Spiritual Practices for Summer Flourishing by Molly Remer

The spiritual life need not be
divorced from the physical.
It is with our hands that we make magic
It is with our breaths that we offer prayers. 
It is with our eyes that we see beauty. 
It is with our hearts that we know love. 
It is with our ears 
that we hear birdsong and ballads.
It is with these bodies 
that we reach out to touch the holy 
every day.

This morning, I watched the baby woodpeckers. Still nestled safe within their tree they stab wildly at their brave parents who cautiously poke snacks into the trunk and then dive away again, narrowly evading the enthusiasm of their progeny. I peek at the baby phoebes too, heads nearly full-feathered, no more room for a parent in the nest against the wall of our house. They peer back at me, black eyes solemn, while the hummingbirds dodge and weave and battle it out between branches. I hear the thin and persistent cry of a broad-winged hawk from somewhere in the oaks just outside my vision. Summer is settling into the woods, though spring seems just barely to have arrived. The woods are becoming heavy and green and closing to exploration as the bugs and brambles stake their claim and exact their blood prices for entry. The blackberries are in bloom, wild and riotous, their white flowers open gratefully to both rain and sun. The wild raspberries have already begun to set their fruits, hard knobs of green clustered hopefully on each cane. The mulberries were brave enough to try again after frost crisped their efforts to black, now re-leafed, small green flowers and starts of berries once more emerge to hang with delicate promise next to their ruined brethren. As I finish writing my poem and offer my prayers, I look up to see a bald eagle making great wide circles above the house. The sky is clear and blue and the air is sweet and fresh and full of promise. I sit, as I do, in this cocoon of green, my heart wide, my mind soothed, and my soul replenished by the magic of place and all it manages to hold and teach each day. 

To me, a feminist spirituality is rooted in both the land and in our bodies. Sacredness is inseparable from who we are and the landscapes we inhabit. It is right here, right now, in the real world that we touch the holy, glimpse divinity, know ourselves as held and heard by the web of life. I am a priestess. I serve the goddess in all ways, every day, my life and work a union between the everyday and enchanted, the mystical and mundane. I see divinity everywhere. My magic is embodied and earthy, sacred and strong. Here is where she dwells and speaks, right through the center of everything. 

One of the first posts I ever wrote for FAR, nine years ago, was a “Thealogy of the Ordinary,” and it in I explained:

My thealogy is the earthy, the mundane, the practical, and the miraculously ordinary obvious.

I am of this earth
for this earth
and by this earth.

You are not your body? Yes, I am. Captivated by planetary reality. Enthralled by the magic of gravity, the alchemy of salt and of raindrop, the oracle of leaf shadow on rock.

My body is enough. The breath in my lungs a prayer, the touch of my fingertips on stone a holy moment. The fire of life in my eyes an every day and yet wholly incredible gift…

This is LIFE. This is holiness. This is sacred reality. It is not necessary to seek answers from far-off, mystical contracts of the soul. We need to only open our eyes. Inhale. Exhale. Laugh. Hug. This is a wonderful moment. This is my religion. This is living prayer. This is life in the hand of the Goddess.

My core devotional practice is bearing witness. This, to me, means going outside and see what there is to see, listening to what there is to hear, touching what there is to touch. Looking, listening, and feeling are the most powerful acts of magic I need. This time outside is what I need. That is where I sense the current of the sacred that runs beneath all of our lives. That is where I reconnect, where I replenish and restore. That is where I listen.

My magic is of the real, it is right here, right now: beneath my feet, within my skin, inside my pen. I can see it and touch it, feel it and hear it. It is where I am. My magic is not of the imaginal, it is of the earthy and embodied, something I live and breathe, taste and touch. It is fresh and it is ancient. It is trustworthy and surprising. It is within me and around me. I draw it up. I draw it down. I live it each and every day. 

Here are some reminders for summer flourishing:

• Savor the sweet and surprising.
• Steep in your own wisdom.
• Give thanks to the earth that holds you, the sky that enfolds you, the sun that warms you.
• Lift your arms high and tilt your head to the sky.
• Lay your hands against your heart and listen.
• Reach your hands down to the earth and listen.
• Move at your own pace.
• Listen to the flowers.
• Let raindrops bless your skin.
• Greet the sunrise.
• Keep your promises to yourself.
• Be patient. Trust what supports you below the surface.
• Kiss your hand to the moon.
• Remember: you are your own sacred space. Your feet are always on temple ground.

Let us remember that we only need to lay a hand against our own hearts to reconnect. We carry a doorway to the sacred with us at all times. Our lives are living prayers. Our bodies, our dwelling places for the holy. We make magic with what we have, our own selves, on this earth, by this earth, for this earth.