Hello Again

I have been fascinated ... feeling the velvet of a mossy rock beneath my fingers.

Hello again.

It’s been a long time since I have blogged. I could say it’s because so many complicated things have happened. And while that’s true – weddings and deaths, among them – that would not be the reason.

I haven’t been writing because I have been doing a lot of introspection. I gave myself a project in January and have been focusing on it. What is this inner topic? I wanted to become more in touch with my personal spirituality.

I have always been a spiritual person who has also had a complicated relationship with formal religion. And when I say complicated that is not some code for “I hate traditional faiths.” I absolutely do not. I have warmth and respect for the faith communities I have been part of. But ultimately, we were a bad fit.

Part of it is that I have a hard time with absolute truths and hard-and-fast rules about higher powers. My concept of what other people call God is VERY unconventional. And I am sure I will write about that someday. So, during 2024, I have been considering all the usual “big” subjects that have a connection with spirituality and faith – truth, eternity, death, love.

In addition to delving into this, I also wanted to live my spirituality on a smaller, more intimate scale. So, I have been appreciating wonders near at hand. I have been fascinated watching the two wild rabbits that live in my yard, reading the poems by Mary Oliver, smelling freshly crushed cardamom pods, or feeling the velvet of a mossy rock beneath my fingers. It took much of my life to realize that the divine was not only to be found in an ancient text or at the top of a lonely mountain. It could be at the supermarket, a library, or right outside my window.

I have had some wonderful experiences and personally meaningful insights. I have begun to understand clearly what is sacred to me and how to embody and live them day to day.

It was that understanding – that we all have access to the most magical and meaningful sanctity – that made my fingers start itching again for my keyboard.

There are insights and actions that I want to share with you. Don’t start slowly backing away. I am NEVER going to tell you how to find God or what the ultimate truth is. One of the realizations I have had is that so much of the world is in crisis precisely because one person wanted to tell another person – or a whole country – that their way of finding God, their way of seeing ultimate truth is the only way.

We see where that has gotten us.

Years ago in therapy, I was deeply depressed about my feelings about religion. My therapist asked me if I could create a religion what would it be? I told her I would never create one, I would want every person to create their own. I was joking at the time, but now I’m kind of serious.

I don’t want or expect everyone to wholesale leave their faith communities, though plenty of people have already done that. No, I am hoping more people take the time to look inside themselves and find their own sacred things and create their own rituals, meditations and holidays. These can be completely in line with a traditional faith. It can add to and enhance their experience and expression of them.

And for those of us who are DIY-ing it, well, we have the chance to let our spiritual imaginations soar. I’m not talking about selling all your belongings and moving to a commune. I’m not talking about trying to jam-pack your every moment with esoteric rituals.

I want to give people practical ideas about laying down their own paths to the sacred. I want to help people look inside themselves and find what they want to celebrate and how they can do that.

These could involve the daily, homely things like bringing a few sacred moments to cooking meals, waking up in the morning, or feeling gratitude.

Perhaps it’s something a little bigger. Maybe you want to create meaningful wedding vows or personal meditations but don’t know how to start. Maybe you want your cool aunt to officiate at your wedding, but none of you know how to do that. Maybe someone dear to you died during Covid without a funeral and now you want to mark and celebrate their life – but how?

If you are curious about how to bring to life your personal spirituality, I am ready to help you. If you want to create a big or little ritual or ceremony, I am here to make that happen with you, through coaching and writing.

Sacred celebrations should excite us. They should forge deep connections between us and ourselves, others, and the world.

Celebrationism, which is what I call all this, is not a dogmatic movement full of rules and regs. It’s an invitation to discover the sacred inside yourself and let it be your joyful, daily companion.

If that sounds good to you keep reading my stuff, here at Celebrationism.net, and follow me on Instagram at celebrationism_every_day.

Thank you.

Plant Something

I have tried this so many times. Growing things - flowers, vegetables, herbs. And I am trying again this year.

Pictures pop up in my social media feeds of my former attempts. A small tomato plant on my office desk near a window just before Covid stopped everything. Too Shady. A row of herbs on my kitchen windowsill back in 2016. Over-watered? Under-watered? Still not sure.

