Summer Solstice & The Hero’s Journey Theme

Yesterday was 21/12/2021 – the longest day of the year in the Southern Hemisphere; the day celebrated as The Summer Solstice.

I was barefoot in the garden at sunset at a beautiful venue in JoBurg to host a writing workshop and Solstice Ceremony for 50 people. I was eager to get into my role.

Stories connect humanity. Without stories, we are empty. 

We listen to stories, so we can connect with others. We tell our stories, so we can heal. 

Every day, you are telling yourself a story from the moment you wake up until you fall asleep.

We tell ourselves stories so we can unpack and process what we have been through.

Everyone is a storyteller and I stand by my previous sentiments that everyone has a story that only they can tell.

So we wrote with abandon.

We worked with the classic theme The Hero/Heroine’s Journey because let’s face it, us Heroes have been weighed down by stuff (God, we are living through a pandemic and trying to keep our shit together!) 

Our hearts have been heavy

We have become well acquainted with fear, control, anxiety, jealousy, feelings of deep darkness 

We have lost people

Seen suffering on a level that we have not seen in our lifetime 

And we have been walking with a constant threat…Is this nightmare over yet? 

…And yet, there is the part of all our stories that will tell of crossing the threshold (as the Hero/ine does in the theory) and entering a brand new chapter of our lives where we truly are victorious.

That’s really what we all want and there’s really where the energy of the Solstice was guiding us.

Always towards the Light!

After our writing, we moved on to the Fire Ceremony where we burnt the words that poured from our darkness. I said, “Watch your letter burn. Watch the paper become ashes. Watch the smoke rise from the paper. Know that the materials of the ink and the paper have returned to the basic elements and you are free!”

And so it is,

Lee

If you would like to book me for your own Write & Burn Ceremony or any other Writing Workshops, my calendar for 2022 is now open!

Childhood Innocence & The Power of Names

It was a beautiful day.

We had taken the kids out into the countryside. We stopped at a market along the way. The smell of meat on the open fire drew us in.

I felt so happy!

My kids ran off towards the makeshift playground. There was a slippy-slide; just a guy with a hosepipe and some washing-up liquid dishing up happiness. I knew that I stood no chance in trying to convince my kids that I didn’t want them wet. They were stripped down to their undies and laughing all the way down the slide in seconds.

That childhood innocence was beautiful to watch. Gratitude filled my heart.

There were families everywhere. Every now and then a kid would run up to their parents to grab a bite, give a kiss and run off again.

I spotted a 2 year old playing alone. She really stood out.  She had long white blonde hair with curly ends. She sprayed water all over my son and he burst out crying. An old lady came over and shouted at her. The girl didn’t flinch.

I assumed that the old lady was her granny but she started talking to me “IT is very naughty, you know.”

Yes, she referred to the girl as “IT”.

My kids were burning in the heat. The family sitting on the striped blanket under the Jacaranda next to us offered to share their sunscreen. In return, I offered some of our watermelon. It felt like summer.

I noticed all the other kids sharing sunscreen too. The blonde child called “IT” was very burnt but no one seemed to mind. I also noticed that her diaper was soiled and she didn’t have anything to drink for 2 hours.

I asked the old lady if anyone knew who her mother was. She pointed her out to me. She was the drunk lady in miniskirt, pouring drinks for a group of men in the band in the distance. The old lady said “She doesn’t care about IT, so why should anyone else? Mark my words. IT will end up just like her sorry excuse for a mother.” 

I was about to scream at granny-zilla “No! You are wrong!  She is the victim of shit circumstances, for sure, but that doesn’t mean she CAN NOT and WILL NOT rise! F%#%ing idiot!” but it was just then that a storm broke out and we all ran to our cars.

I blamed the rain for my mascara stained cheeks.

© A Heart Full of Stories, 2016. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Lee-Ann Mayimele and www.aheartfullofstories.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.