At first, I wasn’t sure I could make it to the end of the dark stone passageway. The dozen of us in my group were among the few allowed that day last February to penetrate the heart of Newgrange, an ancient temple north of Dublin rumoured to be a portal to the afterlife.
The Irish built it from great stone slabs more than 5,000 years ago and then hid it within a hill they painstakingly built over top. It is older than Stonehenge and the pyramids of Giza.
For years, I had dreamt of what it would feel like to be inside. Partway in, I froze. All I could think about was the weight of the stone and hill on top of me. I turned back, gasping for air. And then, reminded by a guide that it was only 62 steps, I tried again and made it through.
The cross-shaped chamber at the core was redolent of ritual. Soft modern lighting revealed abstract neolithic rock carvings in careful spirals and chevrons.
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The larger magic was yet to come. Those ancient builders had made this place a temple to the primeval rhythms of the universe. For all save a few days a year, the chamber is shrouded in darkness. But as the sun rises on the winter solstice, which is the marriage of the shortest day to the longest night, Newgrange catches its first rays. They reach into its furthest recesses, filling first the passage, then the chamber, then the spiral-carved back wall with light. Seventeen minutes later, darkness redescends.
The chamber is partially lit for a few days on either side of the solstice, but never again fully illuminated until Earth completes a new orbit of its mother star. Our guide turned off the modern light inside and triggered another to replicate the solstice dawn. I stood there, waiting in the dark as people must have done thousands of years before.
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Soft light crept down the passageway. At last, the whole chamber came into focus. I expected awe but found peace. This was a cathedral, fashioned to celebrate the triumph — however ephemeral — of light over darkness, to remind us that new beginnings are not just possible but inevitable. Dawn will come.
I bowed my head. In that moment, living and dead were joined. I could see the thread linking our modern beliefs to the ancient impulse that led our forebears to create this monument to faith.
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Alanna Mitchell is the features editor at Broadview.
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