Cultural Embodiment @ The Stoa Winter Solstice Edition Is December 13 at 6pm EST ~ Let There Be Light! ✨
Join me for a collective reflection on the power of the light to set us right
Dear Friends,
On Tuesday next week (6-7:30pm EST on ZOOM), I will be back at The Stoa with another edition of Cultural Embodiment. This is a practice I originated with Peter Limberg at the beginning of 2022. As we close out the year, I want to end on a high note. I want to feel into the power of happiness, fun, joy, compassion, and elation.
“You must not ever stop being whimsical. And you must not, ever, give anyone else the responsibility for your life.” –Mary Oliver
The winter solstice is on December 21 and it marks the longest night of the year. The solstice is a ritual celebration of the re-birth of the light as the days slowly begin to lengthen. We can’t know how long humans have celebrated this passage…but, we do know that several stone monuments in Northern Europe built during the Neolithic period (as early as 10,000 BC) are aligned with the sunrise on the winter solstice. It must have been very obvious to our naturally-attuned ancestors when this event was taking place each year. It must have felt like a turning point.
As we approach the solstice this year, I have been struck by the importance of celebrating the light—especially when things feel dark, despairing, overwhelming or uncertain. If you read my post on FUN the other day, then you know I’m working on cultivating more fun and play. Like so many adults, I can get very serious and life can begin to feel like a chore. When I have really forgotten my levity, even the things I enjoy take on a tinge of seriousness or get tainted by the ever-present weight of productivity. I’ve learned that this stress can be a symptom of the scarcity wound. I know my life feels richer when I attend to my inner child’s desire to play and seek pleasure and joy just for the run of it!
If you have attended Cultural Embodiment sessions in the past, then you know we often tackle challenging topics. Many of us have used this collective sense-making practice to turn towards world events and cultural movements that we just can’t face on our own. There is something deeply reassuring and helpful about processing bad news together. You can read more about the practice here.
But, what about good news? Is it more heartening? More elevating? More touching to process GOOD NEWS together? I think so. At least, that’s my hypothesis. Let’s try it and see if we can embody the good news, become the light that is always present, but not always emphasized—especially by our disaster-oriented media. It’s said that what we pay attention to grows. Maybe we can come together to honor what is good and bright in the world and in the human spirit.
Mandala Offering: Like Moss to Water
Good morning! I made an offering to the river this morning and I want to share it in order to open a conversation about how we can commune with and honor the earth. Read on and join the chat in the comments if you have something to share…I’d love to hear.
I am finally listening to Robin Wall Kimmerer’s glorious book, Braiding Sweetgrass. I tried to read it when it first came out and something about the format was challenging for me. Now, as I listen to her voice sharing this offering of indigenous wisdom and botanical knowledge I understand that the words on the page were too flat and linear for the content. I like listening to her.
This morning I listened as I walked near my house. It was a warm (for December) morning and the sun had just risen. I chose a route to the banks of the Hudson River. It’s a rare, rare treat to find a spot on this mighty river you can approach. Between train tracks and private property and overgrowth, it’s mostly blocked. I happen to have a “beach” that I can walk to from my new house. This blessing has not been lost on me and I go there as often as I can to sit, enjoy, and make offerings.
This morning, the moss called to me first. It was emerald green on the rocks and seemed to be calling “pick me, pick me!” Then a cat tail spoke up. Then the gorgeous grey pods of milkweed with their slipper-like shape. Before long, I was walking with a handful of goodies. In my ears, Robin spoke of her fathers morning offering of the first coffee to the land, thanking the spirits of that place. I long to know the spirits of this place and the original names of the mountains and this river. I’ve heard it was called Mahicantuck, “the river that flows two ways,” by the Lenape people. And it does! You can see the current flowing in both directions with your bare eyes.
To get to the bank of the river I had to cross a swampy lawn littered with goose poop and the seeds of water chestnuts. Sharp as tacks they can penetrate rubber soles, so this was a delicate process. The river was surprisingly low and the mud flats were exposed. The geese gathered nearby eating whatever geese eat out of mud flats.
As I put the finishing touches on the mandala and offered thanks to the river and the mountains beyond, I noticed a rainbow on the horizon. It took my breath away. Faint, but definite, I felt it as a gesture of reciprocity from the land. I hadn’t noticed it before, though I’m sure it was there. The act of honoring the earth opened my eyes to more beauty.
I am becoming certain of something Robin is patiently and gently reminding me of: we must give thanks. We must honor this earth with our prayers, our joy, and gratitude. It’s the most natural thing for human beings to do. Not doing it is like not waking up in the morning, not getting dressed, not doing our duties, maybe even like not breathing. I have learned much about this also from my friend @rochelleschiek and I want to continue this practice, allow it to teach me.
How do you honor earth? Please share. It feels like it would be nourishing to hear how you express your gratitude and love to Mother and all Creation.