Now I’m back in the nursery, rubbing basil leaves between my fingers and smelling its sweetness begging to be mixed with tomatoes and mozzarella. Looking at all the colors of petunias: red, pink, purple, yellow, striped. Hearing the breeze blow through the rows and rows of small Japanese maple trees.

All this reminds me of childhood. Early in the spring, when it was still chilly at night, my father would gather us kids for flower planting. He’d picked out a few types. I remember marigolds, zinnias, and portulacas. He poured soil into tin foil containers. We made holes with our tiny fingers and carefully drop in the seeds. Then they would sit on the windowsill, carefully watered and watched. Until one day miniscule shoots and leaves popped up.

This was miraculous for us city children. And when it was finally warm enough, we transferred the little, green beings into the flower boxes on the terrace, seventeen stories up from the Manhattan streets. Every summer we had a small green Eden.

But I do not have my father’s green thumb. I kill plants – a lot. Even cactuses.

Carl is the master gardener. I just watch him and take lots of mental notes. Last spring, while we were still in the moving-in stage of our new house, we got a basil plant and it did live and produce pesto-y leaves all summer.

Now Carl has built me a raised herb bed out of a large dresser drawer. And in it are parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme. There is also some cilantro, oregano and two kinds of basil. Nearby are two other raised beds, empty right now. We will be purchasing some tomato plants this weekend. We already started our cucumbers from seeds. We also started corn. I’m not sure how that will grow.

Gardening is definitely good for our health. The Mayo Clinic says so. It reduces stress and anxiety. And having a structured routine – aka watering and weeding – has been linked to improved mental health. And how wonderful it is to spend time out in the fresh air and sunshine. There are more than seventy million household gardens in this country.

But why do I do it? I am, after all, the Black Thumb, Bringer of Death. I was reading some articles on gardening inspiration when I came across a quote by poet Mary Sarton. “A garden is always a series of losses set against a few triumphs, like life itself.”

And that made sense to me. Life is hard with lots of losses. At the risk of mixing my metaphors, look at baseball. When a player has a batting average of 300 or more, he is having an amazing season. That still means he is failing seven out of every ten times he’s at bat. That’s a lot more losses than wins. Ah, but sometimes he hits one up into the bleachers. He runs the bases all the way to home amid deafening cheers.

There are home runs in our lives too. First kisses. New jobs. new homes. They don’t happen by accident. They are the result of planting seeds in our life and nurturing seedlings. There are definitely fewer shoots than seeds. And fewer flowers too. But eventually there are flowers.

The ancient Roman poet Ovid described the festival of Floralia which honored the flower/fertility goddess Flora. The celebrants dressed in bright colors, drank alcohol, and released rabbits because they are, well, very fertile.

Hoping this new garden will be a green triumph set against my many agricultural losses, I will don an orange tee shirt, drink a beer and NOT release by pet rabbit Chester Bunnington. It wouldn’t help, he’s no longer fertile. I’ll bury a symbolic paper bunny under the herbs and recite two lines from Charlotte Smith’s 18th century poem “Flora.”

Flora descends, to dress the expecting earth,
Awake the germs, and call the buds to birth.

How are you dressing the earth? What buds do you want to call to birth? I want to hear all about your plans to grow something! Anything!

What Are Your Favorite Movie Conversations?

Last week I wrote about the importance of conversations and it got me curious. We are privy to thousands of private communications every day. I mean on film. Over a years’ time, how many conversations have we listened to between new loves, cranky coworkers, aliens just arriving on earth? Yes, they are imaginary, but I have certainly found a lot of truth in a good movie or TV series.

Please share with me: what are some of the best film conversations you have experienced? It can be from any movie or show – or play if that’s your thing – but I do ask that they show characters that are telling the truth. Or at least trying to tell the truth.

I am a giant Sci-fi nerd, so you won’t be surprised by my choices.

WARNING. THESE ARE SPOILER ALERT!!!!! But honestly, if these things come as a surprise to you, you have been living under a rock for the past forty-three years.

