Solstice
The Solstice is a doorway. It’s the longest night of the year, the quietest threshold—and the moment the light begins returning again. (Here on Pacific time, the Solstice arrives at 7:03 AM PT.)
In a culture that praises constant motion, Solstice offers a different kind of power:
the power of stillness.
The power of listening.
The power of letting the dark do what it does best—transform.
Because the dark isn’t only heaviness. The dark is also the womb.
It’s where seeds soften and split.
It’s where the nervous system finally stops bracing.
It’s where truth speaks in a quieter voice.
Solstice teaches what M8 is becoming
Lately, I’ve been feeling how M8 is evolving—almost like it’s growing up in real time. Less about “doing more,” and more about doing what’s true.
M8 exists to invite you into the sensation of aligned living:
where your bones and breath become your home base
where your body is not something to conquer, but something to listen to
where strength is paired with softness
where healing is not a performance, but a practice
In that way, the Solstice feels like the perfect symbol for what we do here.
We don’t rush the process.
We build structure that supports real life.
We create enough safety for change to happen.
We honor the cycles: effort and rest, expansion and integration, light and dark.
A Solstice reflection (for journaling or a quiet walk)
If you’re feeling called to mark today with intention, try sitting with one or two of these:
What part of me is ready to be composted—complete, released, forgiven?
What pattern kept me safe… and is now ready to retire?
Where am I being asked to soften control and trust the process?
What light is returning in me—slowly, gently, honestly?
What does “aligned living” feel like in my body (not my mind)?
You don’t need big answers. You only need the next honest breath.
The return of light is a promise—slow, steady, inevitable
Solstice is not instant transformation. It’s the beginning of it.
The days don’t suddenly become bright; they become brighter, slowly.
That’s the medicine.
Not the dramatic leap—
the steady return.
Happy Solstice, from my heart to yours.
May your system find refuge.
May your spirit feel fed.
May you remember: the light returns.
