Rituals are a poignant and necessary part of living. All living organisms make
meaning and initiate transition through rituals, whether it’s the male spider wrapping silk
around a gift to seduce the female for mating or the way Christians dunk themselves in
water as a sign of rebirth. It’s a kind of container in a distinct moment in time in which a
person or community declare something as set apart and sacred.
We are composed to make rituals, to mark and honor the seasons of our lives,
lest we become numb, preoccupied or forget where we have been. From birth to the
grave we will have known many joyful and grief stricken experiences, all of which are
worth beholding and then moving through with presence and intention. So, when there
is a dearth of meaningful actions pointing to and holding what we have been through in
this life, we often find ourselves uncontained and alone.
Grief is an experience, especially for Westerners, in dire need of ritual. The
Dagara tribe in West Africa hold elaborate grief rituals with such particular intention.
There are the mourners, the musicians and the containers. Those who mourn have the
opportunity to express as wildly and expressively as needed in the “chaos” space, which
is marked off in the funeral room and named as sacred. The musicians are tasked with
being attuned to the mourning, which will help steer the grieving. Then, the containers
watch and take care of those who are mourning. They prevent harm from happening
and care for the mourners as they see fit. Here is where grief in all of its forms is
accepted and honored. The mourners have witnesses and companions, containers and
creativity to guide their grief.
When I look at this model compared to the Western expression of grief and
funerals, I’m left dumbfounded and disappointed. Grief is silent and isolated here and
yet we are called as humans, as living organisms, to give voice and meaning to our
pain. We know we don’t need answers or platitudes, but rather people willing to enter
the chaos of death.
And ritual is the way to enter. It provides symbols, meaning, action and
containment for the lamenting. When we have our bodies engaged through our senses,
whether it’s loving touch, fragrances, listening to music, vocals that speak of the
unspeakable or seeing others lament, we deeply honor our suffering and who we have
lost. Similarly, when we have symbols and actions to describe what our grief feels like,
whether it’s breaking glass, ripping black cloth or throwing stones into the ocean, we
offer ourselves permission to plunge the darkest hours. Grief often intimidates us with
its hunger as though it will swallow us whole if we look at its face and step closer to it.
However, what I have found both in my mental health private practice and personal
experiences is that looking away keeps us gridlocked and powerless with grief. It
becomes distorted in which depression and isolation become the symptoms of unlived,
gridlocked grief.
That is why rituals become the place to begin signifying to yourself and those
around you this season of loss is one worth remembering and honoring, expressing and
moving through. There is no right way of creating a ritual. They don’t have to be
elaborate or overly produced, but they do require the risk in saying, “this is important,
worthy of marking and remembering…worthy of witnesses and deeming this season of
my life as sacred.” Will you join me in setting apart facets of our lives that deserve a
container so we can express what’s deep within us? Our grief is not meant for
sanitization or tempering, but released and freed—there is where we will find the
strength to live more fully alive.
Heather Stringer is a therapist, artist, and ritual maker. She is a Licensed Mental Health Counselor in Seattle, WA. She completed her M.A. in Counseling Psychology at The Seattle School of Theology and Psychology in 2010. She has since become specialized in trauma and abuse through her work at the Allender Center and performs regular community and individual rituals. She has 2 beautiful babies, Amos and Iona and a loving, brilliant husband, Jay.