Archive | Essays

Summer Solstice Rites, Rituals, Reveals

Tomorrow is Summer Solstice, the longest day of the year and the lightest moment in the earth’s orbit around the sun. It makes sense that it falls upon Father’s Day this year, because Sun is the ultimate good daddy, shining upon us no matter how we founder.

Summer Solistice is always the day of Litha, the Celtic goddess of abundance, and the first day of Cancer, the sign most associated with nurturing and the home. It is also the sign under which this fraught country was birthed.

Tomorrow is when linear time makes way for soul time. Past is future is present. The ancestors arrive. Higher spirits make themselves known.

It is a day to heal shadows and celebrate light. A day of seed and flower—of closing the gap between desire and manifestation. Of releasing all binaries.

Above all, tomorrow is a day to unplug and rejoice. Prepare for it by cleaning your hearth and heart. Scrub, atone, sage. Then tomorrow, festoon yourself and your home with flowers. Wear bright colors. Dance. Make a bonfire. Make an altar by decorating a surface with summer flowers and fruit and lit candles. Make a solstice tea by placing a jar of water and herbs in the sun. Make a mandala by arranging flower petals in a circle outside.

Do whatever feels best, but make sure to inform the Sun of your desires. Thank it for your blessings and for its steady strength and magic. Pray for it to shine upon your shadows.

Tomorrow Sun reveals who we truly are, not what we seem. Let that light the way.

I will be giving solstice readings tomorrow morning before I unplug myself. Book an intuitive reading or guidance session for yourself or a loved one.

I Do Not Dervish Well (Morning Regrets)

last night

It is an absolutely lovely Sunday morning and I am find myself reflective in a way that would be better suited to a real essay but I have a kitchen to clean and a greenmarket to visit before the best spinach sells out. So I’ll just write this out in a few messy overlong paragraphs, perhaps most fitting for my fugue.

It’s just that never before have I been so aware that human joy and connection is fleeting. More than that: fragile. And never before have I felt so stricken by this fact. This last week has been more social than the 15 months before it, and I have been constantly overstimulated, giddy, and anxious. How to find a center in this whirling dervish of everyone and everything after the cozy claustrophobia of covid incubation tanks. This morning my cuticles are bleeding, my guts are a mess, and I am obsessively running over the dumb things I said and did in every social event I attended–the myriad ways I failed to listen well, hold space for others, breath before opening my big trap. Not to mention the small and big hurts I glossed over in everyone around me, including how they were clocking me (how embarrassing). I of course am an extroverted introvert; I naturally replenish energy reserves alone rather than around others, who drain me even when I adore them (especially then) because I always clock everything they’re thinking and feeling even as I am prattling on a topic of my own (especially then). Worse, it means I am someone who dominates and performs when nervous–so much so that you can tell I actually trust you when I got silent.

this morning

After 15 months of nearly zero socialization I have lost my mechanisms of self-regulation, meaning that I get so overstimulated by the energy of people around me that I keep turning into That Lady–the oxygen-sucker with mentionitus, which is what I call the pathology of using everything someone says as an opportunity to jump in with a comment of your own. AKA the worst. There’s not much to add to this and in fact it’s the kind of post that I normally leave up for 15 minutes and then delete. But for now I’m pressing send just in case anyone else is feeling this particular overwhelm. A sense of being so grateful to be back in this world. To still be alive. To love so much. But also a sense of not living up to any of it when trying to live within it.

My dreams–well, my dreams have been a mess.

A Wild Impatience Has Taken Me This Far

Lately, my clients have been reporting an antsy sluggishness. Astrologically, it makes sense. Eclipse season with two planets in retrograde is a lot. But this “I need change yesterday yet have no plan nor motivation” feeling stems from more than the stars.

Whether we feel free to admit it, many of us are genuinely conflicted about coming back into linear time. It’s hard to hasten back to pre-Covid paths that led to so much destruction, harder still to map new paths. After so many months of dormancy, we’re desperate for motion and change. To be alive is to always to be changing–but in service of what?

I receive different downloads for every person, of course, but one message has shown up repeatedly in sessions: Be patient with your impatience.

Eventually—maybe in an hour, maybe next year—something in your life will stand up and demand attention. When it does, your only job will be to care for it with the same urgency with which you would rescue a child. Why? Because it will be your imaginative, open-hearted, unacknowledged younger self who is doing the demanding. This kid knew what you needed before life wore you down, and she never forgot. She’s the person who dreams for you at night. She’s the person who calls bullshit on what your conscious mind is rationalizing. And collectively, these are the people who shift time itself. Divine consciousness has a way of doing that when necessary.

So for now, while you’re sorting out what’s next, don’t drag this kid into anything against her will. Sit with her while she fusses. Let her wear herself out. When she really, really needs something, she’ll stamp her foot.

Her impatience will be the greatest gift you’ll ever receive.

To tune into this beloved child, book a reading for yourself or a loved one.

"All, everything I understand, I understand only because I love."
― Leo Tolstoy