My fave movie convos:

When Darth Vader reveals to Luke Skywalker that he is his father, right after cutting off his son’s hand in The Empire Strikes Back (1980). Of course it’s horrible, but I do believe that Vader is honestly reaching out to Luke. I believe that he wants them to join together to somehow set the galaxy right. But Vader is also a mass murderer, so that’s never going to happen.

The next one is just as tragic, but much more uplifting. It’s Spock’s death scene in The Wrath of Khan (1982). Spock has saved everyone on the Enterprise by fixing the engine. But in doing so he exposed himself to radiation and is quickly dying. Captain Kirk arrives at the last few moments. And to make it even sadder, there is thick glass between the two of them.

Spock’s last words to his dumbstruck best friend, “I have been, and always shall be, your friend. Live long, and prosper" Talk about a meaningful conversation. I just love this model of adult platonic love.

So tell me, what are your choices for best film conversations? I cannot wait to read your comments.

Conversations Matter

So last week I wrote that words matter and talked about mantras and prayers that we recite alone, to ourselves. But, of course, conversations, which need at least two people, also really matter. 

"When we're brave enough to risk a conversation, we have the chance to rediscover what it means to be human. In conversation, we practice good human behaviors. We think, we laugh, we cry, we tell stories of our day. We become visible to one another. We gain insights and new understandings." - Author Margaret Wheatly

Two conversational rituals come to mind that I’m currently using and that bring me so much joy and comfort.

First, I have a monthly Zoom visit with my college friend Joanne. I have very mixed feelings about Zoom. It’s a great tool for work and for meeting distant clients. But always I prefer conversations in the same physical space. I love hugging people hello and goodbye. But Joanne lives in Hawaii.

We have a friendship built over more than three decades, spanning education, careers, births, and deaths. Suffice it to say, we know each other really well. When we talk, we catch each other up on what's going on with our families. We talk about our hobbies, what we are reading and how our pets are doing. None of that sounds Earth-shattering but I notice that after I click “leave the meeting” and I'm back in South Jersey not in Zoom-land, I feel a rush of love and connection. All of this from a simple conversation.

Very different is the daily hygge card's Carl and I discuss. If you don't know what hygge is, it's a Danish word for a quality of coziness and contentment. It's been a hot concept for the past few years on social media. A company has created a deck of cards called the Hygge Game. On each card are questions. “What is the most delicious meal you’ve ever eaten?” “What smell reminds you the most of your childhood?”

Almost every day we pick a card and answer some questions - sometimes leading to very funny or touching conversations. Happily, we both think we are in the best decade of our lives and that the kitchen is the most important room in our house. The question, what is the best song ever written, led to an hours-long conversation. I settled on Stevie Wonder’s Sir Duke.  Carl said he was only considering the last twenty years and chose Coldplay’s Clocks. Nothing momentous, but again, a very real way to connect.

Whether planned or not, meaningful conversation – the kind that gets beyond casual hello’s and chat about the weather – is actually good for our mental health.

Neuroscience has discovered that conversation triggers changes in our brains for better or worse, depending on the type of talk we engage in. Positive, trust-enhancing conversations stimulate the release of oxytocin and other hormones that we connect with love and connection. This leads to being better able to think strategically, empathize, and anticipate the future. It even helps protect the heart against stress. Stressful conversations, on the other hand, shut all that down. They stimulate cortisol which makes us more reactive and sensitive. Under its sway, we see things as more negative than they actually are.

“In the best conversations, you don't even remember what you talked about, only how it felt. It felt like we were in some place your body can't visit, some place with no ceiling and no walls and no floor and no instruments” John Green

I have had this experience many times. In my memory I can see the faces of Carl, or Joanne, or a myriad of other beloved people. I can hear the sound of their voices. I can feel that can feel that delightful sensation of being embraced by their words. But, absolutely, the actual words and other details of where we were, are much harder to recall. And that’s OK because, in the end, the love and connection is what matters.

I would love to hear about your best conversations.

Words Matter

I love words. I like writing them out on paper or typing them on a screen. I like whispering them to myself. And I love when they come together in the forms of a poems, song, prayer or mantra. In these piercing, lyrical patterns, which we give voice to, they bring us so much beauty and comfort.

