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The winter solstice marks the longest, darkest night of the northern hemisphere. It’s a time of incubation, gestation, and encounter with the shadow. It’s also a time to gather with those we love around the fire and share stories of the year past and the year to come.

This solstice, I will be sharing two stories I have long held as maps to the territory of heartbreak and healing. These stories help me to hold the question: how do we navigate losses without becoming lost ourselves?

Whether you are attending in person or online, please bring a candle, a journal or something to write in, and any blankets or pillows you need to feel comfortable. I’ll have warm tea and perhaps mulled cider for those of you attending in person. You’ll be invited to share in some quiet writing to harvest what the story offered you, and then to engage in conversation regarding the themes and meaning of the story as we heard it. I’ll offer live music, poetry, journal prompts, and questions as we move through the evening to assist you in finding your own connections with the story.

This is the final story I will be sharing in the cycle of eight this year. Therefore this evening will last a little longer than the others, so that we can weave in the other seven stories at the end and hold them all together as we bid farewell to the year past. You may also be invited to participate in a traditional circle dance at the end of the evening.

Some people listen to the stories in person, here in Asheville, and others gather from around the world via GoogleMeet. Wherever you are in the world, I would love to share story with you.

All proceeds from your donations will go to the ACLU, to support their longstanding work of defending systemic equality and civil liberties.

Attendance is pay-what-you-can (suggested donation $20 to $40, but each participant is trusted to find the right amount. No one will be turned away).

Register by sending your chosen donation to either Paypal or Venmo with Goose Girl as the subject. Please please make sure that you also provide your email address (as a comment, or as part of the subject line) so I can be sure to send you further details about the event.

Financial transparency: I do not pay myself for these events. All funds gathered go directly to the beneficiary. There are two reasons I ask you to send the donations to me rather than directly to the beneficiary: 1) When I send all of our donations together, after we have experienced the story, I have a sense of building relationship between all of us, the story, and the cause we are supporting. That feels amazing. 2) When I send the donations under my name, I can deduct those donations from my participation in taxes that fund war. That also feels amazing.

When I receive your registration, I’ll send you the link for the gathering if you are attending online and provide further details via email.

REGISTER WITH VENMO - choose your rate

REGISTER WITH PAYPAL - choose your rate

More about this project:

There are times lately that I have felt hopeless in the face of war, climate change, and human cruelty. I have learned, through my work and through the wisdom of my clients, that sometimes we are too small to hold sorrows this big. But when we let our sorrows rest on the broad back of a very old story, often, through the story, we can find the beginnings of a way forward.

So I turned to some of my favorite stories with my hopelessness and I listened. This is the project that emerged:

Over the course of 2024, I plan to tell eight stories, one for each of the equinoxes and solstices and the cross-quarter days in between. I plan to align each story with the season of its telling, and to gather donations that we as a community will offer back to the living world.

Three, as we know from fairy tales, is a powerful number. It’s usually the number of attempts it takes to get something right, and often it’s the number of magical tools or skills necessary to overcome the challenge at hand.

With this offering, I am hoping to build community in three ways:

Community between you and the story, which has things to tell you that I know nothing of.

 Community between you, me, and the others gathered to hear the story, and the way the story weaves itself into the seasons of our year as a rich, shared metaphor.

Community between our little gathering and the wider world, as our donations weave us and our intentions into the fabric of the planet.

May we, by resting our sorrows on the broad backs of old stories, build a sense of community together, and alchemize hopelessness into loving action.