Paganism

Happy Summer Solstice

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“The sun shines not on us but in us.” – John Muir
For many people around the world, today marks the celebration of the Summer Solstice, also known as Midsummer, or Litha. It is at this time that the Northern Hemisphere is tilted closest to the sun. In honor of fertility, light and abundance, communities have long used bonfires, music, dancing, and outdoor festivals as traditional features of both religious rituals and celebrations. In some modern Pagan practices, it is also believed that this holiday represents the highest ascendancy of masculine divinity. Additionally, while many people are basking the long days of light and heat, our friends in the Southern Hemisphere are celebrating and marking Winter solstice, a time of darkness, candles and inward reflection. This year, the Summer Solstice also happens to fall on the celebration of Father’s Day in the United States. The history of this secular holiday does not have the same radical roots as its counterpart Mother’s Day.

Paganism

Guest Post: Midsummer’s Generative Promise

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[With the Summer Solstice just a week away, we decided to take a pause from our regular schedule and invite Erick DuPree back to share his thoughts on this seasonal celebration. DuPree is the author of Alone in Her Presence: Meditations on the Goddess and editor of Finding the Masculine in Goddess’ Spiral. He teaches heart-centered practices that unite breath to heart, inviting a holistic relationship with the Goddess. His writing can be found on his own website as well as on the Patheos Pagan Channel.]

“Who made the world?” begins Mary Oliver’s poem The Summer Day … “Who made the world? 
Who made the swan, and the black bear? 
Who made the grasshopper?”

Paganism

Column: The Candle

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Part three of my columns on Iceland. Previously: Oxararfoss and Njord. This candle has traveled further in its short life than I traveled in the first twenty-two years of mine. I bought it at my favorite metaphysical shoppe back home.1 It came with me from Missouri to Minneapolis, and from there, to Reykjavík, where it sat on the hard plastic desk bolted to the wall of my dorm room for the first week of my stay. Now we are sitting at a picnic table hidden in a copse of trees next to Tjörnin, a lake in downtown Reykjavík, my candle and I. I am looking at it in the half-light, running my fingers along its surface.