Beloved Community,

I am sitting here in a cosmic exhale after completing our 18th annual Summer Ashram in Greece.

How can I possibly find the words to describe the innermost inner of the inner temple of the innermost inner of the pulse of Her heart… that She so generously revealed to us… inside the innermost inner of the inner temple of our own exquisitely tender and holy hearts…

How does one write about the sensation of breeze, of heat, of ocean, sand, hips, songs? About how the softness and safety of the circle, of the rhythms, of the touch, allowed us to be so open, so receptive, finally patient enough that the oh-so-subtle ripples of LIFE could have more SPACE to trickle, to bubble, to gush to the surface, through our feet and legs, through our breath and dance, through our holy holy holy incarnation…

Perhaps I write instead about the little black cat who woke me up at dawn with an unabashed entitled desire for snacks, or about how drunk I got on the sweet perfume of jasmine around the pool, oh and… (blushing) the voluptuous Datura…. how could I withstand its poignantly seductive and dangerous scents when the moon was so full… and pink…

And, perhaps I’ll write about that afternoon when we howled our rage and grief, and our “NO NO NO!! ENOUGH!!!” When the holy voice of auntie sanity threw the cosmos off its axes, and we remembered in our core that the threads that weave us are indestructible. That even when the world unravels there is an immense LOVE holding us ALL!

And, maybe I’ll write about this moment now, as we arrive at the Solstice threshold, as the light floods the sky, as we feel the shadows all around, and the patriarchal grip, sensing its own undoing, is lashing out in violence, war, cruelty, and greed. About how tempting it is to retreat into despair, to go numb, to collapse under the weight of it all.

And, yes, I will tell you about the story of Amaterasu, goddess of the sun, and Uzume, the goddess of dawn, delight, and holy irreverence.

About how the luminous life-giving sun goddess Amaterasu retreated into a cave after being shamed and betrayed, and how we suffered greatly in Her absence, as the world fell into a devastating darkness. And how there were oh-so-many attempts to persuade Her to come out, but She could not be reached, and it seemed as if Her light was lost forever.

Until Uzume arrived.

She approached the cave stripped-down naked, laughing, stomping her feet on a tub turned upside down. Her silly moves, and unabashed freedom, made all the gods that had gathered there to solve the problem, breathe a little deeper, wiggle a little, chuckle a little, and soon they were all howling with joy. They couldn’t help themselves. And it was this unexpected eruption of aliveness that finally pulled Amaterasu out of the darkness.

Curious and smitten, the sun goddess emerged, and meeting Her at the mouth of the cave stood Uzume with swaying hips, grinning, and She was holding up a mirror to the glorious One who had given up, who had forgotten Her own power.

Gazing into the mirror, the sun goddess softened in recognition. She saw Her own light reflected back to Her. She remembered.
The sun goddess returned to life. And the light returned with Her.

Just like Umuze holding up a mirror to Amaterasu, isn’t this story a mirror too, held up to us, so that we can recognize our own medicine, so we can remember too?

That a body moving freely is a force. That joy and laughter and ecstasy are healing medicines that can wake us up to the miraculous intelligence we are made of.

That even in the dark, life force is still breathing. That swaying hips is power. That something ancient and wise is moving through us. That we are still here. That the song has not stopped, even if we forgot how to hear it. That the rituals we tend, the prayers we whisper at dawn, the dances we offer, matter. That in our togetherness, we are a force that no darkness can extinguish.

I do not believe joy is the opposite of grief or rage, or that it cancels out compassion and solidarity. I believe they are all essential expressions of our wholeness.

And I believe Uzume’s wisdom is medicine for these times. That when the world feels heavy and mean and sharp, we can still turn toward one another in sacred mischief, to laugh and come into more aliveness, which is our power. We can still feel the tender miracle of our naked skin. We can still tend to the light with dance. With howls of joy. With a rebellious insistence on love, on guarding the sacred, and no matter how dark it gets, on our eternal capacity for rebirth.

This Solstice, I bow to the ones who dance in the dark, who create joy as resistance, and are the mirrors in which we can remember our light.

I pray you feel the Goddess close, the One with swaying hips and a silly grin, who will never let you forget the light within you.

Shine bright,
Auntie Chameli