“Words mean more than what is set down on paper. It takes the human voice to infuse them with shades of deeper meaning.”
― Maya Angelou, “I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings”

I know we are pretty familiar with what a poem, song, or prayer is. But what about a mantra? The Oxford Dictionary tells us a mantra is, “a word or sound repeated to aid concentration in meditation.” It comes from Sanskrit, an ancient language from South Asia. We may know that mantras are used in Hinduism, but sacred chanting is part of many spiritual traditions.

But mantras are not unique to Hinduism. Most faith traditions have sacred language that is chanted. Some may remember the album “Chant: by the Benedictine monks of Santo Domingo de Silos in Spain. It rose to #3 on the Billboard 200 music chart in 1994. Mantras and chants have a unique power to touch our spirits.

What does it do for us? According to WebMD.com, using mantras can have health benefits. They can help generate a sense of calm or relaxation; distract from distressing emotions; reduce stress, and achieve a positive mood. This has been measured in multiple studies.

I can add my own anecdotal evidence to this. The blessing for my back pain that I created a week ago, helped lift my spirits and distract me from frustration. (And my back is all better!!!)  I have also created more for myself and others. I am currently working on a short meditation for a friend who is about to give birth. And when I step out the door each morning at dawn to walk my dog, I recite aloud the following:

Rise, take up the day with energy restored. The morning air is awash with angels. There is no here the morning does not go.

That is a combination of my own words and lines from the poet Richard Wilbur and another poet who escapes my memory and my google-search abilities. These morning lines are easy to remember. They brings me peace and inspire me. I actually feel my energy rise as as say the words aloud.

Words matter. We hear that all the time about cruel or negative things we might say in haste and then wish we could take back. But they also matter in the positive sense. We can spur ourselves on when times are tough. We can give our loved ones a comforting verbal hug with kind words. We can even cheer up a stranger with a friendly “Good Morning.”

I will end with some words from Andrew Solomon’s ground-breaking book, “The Noonday Demon: An Atlas of Depression.”

“Words mean more than what is set down on paper. It takes the human voice to infuse them with shades of deeper meaning.”

Brave is What You Do

“Scared is what you’re feeling. Brave is what you’re doing.” - Emma Donoghue

A quote from Room by Emma Donoghue which is about a mother and her young son escaping from a kidnapper:

“Scared is what you're feeling. Brave is what you're doing.”

I love this because it says so concisely that fear is a feeling and it’s real. Bravery is a verb - an action - and it’s something we do. Yes, even when we are afraid.

And helping people do those things is important to me. So, we will be adding a second Bravery Workshop - the dates to be announced.

Have a wonderful weekend. Do brave things!!!!!

Ouch - OK, Bless That

I hurt my back on Saturday. New house, new vegetable garden. We have a nice sunny spot right next to the garage, but it’s sloped. Carl was working on digging post holes for the fence to keep out the deer. I was moving dirt to make it all a little flatter. I wasn’t being particularly careful with my 57-year-old body.

I figured I would be sore the next day. But when I woke up Sunday, oh boy, the pain was severe. I pulled some muscle in my core and it made all movement difficult, from getting out of bed to pulling up my socks, to opening my car door. Even now days later it still hurts. I know it will get better, but I’m not sure how long that will take.

I reach for an oven mitt on the back of the kitchen counter and “OUCH,” the muscle twinges. I bend over to put Felix on his leash and “OUCH,” the muscle twinges. I sigh. I grimace. I scold my Saturday-afternoon-self that didn’t take better care as I shoveled and tossed what must have been tons of dirt. OK, maybe “tons” is an exaggeration. But I am still angry at myself.

And a small voice in my heart whispers, “You have to bless that.”

“What?” I respond to myself, “No. Why should I bless this nagging pain that makes everything harder?”

Why, indeed? Why bless the pain?

As a ritualist, blessings are part of my daily work. They are tiny rituals, but they are emotionally powerful. There are the big, formal blessings at weddings and funerals. We also bless the arrivals of babies, new houses, and even puppies. And every culture I have researched employs the language of blessing. And you find them in every corner of the world. People use them to invoke God’s favor, to request protection from evil, and to make something holy.

