Solstice in the Park: A Ritual of Mutual Belonging and Transformation
Bringing our midsummer parade, pageant, and party to life!
How do we remember that we belong to one other?
Mostly, we use words. We send a card or raise a toast. We tell stories. We pick up the phone. We have a hard conversation. We say I love you.
And those wordy ways are all beautiful and good!
But when the unit of belonging is bigger than a partnership, or a family, or a team—conversation becomes too complex a means for communion. When the “we” is as big as a community, a country, or even a cosmos...
We need ritual.
That’s why I co-created Solstice in the Park; a free, volunteer-run, community ritual to celebrate midsummer with song, dance, pageantry, and joyful folk culture. I hoped to cultivate an experience in which we were reminded of our mutual belonging—with one other and the whole web of life—and our natural capacity to transform.
So in this post, with gorgeous photography by Mara Rothman, I want to:
Share the experience of joy that has so blessed the last few months of my life;
And perhaps inspire you to host something similar next year…
Part 1: The Parade
Transformation rituals demand that we depart the ordinary. So, on the longest day of the year, curious revelers gathered at the edge of Brooklyn’s Prospect Park, dressed in their summer finery—ready for a solstice celebration. We welcomed them, offering extravagant headpieces made of cardboard and painted to become ripe cherries and purple violets, golden sunflowers and blue finches. Strangers stopped to ask what was happening—with a number spontaneously joining our assembly.
Soon, butterfly puppets and crêpe paper streamers waved aloft as we paraded into the park, chanting our solstice songs composed by music director Sofia Campoamor:
“Each of us, a single ray of sun,
That’s beaming down as one,
To warm the ground we’re walking.
Each of us, brings on the longest day,
And helps the light to stay,
When fall and winter come.”
Walking and chanting, it struck me what a privilege it is to have public space so green and so freely available. And how vital it was to have valiant activists and city officials who preserved these sites of accessible beauty.
En route into the park, the first puppets are sighted. There, in the bushes, is permit-wrangler and producer Sierra Gamble with a homemade bunny puppet enchanting the kids walking by. We’re world-building as we go, moving toward the center of our celebration and catching a glimpse of the creatures we’ll meet again later on. Our team of puppeteers fly an owl and scurry by with a raccoon. As the parade processes by, the animals of the park join in and we make our way to Nellie’s Lawn.
This patch of park is where May Day is celebrated at dawn every year by a team of Morris Dancers—infusing the earth with a friendliness that welcomes us back into ritual time. So even if we’re toying with tradition a little, I know we are anchored in something solid; a lineage that is trustworthy and true.
As a nearby volleyball match comes to an end, our merry band fills the space to prepare for our mythic pageant.
Part 2: The Pageant
For months, we have been preparing. Our puppet-maker in chief Jonathan Zautner has guided dozens of volunteers during our making weekends to turn everyday materials into charming creations. Papier-maché globes become an earth, a moon (with craters!), and a sun with magnificent rays. I love how many hands have helped bring these puppets, crowns, and streamers to life.
People care about what they create. So the fact that nearly everything we’re wearing and parading with is handmade means that participants can feel the care and love that has gone into this day. And, it feels radically accessible! If you can paint a cardboard box and make a strawberry crown, maybe so can I!
Even when things go “wrong,” Jonathan finds a way to make it right. He transforms a collapsed papier-maché globe into a glorious turtle—one of over a hundred puppets this miracle man has made.
Mind you, the puppets aren’t mere decorations. They are at the heart of the mythic pageant we now gather to witness. We assemble into a large circle as astrologer and ritual-captain Joel David Richardson situates us into cosmic time. Dressed as the moon, he explains that today’s solstice sees the sun move at its pinnacle through the sky—and that astrologically this represents an opening of a gateway: that divinity descends and Spirit becomes matter.
Then into the circle steps Ingrid Norton, founder of The Myth Lab, who has led our team in writing a modern solstice myth. (Check out her awesome recap of the full myth here!) Ingrid helps us remember the seam of storytelling that is older than plots of conquest and domination, and helps us narrate our modern solstice moment of initiation and transformation. Dressed as the sun, she grounds us in a four-directions practice; turning to honor the West, North, East, and South and invites us into a heart-space of connection.
Our space is set. We are ready.
But what’s this?!
Five stressed Brooklynites dressed in navy blazers made by costume queen and banner maker Rachel Schmitt disrupt the circle. Talking loudly on their phones, they ask,
“How can you be celebrating in a time like this?! Don’t you know the world is falling apart!?This is such a waste of time! Shouldn’t you be working? Don’t you have money to make!?”
Many of our gathered crowd are distressed by the interruption. Who are these assholes?! Some even step into the circle to gently move the interlopers along—but soon realize that this confrontation marks the beginning of our mythic pageant!
The instruments strike up a soundscape, the gathered crowd contributes with humming and singing, and one-by-one, the stressed Brooklynites are transformed by their encounters with the natural world. At each cardinal direction, they meet our animal puppets: an earthworm, two bats, mice, an owl, even a cockroach welcome these lost souls back to themselves; back into relationship.
