(I've never seen the northern lights. I bolted like a rat the last chance I had. That's a mistake I intend to correct.)