I’ve had a bit of writer’s block the past several weeks. I was doing fine till just before Beltane, and then…nothing.

 

                It’s not that I didn’t have anything to write about. My list of topics to cover never ends. And it’s not that I couldn’t find anything to say—if anything I had too much.

                Once the last Winter storm blew through in mid-May—just in time to dump two days of icy sleety snow on a Beltane gathering where I was on staff—things got done to the business of the waxing year pretty heavily. Birds seem to come from miles around, just to copulate in my yard. The fence that blew down in the storm was an invitation to foxes and coyotes to stroll thru my yard. In rapid succession, everything bloomed, culminating in a riot of red roses just as it was time for the Summer Solstice.

                I love Litha, and look forward to it all year. And as I celebrated it, both on my own and in community, I tried to find the threads that I could weave into a post, something that would communicate the love and passion of the season, and how it has healed me.  And there were a million moments—finding the perfect rosebud on Litha morning, which still held a gloss of dew between its petals; the sight of the full moon, pearly and soft, floating on the muddy water of the Mississinewa river, as a great Blue Heron, tall as me, alighted on the opposite bank; the joy of mud and frogs and fireflies; of stars so close they look like lanterns; of high mountain meadows full of gentian and fairy bells; the ecstatic release of a music festival; the long slow sensuality of the lazy day and the seductive night, the smoky scent of tomatoes and peppers in the garden,  glowing under the hottest sun of the year.

                All these things—and more—are the hallmarks of Summer, but for me, this year, all of this is the healing balm that is replacing what a long and brutal winter, marked by crushing loss and grief, ground out of me. For me the blessings of the season, of life and the promise of life, have been the ultimate healing balm.

The Sun’s transit through Cancer, which began at the Solstice and ends in less than one week, brings us back to roots, to our home and hearth, to the sensuous pleasures of good food and mirthful company shared in safety and trust, the bonds of hospitality meeting the call to adventure. In the sweet, intense days of early Summer, all things seem possible. And even traveling on vacation, as so many of my friends are doing right now—to music festivals and pagan gatherings, on family vacations or romantic getaways or deep into the wilderness—brings us back to ourselves, to our own immutable home within our own divine spirit. Whether we seek the Summer’s pleasures in reconnection with the land, or each other, or ourselves, whether we seek that long for the adventure of the open road and the open sea, or settle ourselves down to tend gardens and tribe, Summer is the season of treasure, of sweet abundance, of full embodiment in our holy animal selves.