In a magical moment of serendipity, as the drama turns towards the final cardinal direction—the overcast sky clears and a ray of sun floods our field. In that moment of transformation, the Brooklynites—including marketing/design lead and man-of-many-trades Cameron Mussar—shake off their blazers and are adorned with colorful capes. They shed their anger, fear, and grief. They shake their hair loose! They come to life again! They come back into belonging.
Arriving at the apex of our modern-day myth, we take hands, dance into a chaotically joyful spiral, and sing:
“Hail to the summer, hail to the summer,
The season that drives the cold winter away!
Hail to the summer, hail to the summer,
Come circle around and we’ll dance and we’ll play!”
Part 3: The Party
There follows an evening of picnicking, face-painting, and flower-crown making, led by chief flower fairy Melanie Kahl. She’s perfected the art of adornment so that young and old gather in intimate moments of mutual decoration. With two-hundred people now on-site, Mel affirms that next year, we’ll need a few more flower crowns…
These smaller circles are pollinated by kids running around sharing food brought by their families: rice-crispy treats and fruit are served by wide toothy grins. Though my heart tends to be steely and logistically-minded when hosting, it is in this moment that I find myself dewy-eyed. I was given so much magic as a child—attending the Midsummer festival with its St John’s Bonfire, late-night singing, and Shakespeare plays—and now I’m paying it forward to a new generation. If all Solstice in the Park does is give these kids a sense of rhythm in time, if it gives them the firm knowing that they belong to the world, just as I was given that gift, it will have been enough.
More circles appear—some singing, others chatting as they meet friends old and new. Also leading circles are three faculty members of Brooklyn Public Library’s University Open Air program, which welcomes immigrant scholars to teach. Enrique Enriquez leads a workshop on understanding bird flight and symbolism. Dr. Chok Tenzin Monlam teaches a Tibetan meditation practice. And Hilla Shapira leads a group in collective embroidery.
By the early evening as folks have noticed the lack of nearby bathrooms, it’s my (Casper’s) turn to step up. Because nearly every folk musician and dance-caller is at a nearby folk festival, I am the last remaining option to “call” our circle dancing! Luckily Brooklyn Contra have loaned us their amp and send over musicians, so off we go…
“Make a big circle and hold hands!
Now, step to the left for a count of 8—and into the middle!
Do-si-do, and swing your partner!”
I lose count more times than I remember but the dancers are forgiving. Laughing, they find their partner again and carry on with a right-armed swing. As with everything today, it was never about perfection—and all about connection.
The sun is setting now. A small ritual space is made where a few remaining candle-lit faces reflect, journal, and turn Tarot cards together. The beats of a nearby rave waft across the park. The longest day has come and gone.
Thank goodness for picnic and clean-up queen Debbie Holloway, who knows better than anyone the practicalities of what makes community work. She ensures we leave no trace—a feat I confirm the next day when I cycle back and find only a small piece of purple ribbon as evidence of our celebrations.
I arrive home and have forgotten that my raven face will need to come off before bed, but I have no make-up remover! Luckily, a neighbor provides.
I fall asleep reflecting that Solstice in the Park gave me gifts twice-over.
Today’s celebrations offered countless new friendships, rejuvenated spirits, and collective, beautiful joy. Because of our incredible, leaderful team, I could trust that everything happened as it needed to. Friends came from Florida, Maine, upstate New York, and all across the city to join the magic. We were re-enchanted.
But the day was also an excuse for the months of preparation that have brought me a full heart. The painting, puppet-building, logistics planning, myth-writing, people-introducing, planning work that makes a festival like this possible has also woven together a group of some twelve core organizers and tens more into closer relationship. The means of our creating cohered with the ends. The process was the product.
Solstice in the Park was handmade and heartfelt. No doubt there were imperfections that we’ll hope to improve on next time. But for now, I am profoundly grateful to the many, many volunteers who helped bring it to life; to those who paid for materials; to Michael Hall School for hosting the Midsummer celebrations that inspired me as a child; and the good folk at Boss Morris for their contemporary example. To our core team—Jonathan, Ingrid, Rachel, Debbie, Joel, Sierra, Cameron, Mara, Mel and Sofia—I loved working with each of you. Thank you for your dedication, vision, and skill.
And a final big thank you to every single person who joined this year’s celebrations. I am so glad you were there. Perhaps next year, there’ll be even more of us dancing our way back into belonging.
Wishing you all a happy belated Summer Solstice! ☀️
Watching the Solstice in the Park preparation over on Insta definitely had me wishing I could attend so I'm very grateful for this beautiful recap. Thanks, Casper 🧡
"But when the unit of belonging is bigger than a partnership, or a family, or a team—conversation becomes too complex a means for communion. When the “we” is as big as a community, a country, or even a cosmos...
We need ritual."
So many people say this years #50501 (and other) protests have been gratifying, reassuring, and hope-bringing. I've been in them since February, and now you've offered the deep, underlying reasons the protests are so meaningful. Thank you, Casper!