My husband died two years ago. He had Alzheimer’s. We had been married for 41 years. I cared for him at home until the end. Ours was what family and friends called a fairy tale marriage. Odd as it might sound at first, his dementia journey and my experience as his caregiver inspired the Summer Solstice ritual I led earlier this year.
I didn’t expect the ritual to help me grieve, but it did. It still does, which is why I’m telling you about it now, almost three months after the solstice.
The Mythology: Sun and Moon
For those new to the energy of the solstices, here are a few basic concepts to help you understand the intent behind the ritual I created.
In many cultures, people see the Sun as a masculine, life-giving force. They associate him with fire, action, willpower, hard work, sweat, passion, virility. Always seen as a round ball of fire, the Sun’s get-stuff-done energy is constant. He moves outward, Yang. Day after day, he rises and sets. The Sun is dependable. He represents stability. He rules the day.
By contrast, the Moon is linked to the blood and milk mysteries of the feminine, the water of the womb, and the water of the ocean. Her form changes. She appears as a sliver, grows, fills, empties and disappears, then repeats the cycle. Her energy moves inward, Yin. She dissolves, calms and cleanses. Her realm is that of feelings and memories. The Moon represents comfort, compassion, and change. She rules the night.
The word solstice comes from the Latin noun sol meaning sun, and the Latin verb sistere meaning to stand still. By definition, the solstice is all about the Sun. So it’s easy to overlook the significance of the Moon. And yet, the Moon plays a vital role.
The Basics: Powerpoint Days
In Western astrology, there are 12 zodiac signs. Each sign has 30 degrees: 0 to 29. Over the course of a year, the sun travels through all 360 degrees of the zodiacal circle. A few of those 360 degrees are more potent than the others.
Zero degrees of Cancer is one of those powerpoints. When the Sun reaches that degree, we have the Summer Solstice.
Cancer is a water sign. It is ruled by the Moon. Think about it. One of the most important days of the cosmic year occurs when the active, fiery, virile daylight Sun enters the cool, soothing, watery house of the nighttime Moon.
Memories of Solstice Rituals
Over the years, I’ve attended many Summer Solstice rituals. There were usually twenty, sometimes twenty-five, people, both women and men. Like many of the other women, I gathered flowers and assorted greenery to make a wreath, a solar symbol, I could wear on my head.
We’d gather on a rural piece of property late in the afternoon. We’d drum, dance, and feast. When it got dark, we lit a bonfire and took turns running and leaping over the flames. In the Old World of Europe, leaping over flames or running through them was thought to gain the Sun’s protection for the rest of the year.
I’ll be 77 in a few months. My flame-jumping days are behind me. I treasure the memories of magical nights in a wide forest clearing.
The woman who owned the property had built a large circle. With the help of her husband, a compass, and professional earth-moving equipment, she set boulders to mark zero degrees of the four directions. Next to each boulder she had placed large torches. Around the whole circle, she had strung fairy lights powered by underground electric cables.
On nights when we gathered for ritual, the air would be heavy with frankincense and whatever other incense we had prepared to support the purpose of the ritual. When the rituals were over, I always left with a deeper understanding of the cycles of nature and of my place in the ever-turning wheel of the year.
The Rituals I Create Today
Those memories influence many of the rituals I create today. I design some for individuals, some for couples or small groups, and some are for the public.
I offer the public rituals at Meg’s Inspirations, a local spiritual gift shop. Thanks to the owner, I have a room, chairs, a supportive staff, and tables I can use to create an altar. I’ve been leading rituals at this shop for over twenty years. Most of the people who attend are women. In age and energy, they range from Maidens to Mothers, to Mavens, to Crones.
There are usually a few who have never attended a ritual. My goal is always to show them how even a simple ritual can provide a container for their feelings and connect them to the seasons, the cycles of nature, their personal community, and perhaps to their ancestors.
You see, I believe that whatever spiritual path we follow, whether we follow any path at all, we’re far more alike than different. We all have dreams for ourselves and for those we love. We all understand the importance of hard work and the value of sacrifice. We know how life-affirming it feels to have a purpose and how good it can feel to finally lay a burden down. Most of us know what it is to grieve.
My Latest Summer Solstice Ritual
All of these thoughts came together this past summer in a ritual that showcased the partnership between the Sun and Moon. I designed it to accomplish three things:
- Bid farewell to the Sun as he heads for the Southern Hemisphere.
- Lay down whatever burdens we had each been carrying.
- Acknowledge the importance of being nurtured and honor those who nurture.
I scheduled the ritual on the night of the solstice. I knew that on the following night there would be a full moon in Capricorn, a sign associated with, among other things, the elders.
I imagined the cosmic grandmothers, each with a gift inspired by one of the four elements. Here’s how I welcomed them into our circle:
Grandmothers of the East
Those who heal with Air
Weavers of ideas
Help us see our life with a fresh perspective.
