RITUAL FOR SUMMER SOLSTICES To Bring You Peace & Joy

If you've seen the opening scenes of Outlander,you'llunderstandthethrillIfelt at being asked to do a summer solstice ritualontheHillofTara.Taraisanancient ceremonial site in County Meath, Ireland. Whilenotaswell-knownasStonehengeor Loughcrew, the windswept hillside has its ownmagic.

During the year I studied with an herbalist in Ireland, Tara was one of my favorite getaway spots. If I timed my visit well, the sitewouldbeempty.

I could ghost through the tumbled stones of the old hall or sit quietly in the grass and listen to the crows. Eventually, the chill would drive me into the gift shop for tea and a scone: the perfect end to an oddly empty and strangely full day.

But the parking lot was full when my teacher and I arrived on the evening of thesummersolstice.

We pulled up against the hedgerow, and I shimmied out, trying not to get hung up on the hawthorns. A bit of dread curled through my gut as I surveyed the people pulling blankets and provisions from their cars with the boisterous vibe of folksattendingaJuly4thbarbeque.

As a person who has never connected with organized religion, I find I still yearn for ways to celebrate the sacred. The solstices have become moments when I could mark time in a way that felt ancient and, in doing so, connect with the timeless part of my own being. That part of me had always been silent, connected more to the elementsthantootherpeople.

Butsuddenly,Iwassurroundedby otherhumansincloaksand RenaissanceFairefinery.

Iheardmynamecalledfromthe doorofthegiftshop.Anyaflagged meover."Comeon!We'resettingup inhere!"

ItseemsIwastobepartofa reenactment,somuchforasacred solstice.

Asthesunset,weprocessedupa dirttrack,nowlitbytorches. Crestingthehill,weeachmadeour waytoourstationonthecirclethat hadbeenformedonthehilltop.

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From my spot in the West, I looked out and realizedthiswasnosmallgathering:thousandsof candle-litfaceswerelookingbackatme.

The master of ceremonies began walking the circumference of the circle. When he reached the eastern side, he turned to the crowd: I'm calling on the tribes of the East, the people of the Boyne, and the Irish Sea. Will you come to the council? WilltherebeawarintheEastthisyear?

The crowd to the East shouted back a resounding NO!

A little background for this: Ireland was a country of tribes. In older times, they gathered together a few times a year to tradeandworkouttreaties.Arituallikethis wasachancetobringeveryonetogether.

I stood, stunned, as each quarter was called.Theconceptof"callingthequarters," which is often used in pagan rituals, was one I didn't understand. But this calling brought the practice into fresh focus as boththepeopleandthelandonwhichthey lived were invoked. In a flash, I realized: calling the quarters was about calling in community. It reminded you where you were in time and space and who was there withyou.Itwasapracticethatcalledyouto presence,notjustwithpeople,butwiththe land. It asked you to come back into the relationship.

This message has resonated through my summer solstices ever since. I use this moment when the sun is at its furthest reach when the energy of growing things is stretched and attenuated to do three things:rest,reflect,andregather.

In Latin, the word solstice comes from twowords:solmeans"sun,and"sistere means "to stand still." During the Solstice, the sun appears to stand still on the horizon. I take this as an invitation to also stand still, to rest, to pause.

Rituals of rest are often underrated: a nap, a bath, a walk in the woods. It doesn't have to be fancy. But, at this time of year, when we have done the work of Spring–whether that's getting ourselvesorthekidsthroughtheschool year, planting the garden, doing the big garage clean-out that marks spring cleaning–it's important for our wellbeingtopause.

InLatin,thewordsolsticecomesfromtwo words:solmeans"sun,and"sisteremeans "tostandstill."DuringtheSolstice,thesun appearstostandstillonthehorizon.Itake this as an invitation to also stand still, to rest,topause.

Ritualsofrestareoftenunderrated:anap, abath,awalkinthewoods.Itdoesn'thave tobefancy.But,atthistimeofyear,when we have done the work of Spring–whether that'sgettingourselvesorthekidsthrough theschoolyear,plantingthegarden,doing thebiggarageclean-outthatmarksspring cleaning–it's important for our well-being topause.

Youdon'thavetogoonasilentretreatfor a week (sometimes getting yourself to something like that is in itself work). Instead, think of small ways to break your usual patterns and add a moment of rest: a silent meal, a morning meditation, or an afternoonlieinthesun.

Instead of calling the quarters, I like to journalthequartersasawayofgrounding myself and reestablishing my presence in my current landscape. Simply take a journal spread or a piece of paper, and divide it into four sections. Label these with the four cardinal directions–East, South,West,andnorth.

Now set a timer and spend ten minutes noticing and journaling for each quarter. The timer is important because it keeps you from rushing through the exercise, giving you time to go deeper in your noticing.

I often do one quarter a day. So if I begin in the East, I'll focus first on what's right close by to the East of me–sitting at my writing desk that would be a fuzzy stemmed philodendron and a bookshelf that holds my TBR stacks, and a few small orchids and crystals.

I let my eyes wander over the plants, reacquainting myself with their presence, before reaching beyond the house and envisioning the garden to the East–the oak leaf hydrangea and the witch hazel– and the woods beyond them. My mind travels all the way up to the ridge where we walk the dogs.

When the timer goes off, I sometimes keep writing, deep in the meditative reacquainting I'm doing with the landscape. When I feel done, I close my journal. The next day I returned to "call" the next quarter.

My third ritual brings me back to the sense of community I felt that solstice night on the Hill of Tara: I gather my people.

It was surprisingly uplifting to look out at a sea of thousands of faces that solstice night and hear them affirm with their voices we're here. We're here in the East and intend to be a peaceful part of this gathering.

We are here in the West and part of this community.

In my daily life, I'm inward in both work and spiritual practices. In the same way that I thrill at the a-ha!

The moment when a chapter I'm writing comes together, I love the solitary click of connection I feel when I lay my hand against a tree's trunk or the Sympatico moment when I unexpectedly catch the eye of a mamma bear walking her cubs through my backyard. No liturgy can replicate these feelings for me. I don't crave the trappings of ceremony.

SoIdon'tgathermyfriendsforanobviousritual.Igathertheminsteadfor mundanethings:acupoftea,aclothingswap,abonfire,adinnerout.We celebratetheSolsticelikeotherscelebrateJuly4th:withlaughter,libations,and agoodplaylist.Sometimeswelightacandleandspeakanintentionorreflecton whereweareinthecycleoftheseasons.Butonlyifithappensnaturally.

Veryfewofmyfriendsknowthey'reanintegralpartoftherestitchingIdoevery Solstice,theregathering,andreaffirmationofcommunitythathasbeenan importantpartofmyseasonalritualsincethateveningontheHillofTara.While everyoneelseischattingandstorytelling,IfindaquietcornerwhereIcanlook outatmypeople.IstandonmymentalhilltopandshouttothefourquartersI amherewithyouatthistimeandinthisplace.

Andeverytimeafeelingwellsupinme,somethingdeepandeternal,asenseof connectingwithsomethingancientandcyclical,stitchedintothefabricofthe humanpsyche.

Andthat'snotareenactmentatall.

Maia Toll is the author of Letting Magic In, which releases just after the summersolstice,2023,aswellastheaward-winningWildWisdomSeriesand The Night School. Maia maps new pathways for seeing our lives, inspiring those who encounter her work to live with more purpose, intention, meaning,andevenmagic.