***If you would like to purchase the recording of this event and obtain a copy of the writing prompts we used to explore the story, reach out to me at Innerlightasheville@gmail.com—the price is your chosen donation to an organization that promotes peace.

When we listen to old stories, when we let them in as though they have something to tell us about our own lives, there is a kind of magic that happens. Our brains are wired to learn through story, and when we can find ourselves in the courageous or heartbroken or powerful actions of a character in a story, we can braid ourselves back into this deep human lineage.

I’ve watched it happen again and again, from the light in the eyes of children to the sudden “aha” that resolves in the face of an elder. Stories give us back to ourselves.

For Summer Solstice, I will be sharing a tale from Slavic folklore that exists in several variants. This textured, rich story wends its way through so many themes: the price of inspiration, the sacrifices we make in pursuit of the path that feels true beneath our feet, the importance of relationship to the more-than-human world, and the myriad ways we fall asleep rather than staying engaged in life (and how to wake ourselves back up again).

The way depth storytelling goes, you’ll show up, make yourself comfortable, and listen to the story as though it is happening in your own heart, as though each of the characters and landscapes and symbols might be a part of you. There may be music and poetry woven in, there may be laughter and there may be tears.

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 journal prompts and questions to assist you in finding your own connections with the story. There is no pressure to participate and it is fine just to listen and absorb.

Some people listen to the stories in person, here in my Asheville office, and others gather from around the world via GoogleMeet.

All proceeds from each of these storytelling events go to a beneficiary that feels resonant with the themes of the story. Past recipients have been World Central Kitchen, RiverLink, and Care International.

Donations gathered for this story will be sent to the Middle East to support peace efforts on the ground. (My parents, whose longstanding peace work has enabled them to build relationships with thought leaders and peace makers of multiple disciplines and perspectives, will be there in person this summer and will distribute our donations directly).

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 The Firebird 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.

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.

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.