The little death of high summer

This letter went through many beginnings, describing how the coalescing forces of light and dark reached their fiery heights with the Solstice. I also wrote about some internal struggles, but nothing felt quite right. In the end, I let it rest and patiently watched cloudy thoughts on topics for this letter drift by. Then, I realized a subtle element of mystery had returned with the passing of the Sun’s pinnacle.

At its peak around the Solstice, the Sun lingers for a while until it slowly begins its journey downward. This idle movement inaugurates a period of inertia, what I sometimes like to call the Little Death, the dark mark in the bright sphere of Summer. Not coincidentally, it neatly falls together with the Summer holidays. There is little novelty in nature right now. Everything has already been created and is now slowly maturing and ripening.

When we give into the languor of High Summer, we can meet uncharted parts of ourselves. This languor is a pleasant, often overlooked state to linger in. Still, we tend to keep ourselves overly busy with festivals, parties, and holiday plans—or even a determined ambition to keep grinding away without pause.

I have resisted the Little Death with a burning passion in the past, fearing I would miss out on all kinds of enticing things. Though I am still inclined to fill the empty space, I have learned to resist my predominant impulses over the years, sometimes unsuccessfully.

Summer’s languor can be put to good use as soon as I realize a natural pause from my ambition calls in a fertile state of creativity, which in its foundational stages thrives on relaxed, undemanding exploration. The hot Summer months are a wonderful time to disappear for a while and hone your craft in an easy-going, playful manner. When you do the thing you tell yourself you do not have the time or space for, you might end up with a benevolent gift born out of joy for the process instead of the result.

The ripening occurs when we understand everything is always ending and nothing is eternal. The Little Death can set us free in our creative pursuits, instigating a process in which we can move beyond our hedonist selves into the joy of giving freely, mirroring the altruistic essence of life. When you dare to listen greatly and pick up the soft whispers within the cacophony of distractions, they will carry you beyond yourself.