June Solstice, 2025: When Moving Forward Doesn’t Work. And Staying Still Doesn’t Either.
Between the urge to act and the surge of emotion, this moment doesn’t ask for answers. It asks for presence.
There are times when it’s hard to tell whether you’re just tired or in some kind of pause.
Days when it feels like you’ve done everything you could… and still, nothing really happens.
Days when the world keeps demanding, but your body won’t respond with the same momentum.
This week has something of that.
And it’s not random: it’s solstice.
That precise moment when the Sun—usually in constant forward motion—stops.
For three days. No movement. No decision.
And it’s noticeable.
Maybe that’s why, in other times, people used to celebrate.
Not because there was something to achieve, but because, for once, nothing needed to be done.
The Sun stopped. And life stopped with it.
Fires were lit. People gathered. The moment was marked.
Not in the name of productivity, but because time had changed rhythm, and that alone was enough to be together.
And now?
Now it’s harder. We’re disconnected from natural cycles, from their slow signals, their living pauses.
It’s hard to slow down when there’s no goal. Hard to gather without a reason.
But the question lingers:
Is it still possible to make room for a kind of time that asks nothing but presence?
The body wants to cry. Or yell. Or bake bread. Or watch shows without thinking.
Not everything that’s happening has a name, but it has a shape.
A dense one, flooded with urgency, and lacking clear direction.
It’s like wanting to sprint without knowing where to go. Or wanting to stay still, but without a place to land.
This isn’t personal. It’s collective weather.
And if we look at what’s in play, it actually makes sense:
Saturn in Aries: moving forward is hard. Not from lack of will, but because everything now demands structure before motion.
Neptune in Aries: desire is blurry. No map, no focal point, just restless impulse with no container.
Jupiter in Cancer: emotion takes over the present. And not in just one way—everyone feels it differently.
It can show up as tenderness, irritability, the urge to stay home or go back to one that no longer exists.
It might feel like needing to cook, to cry, to be close to someone—or just to stay wrapped in a blanket watching Netflix while the world expects something else.
Sometimes it comes in quietly, like a song in the background.
The other day, in the supermarket, they were playing 70s music. And it felt good. Really good.
Back home, I kept listening. That soft, luminous kind of music—the kind that believes in something gentle.
A strange nostalgia came up—not for a person, but for a version of the world that seemed to have more trust, more softness, more sunlight.
But it didn’t last.
I put on Undercover of the Night by the Rolling Stones, then Another One Bites the Dust.
And something shifted.
The nostalgia vanished.
Suddenly, I felt affection for the sharp edge of the 80s—for its rawness, its confrontation, its visible tension.
I started appreciating that era more—for not trying to escape, for its rugged sincerity.
That’s also part of this moment.
Not a longing for the past, but an emotional access to different layers of time—not to stay there, but to sense where we are now from the inside out.
Jupiter doesn’t tell us what to feel. It just turns up the volume.
What we get is emotion—not outcome. Not clarity. Just the realness of being inside something.
This isn’t achievement energy.
It’s holding energy.
And even that is hard to sustain.
Life goes on. But not in the same way.
The world hasn’t stopped. But deep down, something feels different.
A heaviness that’s not just fatigue.
A sense of being in the middle of something that hasn’t quite started or ended.
And in that stretch, the Sun—the one that sets the rhythm for time, for seasons, for movement—remains still for three days.
In ancient traditions, this wasn’t symbolic—it was structural.
The solar system itself entered pause.
Time didn’t move forward: it recalibrated from a cardinal point.
And yes, it’s still perceptible now.
Not to inspire action.
Just to remind us that nothing needs to be forced into resolution.
So now what?
Maybe nothing.
Maybe something.
But it’s not time to know. And that’s okay.
It might be frustrating not to feel clear.
Or strange to feel so much without knowing what to do with it.
This isn’t blockage.
It’s emotional expansion that hasn’t found form yet.
Jupiter intensifies everything: the sweetness, the vulnerability, the forgotten, the unnecessary.
Saturn wants structure before momentum.
And the Sun, standing still, offers neither permission nor direction.
It just suspends the path.
Some things that still work
▸ Letting something wait a little longer
▸ Saying less
▸ Listening without answering
▸ Cooking without looking at the clock
▸ Sitting down without being productive
▸ Feeling without justifying
There’s no message to decode.
No insight to apply.
Just a fragment of time where moving doesn’t get us far, and staying still doesn’t either.
And in that space, just for a moment, the Sun doesn’t move.