Summer solstice 2021

Jun 21

Dear, Expansive and Friendly Children of the Earth,

Summer Solstice, also known as Mid-Summer or Litha, the longest day of the year is here! Summer is finally here!

Open the windows, open the door, go outside and breathe! The gorgeous trees, clear blue sky, rivers, lakes, flowers, fruits, vegetables--are all trying to give themselves to you.

Since there have been people on this Earth, Summer Solstice in the Northern Hemisphere has been a time for celebration. Feasting, playing games, visiting friends and relatives we haven't seen for a while, is easier in the summer. It's the time for relaxation into the spaciousness of life.

We are all still suffering from the constrictions of Covid. The fear, frustration and losses of this past year have worked us all in different ways.

No matter what circumstances we find ourselves in right now, Mother Nature is asking us to celebrate the abundance and beauty of life.

Merriam-Webster’s first definition of Celebration is to perform a sacrament or solemn ceremony, publicly and with appropriate rites.

One of the most appropriate rites when someone gives you something is to say Thank You.

In the language of Astrology, Summer Solstice begins when the Sun enters the sign of Cancer, which is associated with nurturance, with giving what is needed in order to thrive. As we look around at the natural world, we can see the nurturance of Mother Earth. She gives us everything we need to thrive.

It's tricky to appreciate all we're being given if we don't notice it. This Solstice, step outside and notice the beauty and richness of the natural world.

Gratitude doesn't need to be a big display--it can be completely within your own heart.

Blessed Be,

Mary

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Small Kindnesses

by Danusha Lameris

I've been thinking about the way, when you walk
down a crowded aisle, people pull in their legs
to let you by. Or how strangers still say "bless you"
when someone sneezes, a leftover
from the Bubonic plague. "Don't die," we are saying.
And sometimes, when you spill lemons
from you grocery bag, someone else will help you
pick them up. Mostly, we don't want to harm each other.
We want to be handed our cup of coffee hot,
and to say thank you to the person handing it. To smile
at them and for them to smile back. For the waitress
to call us honey when she sets down the bowl of clam chowder,
and for the driver in the red pick-up truck to let us pass.
We have so little of each other, now. So far
from tribe and fire. Only these brief moments of exchange.
What if they are the true dwelling of the holy, these
fleeting temples we make together when we say, "Here,
have my seat," "Go ahead--you first," "I like your hat."