Grandmothers of the South
Those who heal with Fire
Storytellers of courage
Help us work to achieve our dreams.
Grandmothers of the West
Those who heal with Water
Doulas of birth and death
Help us remember the power of love.
Grandmothers of the North
Those who heal with Earth
Herbalists who know each plant’s ancestor
Help us nourish with the gift of wisdom.
I talked about the hard work the Sun had accomplished in the six months since the Winter Solstice. He had melted the ice, thawed the land, and drawn up the sap in our maple trees, warmed the air so the flowers would bloom. If I were the Sun, I’d be exhausted.
I encouraged the women to imagine the Sun looking back on the previous six months, asking himself:
- What seeds did I plant six months ago at the Winter Solstice?
- What did I want to nurture and grow?
- What came of all my hard work?
- Did I do a good job?
How would we answer those questions for ourselves?
How might the Sun feel to finally lay his burden down?
The Visuals
When I create a ritual, I like to incorporate visual representations. For this ritual, I created a symbolic river of blue fabric and wavy twigs painted white.
All along the river, I placed small glass containers filled with water. Inside each container I had a waterproof string of fairy lights. The battery was encased in a white tab at the end of the string. No, I did not put the battery in the water. I camouflaged each battery with the artificial leaves and purple flowers I had placed to suggest the banks of the river.
At the far end of the river was a pedestal. On its top was a large pewter bowl decorated with spirals, and filled with water. The bowl represented the Moon.
As an element, water can quench our thirst. Water can cleanse our bodies and soothe sore muscles. Water can also dissolve. Knowing that, I gave each woman a small piece of rice paper, about 3×3 inches. During a few moments of silence, each woman wrote on the rice paper a burden she had been carrying. If you’ve never used rice paper, you should know that the moment the paper comes in contact with water, it dissolves.
One by one, we walked up to the Moon. We dropped our burden into the water. Instantly, it turned to “milk.”
I told each woman to feel along the bottom of the bowl for a treasure. That’s where I had placed dozens of little shells, each holding a small pearl. The shells symbolized the Moon’s ability to comfort and console. The pearls symbolized the beauty that can be shaped by hardship.
After everyone had received a pearl, we shared stories about our grandmothers. Women who would never be recognized in history books were honored in our circle. What gifts those stories were!
Just as we imagined the Sun reflecting on the last six months, we talked about the seeds each of us planted last December.
One woman had started a small business. She knew she had a lot of hard work ahead of her. She had planted the seed of success.
Another woman was going through a divorce. She knew it would take time for her heart to heal. She planted the seed of strength.
Another woman was moving away from home to attend college. She wondered if she’d be homesick. She wondered if she’d make friends. She planted the seed of adventure.
I had been navigating the fog of grief. I planted the seed of healing.
The deeper purpose of reflecting on the past and of planting seeds for the future was to acknowledge our own burdens and admit our need for self-care. That’s how ritual can create a container for our feelings.
Say Good-Bye
Now it was time to say good-bye to the Sun.
I gave each person a small, battery operated candle. We gathered along both banks of the make-believe river. I encouraged each woman to imagine the exhausted Sun floating down the river to rest in the milky water of the Moon where our own burdens had been dissolved.
We dimmed the lights. As though visualizing the Sun’s movements, we placed our candles on the river.
Nurtured by the Moon, the Sun will travel south. Then, in December, at the Winter Solstice, when the old Sun enters Capricorn, sign of the elders, he will cross a cosmic threshold. He will be reborn, energized, filled with the promise of new life, and begin his journey back to the Northern Hemisphere.
Whether you celebrate Christmas and the return of the son spelled s-o-n, or you celebrate the much older Solstice and the return of the sun spelled s-u-n, we all internalize the journey of light. Being able to acknowledge that journey in ritual helps us connect with nature, with each other, and with our ancestors.
I closed the circle by bidding farewell to the Grandmothers:
Farewell, Grandmothers of the East. We’ll know you in the breeze that clears our thinking.
Farewell, Grandmothers of the South. We’ll know you in the sweat that strengthens our efforts
Farewell, Grandmothers of the West. We’ll know you in the water that quenches our thirst.
Farewell, Grandmothers of the North. We’ll know you in the plants that nourish our bodies.
So ended my latest Summer Solstice ritual for 2024.
DIY
If you do this ritual on your own, with a small group or by yourself, place photos of your grandmothers on your altar. If you don’t have photos, write about your grandmothers in your journal and read your thoughts out loud. If you don’t know who your grandmothers were, conjure them in your imagination. Give them names. Give them the qualities you would want in a grandmother.
If you’re tempted to say, “Zita, that’s silly. I’d just be making it up,” listen to the wise words of astrologer Caroline Casey who says, “Imagination lays the tracks for the reality train to follow.”
May it be so.
To listen to a podcast episode about this ritual, go to Ritual Recipes, episode 58.
To listen to a podcast episode about my experience caring for my husband, go to My Spouse Has Dementia.
