Held by Ceremony, Carried by Love

Dear Beautiful Beings,

I’m truly grateful for your presence and for the way you receive these newsletters. Your willingness to read and engage means more than I can say, and I hope each one offers something meaningful to you.

I also want to share that I’ll be moving to ONE newsletter per month—both to honor your time and to ensure what I send feels intentional rather than overwhelming. So here we go with April’s!

What’s been most present on my heart lately is ceremony. I’m still quietly reveling in the depth and mystery of what unfolded during the ceremonies at our Sacred Journey With Grief Retreat. From the moment we began planning the retreat, I knew that ceremony would be integral. And I knew that Lisa’s gifts as a ceremonialist were key for the unfolding vision of this retreat.

But what was it that made them so powerful, to linger long after the moments have passed?

Ceremony sets a container to invite the vulnerability, truth, pace, presence, and safety so necessary for deep grief work. It’s about how the space is shaped so that inner states can emerge—ones we often suppress with grief or even fear and anxiety. It invites grief to move beyond the intellectual and emotional—into something embodied, and even spiritual. By spiritual, I mean a felt connection to something greater than ourselves--a connection to the sacred.

Ceremony also slows our pace. It invites presence and presence invites depth.

At its core, ceremony is a way of marking what matters. It gives form to the invisible.

Each day of our retreat began in this way—through ceremony—setting the tone and intention for what we would enter together.

Within ceremony, rituals emerge—repeated, symbolic actions that carry meaning through both body and mind. With repetition, the body remembers. And in that remembering, something begins to soften, open, and transform.

So much of grief is beyond language. Ceremony and ritual use symbol instead, allowing us to create and anchor meaning, mark transition, and open ourselves to deeper acceptance and understanding. As one of our participants reflected, "The meaning behind each one was powerful and clear... transformative."

I witnessed and experienced such transformation in several of our ceremonies, but one in particular stands out to me. Lisa guided us to contemplate the still, yet deeply active inner life of the chrysalis. As we did so, we poured water meditatively over a sacred object. The sacred object I chose was Graham’s tiny silver puffer fish—the same one I had carried in my pocket during the search days. As I poured water over it repeatedly, I became spellbound, almost hypnotized. Then the tears began to flow.

The puffer fish, which had been standing upright, gently fell onto its side as the water washed over it. In that moment, I began to feel that I was embodying what I imagined Graham had experienced—a baptism of sorts, as he descended through the ice into the water, and his spirit rose toward the heavens. To imagine the transformation, which I had done many times before, was one thing. To embody it through this ceremony, sealed it into my cells.

At the end of our week, we invited participants to reflect on what felt most meaningful and what they wanted to carry forward. We then asked them to create their own personal ceremonies to anchor those intentions within them.

Each one was as unique as the person who created it, and the meaning, depth, and transformation that emerged was profoundly moving. Beautiful. Life-changing. The gratitude I feel for witnessing such beauty and depth is beyond words.

Each ceremony at our retreat carried its own kind of magic. And they worked. They worked because they engaged mind, body, heart, and spirit all at once. And in community—held in witness—the power of ceremony was amplified.

None of this erased our grief. Nor would we want it to, for therein lies the love. But it did allow us to carry it differently—in a way that feels shared, expressed, and meaningful.

I invite you to create your own ceremonies and rituals. Perhaps combine action, voice, and stillness—three ways grief often wants to move. Here are a few simple ideas:

Candle & Name Ceremony to honor presence and memory:

• Light a candle.

• Speak your beloved’s name aloud several times.

• If you like, speak to them. Then sit quietly and listen.

  
  

Letter Writing

• Mark the beginning with a candle lighting or sound (a chime, gong, chant, or song).

• Write a letter on compostable paper. Express what’s unsaid, or any emotions or feelings. When finished, choose a closing act. Bury it, burn it, or keep it.

  
  

Release Ceremony- let something go (anger, fear, guilt, regret)

• Light a candle and speak it into the fire as you burn a bay leaf; OR choose a stone and throw it into the water; OR choose a leaf and let it blow into the wind. There are many ways to symbolize release.

Memory Box or Altar to Create Continuing Bonds

• Gather meaningful items.

• Intentionally place them in a box, on an altar, or create an art project with them.

• Each time you open or view it, take a moment to remember or speak. A simple “thank you” or “I love you” spoken aloud can be transformative.

Any intentional, regular ritual can create a place for grief to land. With a beginning and an end, ritual and ceremony offer a container of safety, comfort, and connection. Ceremony can then deepen and anchor those moments of transformation as you move through your own sacred journey with grief.