Tonight is the longest day in the northern hemisphere and the shortest day in the southern.
The shortest night of the year in the north, the longest night of the year in the south.
The strawberry supermoon feels close as we walk to a solstice women's full moon circle.
Centuries ago we might have been burned at the stake for sitting in a circle being all mystical, drinking cacao, lighting incense and spritzing bergamot and orange oil.
My deeply Catholic elders wouldn’t have burned us at the stake, but they would have worried and prayed for our souls.
Yet here we are.
There is indeed something sacred about a circle.
A circle represents the seasons. The cycle of life. The wholeness of energy without beginning or end. A circle is a reminder that what goes around comes around. A circle with our thumb and forefinger means that everything is A-Ok.
For a few hours 21 of us reflect and ponder how solstices represent both lightness and darkness in the world around us and within ourselves.
We share a word about why we have come here tonight.
My word is rest.
It’s been a tough few years.
I’m in no mood for sharp edges. I actively plan for nourishment: healthcare, fresh air, laughter, fun. I avoid anything vampiric.
I cancel subscriptions, go to bed early, walk, sleep, read.
I buy new makeup, cull my wardrobe. I grow my hair long and dye it blonde, just like Grandma Lena used to.
There is a dog-eared to do list all about me – health visits, therapeutic treatments, expensive dental care. Last year I ticked off every box, and my pyjamas are the softest t-shirts I own – mostly Garrison Keillor Prairie Home Companion ones, an amusing link to LenaMina.com and the Wobegon Trail.
In my work I nurture others. In my personal time I nurture myself.
Tonight I feel the strength of my own foundation.
I jump on it hard.
It bears my weight.
Each of us jots down something that has finished for us on one side of a slip of paper. On the other we note something we are ready for – something new.
Then we burn our papers one by one.
Later our host will scatter the ashes beneath a tree in her garden.
Our pasts and our futures will return to the earth, as all things do.
Back home, I fill the old glass apothecary jar with fresh water and leave it to steep in the rays of the strawberry supermoon.
The powers of this supermoon build on what was left in the jar from past supermoons. Blue ones, pink ones, blood moons, harvest moons.
A few times a year I drink the waters of the supermoons.
I reflect on how small we are. How much we don’t know. About how much I love the moon, and how much I hate the idea of it being colonized and mined.
I love it that the moon belongs to all of us and that it’s empty, a shared lunar jewel. But not for long.
2024 has been a generous year for supermoons, and there are more to come on August 19, October 17, and November 15.
Next year there will only be a few supermoons, so we should make the most of their frequency in the coming months.
I am looking forward to howling at the full supermoon with my three sisters in St Cloud on October 17 – a Hunters’ Moon. We’ll be wearing our Halloween witch outfits, and Fritos and the waters of the supermoons will be served.
Consider making plans of your own on the nights of this year’s remaining supermoons, letting go of what no longer nourishes you, and celebrating what does.
Photos NASA, LenaMina.com
Last year was a very rough year between the worst drought in 30 years, my oven failing me for months during state fair season, ailing cats, expensive dental work, and hot weather combined with wildfire pollution for months and lots of breakdowns around the farm. This year the rains have been plentiful so far, my oven is as been working since I finally got it fixed right before Oktoberfest, and the weather has been comfortable. I cite rest as a priority too. I like relaxing, reading, long talks with friends, and fun or thought-provoking TV. My friends don’t get it. It’s about soothing oneself after stress, a form of self-care. This summer so far has been so much more restful, even though I’m cutting the lawn about seven hours a week and this week put in over seven hours weeding the garden. I do a lot of thinking out there and that too is a form of self-care.
Glad the year has been better for you. Did the Greta Garbo retreat gene come via the Thielens, I wonder? I see it as a strength – choosing company and activity rather than needing it. We are A-Ok that way Lois.