Because, let’s face it, sometimes saying hello is not enough.
June. June!
June, you are impossible.
And I mean that in the most bowled-over and admiring way.
My god, you are an exquisite month. I find it hard to believe that in May I said I wasn’t ready for you. I mean, yes, it’s true. I’m not. Who could possibly be ready for this?
You are outrageous.
Outrageous and all-consuming, with your overnight proliferation of ROSES EVERYWHERE, and the way the entire city is just lush lush lush lush lush.
I can’t bear to be indoors.
I want to walk up all the stone stairways, visit all the gardens, play with all the cats, hum all the hums, and live inside of this heady haze of secret shy delight.
I want to walk for hours in the brisk mornings and then unfold into sunshine with you. Do you see? I didn’t know June would be like this.
I am deep in the stupid, I have no attention span, all I want is June. June!
Seriously, June. You are so over the top, and apparently I am right there with you.
Superpowers of June:
Lusciousness.
Luminosity.
Sweetness.
Receptivity.
Anticipation.
A surprising steadiness.
And a kind of below-the-surface pulse-thrum flutter-thump of possibility.
How you are utterly different from everything I expected.
I don’t know, June.
May was deep waters. May was turning inward. May had loss and May had bright shining moments of redemption.
May had bridges: water meets sea.
And other more internal bridges. May was process.
So I guess I thought we were in for more of that, and then maybe a new adventure on the high seas.
But June isn’t sailing. June is ISLAND. June is all the islands at once.
June is tearing things up and knocking them down, but somehow in this inexplicably and deliciously peaceful way. I don’t really understand it either.
My wishes for June.
Oh, June.
May everything that is done be released.
May all the pieces land in new and beautiful formations, just like in Shiva Nata.
Also, Incoming Me told me a secret about the completion of a passage and what she called illumination through elimination. Yes, please. I’m still not entirely sure what it all means yet but I’ll take it.
My promise to June.
Appreciation. Recognition. Adoration of June-ness. Wonder.
I will laugh when I can and cry when I can’t, but I am here.
I am here.
So dance it up and dance it out. Let’s break things, create things, invent a new lexicon of pleasure and play.
Let’s be trouble together. There will be balloons and elaborate baroque rock formations. Ridiculous birds. Moths whispering truth.
Let’s do it.
June, keep delighting me with unexpected and intense moments of not knowing what the hell is going on. I can take it. Or maybe I can’t, but as Incoming Me whispered onto a blank page:
Courage. Courage. Faith. Faith. Faith.
Love, Havi.
Join me if you like. The commenting blanket fort.
This practice varies from month to month.
For variations, peek at: July / August / September / October / November / December / January / February / March / April / May.
You are welcome to write your own hello letter (or steamy love letter) to June , if you like.
Or you can leave little pebbles for my love letter. Or drop off some gwishes for the month.
As always, we make this a safe space by not telling each other what to do, how to be or how to feel. We make room for each other.
Wishing you the most beautiful June possible. May it be full of unexpectedly good things.
Follow
Lovely!
Yes. This.
Can I just adopt this letter as my own, for June?
Saying yes with simone and pat. nothing to add here.
moths whispering truths mmm
*sniffles*
Yes. Lush, lush, lush, indeed. I have been itchy, too big (internally) for my skin – and wanting all the things, all at once. This letter is the cry of my early-summer-heart. Thank you, Havi.
o o o (leaving pebbles)
Yes, lovely lovely June. Outdoors as much as possible. Roses blooming. Lush lushness of plants and flowers and sunshine.
And this: a kind of below-the-surface pulse-thrum flutter-thump of possibility.
Yes. So in love with June.
o o o (pebbles & love for everyone’s June letters)
Hello June. Asking for a warm breath of kindness and warmth and compassion for myself and for others. So far you are a month of building. I’ve been grinding gears and kicking up dust. I’ve been in a very lonely and stony place for a couple weeks.
I’d like some sweetness and fluidity, dear June. Almond oil and fresh water.
