Hello All,
Here we are, on the threshold of high summer. Many of us are experiencing stretches of extreme heat, so given the worry and discomfort this brings I hope there have also been some pleasurable seasonal experiences like swimming in cool water, relaxing under the canopy of a beloved shade tree, savoring summer fruit, or surrendering to a delicious afternoon nap. I have been occupied with activities that come up at this time of year, including cultivating a small plot of herbs and vegetables; welcoming the arrival of migrating birds, including the gorgeous, yolk-yellow Hooded Oriole (above), who stops in Northern California to breed and nest before wintering in the Gulf of Mexico ; and catching up with our young adult children as they also pass through before resuming their own journeys.
In June, we celebrated the summer solstice here in the Northern hemisphere. Astronomically speaking, this is when one of the Earth’s poles reaches maximal tilt toward the sun, resulting in the longest day of the year. Solstice observances across cultures and epochs involve themes of fertility, growth, manifestation, and trust—trust that seeds planted and plans conceived earlier in the year will culminate during the course of the growing season, resulting, if well-tended, in a bountiful harvest.
As many of you know, Italy is close to my heart, having spent big chunks of my childhood living in the hills around Florence. The patron saint of Florence is San Giovanni Battista (Saint John the Baptist), and his official birthday of June 24th, just after the solstice, includes fireworks, pageantry, and other special events. One of my favorite related rituals is the preparation of Acqua di San Giovanni (water of St. John the Baptist). Reflecting the intermingling of pagan and Christian practices that characterizes Italian folk culture (and many other cultures in which Christianity was superimposed over older forms of spirituality), on the magical eve of this festival day we are told to go into gardens, fields, and woods to gather flowers and herbs to immerse in water and place outside overnight. The resulting elixir, touched by the starlight and dew of the Notte di San Giovanni (Night of St. John), is used the following day for ablutions to grant health and good fortune in the coming months. This year I mixed lavender, mint, rosemary, sage, and rose petals from my garden (below), with crossed fingers and gratitude for the comfort and meaning that following time-honored seasonal traditions can bring.
This is also a good time to cultivate the gardens of our lives, tending to them with particular attention and care. By connecting our own development to seasonal cycles, we can harness the natural momentum they generate, furthering our potential for growth. Summer invites us to take stock of goals and consolidate intentions, weeding out projects or habits that no longer serve and focusing on those that do. Questions to ask ourselves in this spirit might include:
- What burdens, stories, patterns, or ways of being might I be holding onto that I’m ready to release?
- Are there unfulfilled wishes or longings for my life I’m ready to take concrete steps towards manifesting?
- What plans, challenges, and actions are discernible related to these, and how might they be skillfully addressed?
- What’s already present in my life that I hold dear, and how might I nourish and sustain it?
We’ll be exploring these questions and more through guided meditation, journaling, and discussion at the upcoming summer gathering “Four Seasons of Mindfulness: Summer” on Thursday, August 22 at 6 – 7:30 pm Pacific Standard Time. To register, please use the following link:
I hope to see some of you there.
Meanwhile, here’s a bucolic poetic tribute to the summer season and a guided practice on the four elements. Meditating on the essential qualities of earth, air, fire, and water within and around us is a wonderful way to ground ourselves in the richness of the present moment at any time of year.
Solstice
How again today our patron star
whose ancient vista is the long view
turns its wide brightness now and here:
Below, we loll outdoors, sing & make fire.
We build no henge
but after our swim, linger
by the pond. Dapples flicker
pine trunks by the water.
Buzz & hum & wing & song combine.
Light builds a monument to its passing.
Frogs content themselves in bullish chirps,
hoopskirt blossoms
on thimbleberries fall, peeper toads
hop, lazy—
Apex. The throaty world sings ripen.
Our grove slips past the sun’s long kiss.
We dress.
We head home in other starlight.
Our earthly time is sweetening from this.
–Tess Taylor
With warm wishes for creativity, joy, and abundance,
