Yesterday's post was about Memorial Day and witnessing the raft of poppies put into the ocean in honor of those who gave their lives for their country. The flowers drifting on the waves, moving out to sea was a profound image, one of those you almost feel in your body rather than just experience with your eyes. Afterwards, I kept thinking about the rituals large and small that help us come to terms with loss, change, or challenges.
Lighting a candle has always been a powerful way to bring focus for me, especially if I can't yet find words. Sitting in a dark room in front of a flame, the flickering light does the praying for me until I'm ready. A starry night is even better.
Writing, though, is almost always my first urge in times of trouble. This blog, kept since 2008, is just the top layer for me. My personal journal goes back to the second grade and has been a constant life companion in its many volumes and forms. There are also times when I write dozens of temporary "poison pages." Whether in the form of a letter to someone or just a free form flurry of sentences, I write and write and write. When I'm done, I find a safe place to quietly put a match to the pages I never want anyone to see. Frustration is turned to energy as the paper flares into orange heat and light. Then when the flames go out, the paper is charred and lighter than a feather. It crumbles to nothing with the slightest touch, which is a very good feeling. Although writing may not make a problem go away, in one form or another it never ceases to bring me closer to resolution.
What that raft of poppies reminded me most of was a ritual I ran across in Japan when I was in my mid-twenties. My parents hadn't been dead for very long and the phoenix hadn't yet risen from the ashes of my old life. I went to Asia looking for a sense of balance that had long been missing. In a Buddist temple in the ancient city of Kyoto, I came across paper worry dolls. The dolls were identical and unremarkable -- just a silhouette cut out of coarse white paper. As instructed, I wrote my worries on one and then dropped it in a wooden bucket full of water. The paper that felt so ordinary to my fingers was actually extraordinary. In liquid, it instantly expanded. The little figure swelled and thickened in perfect proportion so that my words grew larger and more legible. It was like a visual shout -- big, bigger, biggest! Angst suspended in a bucket. Then the fibers began to cloud and fall away. The outline of the worry doll as well as all my confusion put to words began to soften and blur, sinking oh-so-slowly to form a soft fog at the bottom of the bucket. Such a simple ritual. But I remember the grateful surprise of feeling that an inner stiffness softened and fell away as I watched the worry doll dissolve. I've never forgotten that feeling. And the conviction that some part of grief I was finally done with got poured away at the end of the day when the monks tipped that bucket out.
What about you? Do you have rituals that bring release or balance?
What beautiful rituals. Thank you for sharing about them.
Posted by: Amber | 01 June 2013 at 10:29 PM
Thanks, Amber.
Posted by: Valerie J. Frey | 04 June 2013 at 08:19 AM