I am going to celebrate your gleaming, leisurely, flower-scented twilights. I promise, no matter what is happening, I won’t ignore those. I will set aside time to go walking, maybe barefoot, on Brooklyn streets at 8:30 pm.
Dusk. Dusky dusky dusk dusk.
Many kisses, Kate
Welcome June, you feel a lot like April here, like a spring that’s not ready to be summer. So far you’ve been a month of finishing things off, getting ready for changes. Now you feel like the paws before start of something, a liminal (May’s word but it suited you too) time where things are in flux. I used to be scared of that but something in me loves this now…
Hi, June. You are beautiful, and gentle, and kind. I think I can trust you with a secret. May I whisper my secret to you?
You are the month of my birthday. My birthday is coming next week. And I am so afraid that it is going to suck.
I always, always take the day off for my birthday and do whatever I want for that day, but this year, I don’t feel able to do that, and I have scheduled myself to work.
I do have one very beautiful present that I received early, a beautiful pendant, which is sitting in my jewelry box, waiting to be worn on The Day, and not before. But it won’t be a surprise. Will there be any surprises?
Is there a pattern here? Oh, hey, yes there is, a bit of one. Hello, pattern of fearing that my birthday will suck. I guess I’m going to have to come up with a few new strategies for interacting with you this year, since the Taking-My-Day-Just-For-Me strategy evidently will not be available this year. No special trip on that day. No adventure. No adventure? Really? Is there any way around that?
Wow, June. I didn’t know I was holding so much pain inside. You’re a good listener. Okay, now it’s my turn to listen. Maybe you have some clues for me. Just let me know, okay? I’ll be here.
Ah, June.
So far you are not what I expected: the rain, the finding of longstanding arrangements suddenly not working, the whomp of sudden focus and internal changes that I can’t quite articulate yet.
Gwishing to be able to give myself legitimacy for finding difficult things difficult and hard stuff hard.
Gwishes for beautiful, elegant solutions.
Gwishing for flowing with the changes.
Gwishing to continue taking pleasure in the roses, the sunshine when it appears, reading a book in bed.
o o o
Oh, wow.
This is the most awesome love letter I have ever read. Thank you.
000000 Pebbles first. Wonderful letter, Havi.
Ah June,
You know I have been enjoying the mornings where I greet you in the patio garden, and the evenings when the sky is pinkpurplepeach, the nighttime tennis funatures. I revel in the freedom of it all, but one of my inner rooms is full of worry and doubt. Worried that the doom, doom, doom of lack will take over, that the unknown source of abundance is beyond my grasp, (and will always be), the AAAAHHHH of it all.
So June, along with mornings, freedom and funatures, please show, lead, plop on my head the what, who, when and where. Adding the courage to take the steps too. Thank you, dear June for it all.
Especially thanks for the free movie today, what a wonderful nice surprise, but really, the small blue finch type bird really was the best.
The musical Carousel (1956) has a great, great song called “June Is Bustin’ Out All Over” 🙂 — it is worth a YouTube search for it.
(I own a very colorful, formfitted, helLO-look-at-me, not-at-all-shy dress that I have nicknamed my June Is Bustin Out All Over dress. It’s one of the greatest dresses ever in the history of dresses and I will pretty much bust out into that song [beforehand!!!] whenever I get an opportunity to wear it anywhere.) 🙂
Yay for June!!
Yayness! And love.
Oh, yay! Just this much is luscious: “I want to walk up all the stone stairways, visit all the gardens, play with all the cats, hum all the hums, and live inside of this heady haze of secret shy delight.” Yes indeed.
Hello, June – or as we are calling you here in New Blighty, JUNEUARY. Which, fine by me, June! Let us enjoy the clouds and fog and drizzle for a while longer. I like you just the way you are.
o0o0o0o0o0o0o <–here are some pebbles for you. they are secretly also for me.
I'm having a hard time writing my letter so I am going to
…
silent retreat!