Lately, I’ve been thinking about how to gather with intention. Inspired by a fabulous book I’m in the middle of reading called “The Art of Gathering,” last night I attended my first “burning bowl” ceremony with my partner, John, to ring in the new year. New to this format, we wrote the burdens we have carried in this last year that we wish to release, the wrongs done to us and the wrongs done to others we’re ready to let go of, and dropped them in a bowl with an open flame at the front of the church to release them, feel a bit lighter, and make space for something new. Next, we were asked to write a letter to ourselves, from a higher power, stating what we hope to make room for, the intentions we are setting, and what we need to do to get there. Then, we signed and sealed them, wrote our mailing addresses on the envelopes, and left them with the ushers (the church mails the letters to all participants in November 2022).
I grew up in a community *rich* with ritual, secular and sacred, and, since transitioning into my adult life, have never really been able to recreate that for myself or those around me with the same level of intensity and intention. In my childhood, this included amazing solstice celebrations—communal song, candlelight and theatrical events in the winter, and huge bonfires, dancing, strawberry shortcake and crystal clear night skies in summer—advent celebrations, candelight, the smell of bayberries and cedar, and song—folk song, songs in other languages, rounds, carols—in every nook and cranny of my home, school and communal life.
For me, when “life” gets busy, these rituals tend to go out the door or window, so to speak. This has been even more true during COVID, days months and years blurring together into a seemingly never-ending expanse of sameness. Creating from scratch seems to take such conviction, energy, and courage, and a belief that the ritual will not only be meaningful to me, but to others around me with very different life histories and life experiences. That takes a certain kind of internal confidence that some days and seasons I have, and other times I don’t.
And so I am wondering, dear friends, colleagues and family members:
What are the communal rituals (broadly defined) that you engage in that help you celebrate and be present for the important moments in your month, your year, or your life? What are your rituals, and how do you gather with intention?
I grew up in a community *rich* with ritual, secular and sacred, and, since transitioning into my adult life, have never really been able to recreate that for myself or those around me with the same level of intensity and intention. In my childhood, this included amazing solstice celebrations—communal song, candlelight and theatrical events in the winter, and huge bonfires, dancing, strawberry shortcake and crystal clear night skies in summer—advent celebrations, candelight, the smell of bayberries and cedar, and song—folk song, songs in other languages, rounds, carols—in every nook and cranny of my home, school and communal life.
For me, when “life” gets busy, these rituals tend to go out the door or window, so to speak. This has been even more true during COVID, days months and years blurring together into a seemingly never-ending expanse of sameness. Creating from scratch seems to take such conviction, energy, and courage, and a belief that the ritual will not only be meaningful to me, but to others around me with very different life histories and life experiences. That takes a certain kind of internal confidence that some days and seasons I have, and other times I don’t.
And so I am wondering, dear friends, colleagues and family members:
What are the communal rituals (broadly defined) that you engage in that help you celebrate and be present for the important moments in your month, your year, or your life? What are your rituals, and how do you gather with intention?
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