Solstice Summer 2026

I caught the sunrise: first its anticipatory glow, then the crack of light, and soon, without hesitation, the big orange orb with all its power and light. Today it will stay longer, from morning until night, than any other of these cycles of what we call days. Something about the solstice has captured my attention for some years now.

So here I am again, putting some words out for the purpose of communication, a small effort to share ideas as a way of connection. Connection the invisible oneness of our commonality. Humans, being human, share reality, whatever we see of it, including the sun and moon and their effects on life itself. The sun and the moon: undeniable, where much else is less certain. The sun and the moon, who have given us life and the freedom to live within what they offer.

I often come back to the sense of order that our orbit offers us. The exact same spot at the exact same time, all those many days later, and for as far back as we can imagine. And what is in between? The movement through seasons, from seedlings to blossoms, from dormancy to the activation of sap as it flows through the vines, generating new life seemingly out of nothing.

In the heightened emotion of the triggering situation, we might react without fully grasping what is going on. We might over-react, saying or doing things we regret later, when we are calm enough to see more clearly what has happened. Only later, when we are calmer, can we see the influence of the past experiences and our emotional baggage on the current situation.

Beauty is the other theme that connects me to the sun and what it offers. Watering the plants this morning offered me a moment to see closely the wonder of life coming to life toward its own death, usually through some stage of striking beauty. The poignancy of the perfect moment, as long as that might be, for whatever claims its place in the breadth and span of nature.

As I looked closely, awe registered from the simplicity of a flower taking shape: red and yellow, birdlike beaks, tropical toucans of the jungle world I am in. And then there are my tadpoles, another batch hatched in a large glass home, fed seaweed and kale, metamorphosing from tiny underwater sperm-like creatures to leg-hopping, air-breathing, throat-croaking animals of the jungle night.

I love when legs sprout and their eyes seem to see beyond the underwater world where they were born. Maybe they are the original participants in Plato's cave, developing far enough to discover a world beyond.

My story is also one of change these days. Betwixt and between, the past and future overlap, making the present pure in the broadest way. I am here, which includes there, disrupting that which has been meant to stabilize my life. I am moving along, sometimes flowing and often stumbling, balance being an unattained ideal, going and growing toward what I can now imagine as a new chapter of life the part that is still unlived.

I have intentions, one being to continue to write a book I have started because it feels like a good idea for me: to follow those thoughts and to engage the page with words that seem to come from somewhere, not always recognizable as mine. I also intend to commune with new nature, the trees and trails along the other side of the Pacific coast, the particular place in the world that California is, with its own beauty.

Some things are dying, or should I say no longer have a place in the treasure of my time. Yes, now time is that which I can see as precious, not to be sold off easily.

I have new priorities for myself. I grew out of the other ones.

Entertainment, unless it is my own with others, does not interest me. Books, yes; movies, no. Music, yes; concerts, no. Education, yes; information collecting, no. Cooperation, yes; competition, no. I don't care who wins or loses. I care about how they got along, and how we will learn to compete, if that is the word, against our collective problems rather than one another in sophisticated games.

I believe we are in too much trouble to spend our energy and money on the momentary elation that comes from some ball going somewhere.

Yes, I have strayed farther from what is familiar than ever before. I am speaking for myself and do not assume these ideas will resonate with many others. I have made it past the point where I am concerned at all about survival, so without fear I venture into what might become the newness of another age. It will come from death and rebirth. I hope my book will broaden the scope of what I have to say.

Back to the Sun and the Moon: one is not without the other, and they offer different things. Linh, my friend and collaborator with the Creative Play residency, and I are working on a children's book for adults, in that it is fully illustrated (by Linh) and written to be simple, and yet profound enough to evoke consideration about the importance of how we choose to live.

We have entitled the book Hello Sun, Hello Moon. Stay tuned.

One thousand words is my maximum, so don't worry, the end is in sight.

As OK as I am and I am, the pain I feel in life comes from the fear we all have of bringing love to life. I am, as are others, fearful of closeness and of communicating through the limitations of our differences. I find personal expressions of love difficult. Maybe words fail me, or I fear they will, and sometimes do, overwhelm the other.

I have resorted to opting to love life and to toss people into the mix, hoping they will glean that my love is for them as well. I have become too careful for my own good and the good of humanity, staying within professional boundaries, sensitive to differences of age, gender, culture, and safety.

So I will say here that I have a lot of love within me, frustrated by limitations I impose, not knowing how or when or in what ways to find the poignant moment, full of all there is: the beauty, the energy of life itself.

I am trying to let "this little light of mine... shine, shine, shine."

Douglas W. Holwerda, Psychotherapist, Author