Perhaps for one of the first times in my life I feel like I properly marked the solstice. For years we’ve done something, a little recognition of the longest day, the shortest night, the turning of the year towards the coming darker days. This year felt incredibly special. A truly nourishing conversation with a very dear friend as the sun went down and the full moon shone out in all it’s glory, a moment of simply breathtaking beauty, of receiving light and mystery deep within as we gazed at Her fullness. Back home, the lighting of three fires, two outside and one in the hearth. Lighting the top and the bottom of the garden, powerfully dancing beacons in the enveloping darkness. And the lighting of our solstice candle: “a candle to illuminate and empower us, with the light, life and love which moves through us all“.
Most importantly, a time to pause.
Life is racing, racing. Each day, so much to fit in. And then new things enter my days and I somehow have to allow them space too. I find it very difficult to balance it all, to know which things to let go of, which things to prioritise. Mother, homemaker, shop curator, soul companion, host, gatherer, facilitator, friend, editor – and then there’s my wild self, my deep self which calls me, calls me into deep being, into deep relationship.
And a very clear message came through, that solstice night. Presence. In presence, each moment is truly lived.
We recently holidayed in the wild landscape of the Lake District. And the words I took away from the hills are to tread gently, slowly with myself. I am a flitter, a butterfly who dances from one thing to the next in the blink of an eye, quite literally sometimes. I am witnessing my son growing with a similar temperament; my clearest mirror. It is common for me to make a list as long as my arm and attempt to get each one ticked off before lunchtime – of course, rarely succeeding, and I have learned to give myself longer these days; but still, I listmake and often fall short. There is just so much I want to do, there is so much which seems to call me. Literally as soon as I wake, opportunities present themselves before me either as a project, a friend/child in need, a new idea to explore; and there is no stopping the excitement of my heart once something appears before it.
However, that very clear message to tread gently and slowly stays with me, each day. So as I try to take on the world, as I embark on the working out of each thought, I am reminded to be gentle with myself. And now, this additional reminder, of true, deep presence. In this, there is surrender. In this, all that needs to be done will be done. In this, there is time for breath. Time for everything which needs to be. Time, to be.
So as the summer edition of Barefoot comes out and we attempt to publicise it, keep up with sales and generally become a bit more business-minded about the whole project, having almost closed it down earlier this year (which brings with it an element of vulnerability as we step forward together in a new way); I remind myself to tread slowly and gently, to take my time, to do what I can and then stop, to nourish myself, not just all the people and projects that are in my life.
Edition seven looks beautiful, and we do really believe this is one thing we must do. This is a project which must continue, it’s almost as if Barefoot has a life of her own and we can only follow and do our best to listen and carry her as she needs us to. We notice how positively she is met, the breath and connection she brings to so many. So, we will enable her to fly, and do our best from this end, remembering amidst it all to breathe ourselves, to nurture ourselves, to listen to Presence, to truly live. Gently, slowly, being.
Here’s a little taster of what’s within the summer edition:
If you’d like to buy it here’s the link: The Barefoot Diaries
Midsummer blessings to you all