Grief spells for the winter solstice: becoming a smoking hot compost pile

Venus and Amor (detail) by Jacques de Gheyn II, 1605-1610

Dear Shapeshifter,

There’s a lot going on, a lot to grieve in this holiday season. A lot to be fired up about, a lot to feel. And, in grief, and in winter, we may find our animal bodies growing heavy, demanding that we move more slowly, that we rest, that we nourish ourselves and one another. What would it be like to be fired up about that? To be passionate about our collapsing? To be visionary about rest and nourishment? To be fierce about slowing down?

Perhaps this season of Sagittarius pulls us towards the hearth of our lives, to curl up at the feet of those spaces where we find warmth, nourishment, rest, inspiration, a capacity to hold and alchemize our many feelings.

How can we create room for one another there? And reimagine a world in which we all have this space and time to collapse? In which the long night is recognized for the life it feeds? How can winter and grief, times in which we are pushed towards rituals of mass consumption, become times when we create rituals of collective nourishment? Instead of pathologizing the ways we collapse,

“What would it mean to claim fertility inside of decay, instead of always feeling like you're a failure every day...? when your nervous system is still glitchy, when you still have triggers, how can you stop problematizing that and overburdening your already burdened system, and begin to think of yourself as soil?” - Sophie Strand, Myths as Maps, For the Wild

I hope that this season has you feeling like a hearth on the longest night, or maybe a smoking hot compost pile.

Sending love,

Mara June

P.S. Writing has always helped me to bear the unbearable, has always felt like part spell and part love letter. Grief spells is a monthly creative project/love letter/newsletter for fellow grieflings. You’ll receive little love notes like this one, resources, and updates on offerings. Sign up here.