Summer Lessons, by Molly M. Remer

Let us be gentle with ourselves 
as we cross the threshold 
into summer, 
as we both open our hearts to change 
and open our hands to choice. 
It is now that we both let things go 
and celebrate what is flourishing, 
what is thriving and growing 
and calling us onward. 
Let us be soft and supple, 
luminous and languorous. 
Let us practice the discipline of pleasure 
and the liturgy of delight. 
Let us protect wide margins for magic,
commit to our own life’s unfolding 
and swim freely 
in the current of the sacred 
that is always available 
to receive us 
and welcome us home.

Today, I sit missing the orioles and thinking about cycles of change, how things grow and decline, and how we can choose to be present or not with what we see and feel. I tip my head back in the green filtered light of morning and discover berries beginning on the mulberry trees. The wild raspberries and blackberries too are tipped with small, firm caps of green. I am feeling the sort of overdue clarity that descends when I finally realize I can let something go, that not everything is mine to carry or mine to fix. I know that this clarity too will come and go, but for now, I welcome it, feeling the cool wind stirring my hair and brushing my shoulders as I enjoy the sunshine and the sound of hawks on the wing. There is a powerful hope in these blue sky days and for now, I bask in the sensation of both remembering and reclamation.

This year, as we tip into summer in the Northern hemisphere, the temperatures in my own Midwestern biome have been surprisingly cool, peaceful and rainy. In an era of climate change, this slow entry into the heat of the year has felt welcome and encouraging. Something that continues to inspire and teach me this year has been to start where my feet are, to return again and again to where I am on this earth and in my body. In a culture that encourages fragmentation and distraction, distance, discord, and dis-embodiment, this practice of return is an act of both rebellion and reclamation.

I have been writing for Feminism and Religion for 13 years. This year, sitting down to write and reflecting on the life lesson of starting where my feet are, I decided to go back through my past summer posts here to discover the other lessons I have learned from summers gone by. I chose thirteen lessons to share from past summer posts:

• Lesson 1: Follow the crumbs of your soul

And, now, at the cusp of summer, I’m also starting to recognize that becoming so small and closed in is now beginning to feel tight and confining. As we consider reemergence, we may find it is time for us to decide: What do we want to step back into and what do we want to stay out of?

• Lesson 2: Pay attention to what is emerging (within you and around you).

I learn over and over again every day, how much it matters to bear witness, to what means to sit with myself in the temple of the ordinary each day, calling my attention back, recommitting to being here for it all, settling back into center again and again, rebuilding and renewing, witnessing and weaving, losing and finding, laughing and crying, refusing to surrender my joy and trusting that somehow it matters to be here, to see everything I can.

• Lesson 3: Make space to steep.

Now is when we discover we are invited to choose a way forward, that we can’t tend every dream into flourishing, that we must make our peace with closing some doors if we want to step forward. May we gather our resources. May we pause to listen to longing. May we let the sensation and the knowing of thriving and flourishing seep into us. May we steep for a spell in this abundant warmth and pulsing desire of summer’s power.

• Lesson 4: Listen to the land.

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.

• Lesson 5: Connect in community.

We are sisters of the Great Between, the place in the middle where earth and sky meet. We carry all of these women within us: powerful queen, loyal handmaiden, fierce sister. We lift our voices to sing, hand in hand. 

• Lesson 6: Nourish your caring.

I look up to see nine vultures this time, circling in the wide sky above the large open field surrounding the lodge building. They dance in the air and they whisper, It is okay to let go. It is okay to soar. It is okay to be free. It is okay to clean things out and away. That is how you can keep caring

• Lesson 7: Rest when you need to.

This sun, this wind, this grass, these trees, this river, it all bears witness to the gentle care with which we treat each other. We touch each other so gently, so tenderly. It is surprisingly personal and intimate to be handled so kindly by our friends. I am surprised by the tender feelings I experience both when being the recipient of touch and in giving it to others, we are rarely so close to one another, leaning in, close to one another’s eyebrows, toes, and weary shoulders.

• Lesson 8: Nourish your wholeness.

Remind yourself that you’re whole right here, right now. There is suffering and there is fear and there is pain and there is joy and there is beauty and there is life, and we can hold it all. Let yourself settle and feel, present in this moment, in this unfolding. And, with whatever you feel, whether you feel hopeless or joyful or angry or happy or thrilled or enthusiastic or creative or drained, whatever it is, with your hand on your heart, accept those feelings as okay right now: how you feel, is how you feel; where you are, is where you are; who you are, is who you are.

• Lesson 9: Celebrate life’s changes and bless one another.

These are radical acts. These are feminist acts. This is feminism and religion. To express gratitude for the earth, to name the elements as holy, to honor the cycles of the seasons and our lives, to design our own ceremonies, to hold our own circles, to be our own authorities, to bless one another and the spaces between us.

• Lesson 10: Listen to your body.

We can return to our bodies again and again, dropping down into our bellies, bones, and blood, returning to center, and returning home to ourselves. Those who embark into thealogy quickly realize that it is a spirituality better lived than analyzed.

• Lesson 11: Stay alert for magic.

Deep summer I find offers an opportunity to look around to see what flourishes of its own accord, to see what grows without tending, to see what rises wild and unfettered from the natural conditions in which they thrive.

• Lesson 12: Pay attention to the outraged ancestral mother.

The Earth, the Goddess, is not always soft and nurturing. She is sharp. She is spiky. And, she bites. We would all do well to remember this.

• Lesson 13: Keep listening.

Bringing it back to listening to the leaves in the woods and watching the wild snail festival, I would add that I find it vital to discover a way of listening to the world around you, as it is, in this exact moment.

Happy June, everyone! Happy Summer Solstice! May we continue to connect, listen, and learn.

“Do not forget that it is summer. Have you slowed down, taken days or weeks of vacation, let the air have access to your body, explored nature, or let your toes out of your shoes? It’s not too late.”

—Anne Wilson Schaef