3 Summer Solstice Rituals to Bring You Peace & Joy
If you’ve seen the opening scenes of Outlander, you’ll understand the thrill I felt at being asked to do a summer solstice ritual on the Hill of Tara.
3 Summer Solstice Rituals
By Maia Toll
Tara is an ancient ceremonial site in County Meath, Ireland. While not as well-known as Stonehenge or Loughcrew, the windswept hillside has its own magic.
During the year I studied with an herbalist in Ireland, Tara was one of my favorite getaway spots. If I timed my visit well, the site would be empty. I could ghost through the tumbled stones of the old hall or sit quietly in the grass and listen to the crows. Eventually, the chill would drive me into the gift shop for tea and a scone: the perfect end to an oddly empty and strangely full day.
But the parking lot was full when my teacher and I arrived on the evening of the summer solstice. We pulled up against the hedgerow, and I shimmied out, trying not to get hung up on the hawthorns. A bit of dread curled through my gut as I surveyed the people pulling blankets and provisions from their cars with the boisterous vibe of folks attending a July 4th barbeque.
As a person who has never connected with organized religion, I find I still yearn for ways to celebrate the sacred. The solstices have become moments when I could mark time in a way that felt ancient and, in doing so, connect with the timeless part of my own being. That part of me had always been silent, connected more to the elements than to other people. But suddenly, I was surrounded by other humans in cloaks and Renaissance Faire finery.
I heard my name called from the door of the gift shop. Anya flagged me over. “Come on! We’re setting up in here!”
It seems I was to be part of a reenactment, so much for a sacred solstice.
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As the sun set, we processed up a dirt track, now lit by torches. Cresting the hill, we each made our way to our station on the circle that had been formed on the hilltop. From my spot in the West, I looked out and realized this was no small gathering: thousands of candle-lit faces were looking back at me.
The master of ceremonies began walking the circumference of the circle. When he reached the eastern side, he turned to the crowd: I’m calling on the tribes of the East, the people of the Boyne, and the Irish Sea. Will you come to the council? Will there be a war in the East this year?
The crowd to the East shouted back a resounding NO!
A little background for this: Ireland was a country of tribes. In older times, they gathered together a few times a year to trade and work out treaties. A ritual like this was a chance to bring everyone together.
I stood, stunned, as each quarter was called. The concept of “calling the quarters,” which is often used in pagan rituals, was one I didn’t understand. But this calling brought the practice into fresh focus as both the people and the land on which they lived were invoked.
In a flash, I realized: calling the quarters was about calling in community. It reminded you where you were in time and space and who was there with you. It was a practice that called you to presence, not just with people, but with the land. It asked you to come back into the relationship.
This message has resonated through my summer solstices ever since. I use this moment when the sun is at its furthest reach when the energy of growing things is stretched and attenuated to do three things: rest, reflect, and regather.
Solstice Ritual #1 – Rest
In Latin, the word solstice comes from two words: sol means “sun, and” sistere means “to stand still.” During the Solstice, the sun appears to stand still on the horizon. I take this as an invitation to also stand still, to rest, to pause.
Rituals of rest are often underrated: a nap, a bath, a walk in the woods. It doesn’t have to be fancy. But, at this time of year, when we have done the work of Spring–whether that’s getting ourselves or the kids through the school year, planting the garden, doing the big garage clean-out that marks spring cleaning–it’s important for our well-being to pause. You don’t have to go on a silent retreat for a week (sometimes getting yourself to something like that is in itself work). Instead, think of small ways to break your usual patterns and add a moment of rest: a silent meal, a morning meditation, or an afternoon lie in the sun.
Solstice Ritual #2 – Reflect
Instead of calling the quarters, I like to journal the quarters as a way of grounding myself and reestablishing my presence in my current landscape. Simply take a journal spread or a piece of paper, and divide it into four sections. Label these with the four cardinal directions–East, South, West, and north.
Now set a timer and spend ten minutes noticing and journaling for each quarter. The timer is important because it keeps you from rushing through the exercise, giving you time to go deeper in your noticing.
I often do one quarter a day. So if I begin in the East, I’ll focus first on what’s right close by to the East of me–sitting at my writing desk that would be a fuzzy stemmed philodendron and a bookshelf that holds my TBR stacks, and a few small orchids and crystals. I let my eyes wander over the plants, reacquainting myself with their presence, before reaching beyond the house and envisioning the garden to the East–the oak leaf hydrangea and the witch hazel– and the woods beyond them. My mind travels all the way up to the ridge where we walk the dogs.
When the timer goes off, I sometimes keep writing, deep in the meditative reacquainting I’m doing with the landscape. When I feel done, I close my journal. The next day I returned to “call” the next quarter.
Solstice Ritual #3 – Regather
My third ritual brings me back to the sense of community I felt that solstice night on the Hill of Tara: I gather my people.
It was surprisingly uplifting to look out at a sea of thousands of faces that solstice night and hear them affirm with their voices we’re here. We’re here in the East and intend to be a peaceful part of this gathering. We are here in the West and part of this community.
In my daily life, I’m inward in both work and spiritual practices. In the same way that I thrill at the a-ha! The moment when a chapter I’m writing comes together, I love the solitary click of connection I feel when I lay my hand against a tree’s trunk or the Sympatico moment when I unexpectedly catch the eye of a mamma bear walking her cubs through my backyard. No liturgy can replicate these feelings for me. I don’t crave the trappings of ceremony.
So I don’t gather my friends for an obvious ritual. I gather them instead for mundane things: a cup of tea, a clothing swap, a bonfire, a dinner out. We celebrate the Solstice like others celebrate July 4th: with laughter, libations, and a good playlist. Sometimes we light a candle and speak an intention or reflect on where we are in the cycle of the seasons. But only if it happens naturally.
Very few of my friends know they’re an integral part of the restitching I do every Solstice, the regathering, and reaffirmation of community that has been an important part of my seasonal ritual since that evening on the Hill of Tara. While everyone else is chatting and storytelling, I find a quiet corner where I can look out at my people. I stand on my mental hilltop and shout to the four quarters I am here with you at this time and in this place.
And every time a feeling wells up in me, something deep and eternal, a sense of connecting with something ancient and cyclical, stitched into the fabric of the human psyche. And that’s not a reenactment at all.
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About The Author
Maia Toll is the author of Letting Magic In, which releases just after the summer solstice, 2023, as well as the award-winning Wild Wisdom Series and The Night School. Maia maps new pathways for seeing our lives, inspiring those who encounter her work to live with more purpose, intention, meaning, and even magic.
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