That last one, the making something holy, is the meaning that resonates most with me. When I think of blessing something, it brings up feelings of gratitude, hope and reverence. If I say grace before a meal – even if it’s a moment’s thought, I am noting my appreciation for those who grew, transported, and made the food. I hope they are well and that the food nourishes my body. And through that I can see how I’m connected as part of this amazing web of people, plants and animals that keeps us all alive. That brief revelation certainly feels reverent.

“Gratitude bestows reverence.....changing forever how we experience life and the world.”
― John Milton

OK, that sounds lovely. But bless my back pain? Come on!

I know it’s pretty counterintuitive. And I’m not sure I could use this spiritual tool for a truly dire health crisis. But this is more of an annoyance pain. And it is perfect for blessing.

What am I blessing, exactly? Not the actual spasm of pain I experience. I am no masochist. Instead, I bless the reminder of how my body works, how delicately all the parts are connected. And most of all, I am taking account of how easily I forget how good it feels when everything is working together properly. Good health always seems to run on in the background, never calling attention to itself.

This idea echoes a line from Alexandre Dumas’s The Count of Monte Cristo. “Those who have been tossed on the stormy waters of the ocean on a few frail planks can alone realize the blessings of fair weather.” Most days the weather is fair. Most days, thankfully, I do not have pain. But I do not want to take that for granted.

I want to take that moment of pain as I pull up my socks and remember that usually it is easy and that I will be healed again. I want to remind myself to appreciate that ease. And finally, I also want to remind myself clearly that someday, if I am lucky enough to get old, pain will be more prevalent than ease – and that I will handle that, too, with gratitude.

The wording of the blessing is still a work in progress. But I am thinking of something like this: “Blessed are you, little storm clouds, that reminds me of the sun behind you.”

Or something like that. And that reminder transforms the painful pulling up of socks into a tiny moment of sanctity. I am grateful and aware that I am part of this amazing web of life.

Playing with words, creating language to make the ordinary sacred is one of my great joys. If you would like to work on ways to enhance your everyday spirituality, you can contact me at celebrationism1@gmail.com.

I will also be running a two-part workshop on creating a bravery ritual at the Pitman Wellness Community, Thursday, April 20 and 27. 7 to 8:30PM Spaces are limited.

Without Fear?

I have been thinking a lot about courage, lately. What does it mean to be brave? I will be doing a workshop on creating a personal bravery ritual, so of course the topic has been bouncing around in my brain. I usually start my researching process by going back to the actual dictionary definition of the word I am focusing on. So here is what the dictionary says about courage. “The quality of mind or spirit that enables a person to face difficulty, danger, pain, etc., without fear.”

I’m sorry, but that definition sounds wrong to me. I agree courage IS a quality of mind or spirit. And it DOES enable someone to face challenging situations. It’s the “without fear” part that I have trouble with.

I am a very anxious person. Anxiety has been my companion since the time before I had memories. Let me give you some examples. As a kid I was scared of:

· The dark – OK that’s normal for childhood.

· The subway – I got over that one fast. You have to when you grow up in New York City

· Weird diseases – Leprosy. People do not show your kids the 1959 movie Ben-Hur when they’re little!

That was just the highlights of grammar school. The list could have gone on and on.

I am 57 and my fears have not gone away. They are still hanging around causing trouble. Now they just take more grown-up forms. Currently the things that frighten me revolve around the health  my adult children, losing all my money, or my brakes giving out on the highway.

I do face them, however. I would not be able to function in the world if I didn’t. I stop myself from constantly calling my children to make sure they are safe, even though my imagination has them dead in a ditch every other week. I spend money in a reasonable way, despite the fear that when I open my bank app, my balance will be zero the . And I do drive on the highway. I even get a little thrill when I accelerate around a truck.

OK, I know this is not as dramatic as running into a burning building to save puppies, but I’m still doing it. And I feel brave doing it.  I feel brave even though I also feel scared. Whether it’s a tiny fear tucked into my pocket or a gigantic one that threatens to smother me, it comes along for the ride. For me there is no bravery without fear. So Meriam Webster IS wrong. And I am not the only one who believes that.

Mark Twain wrote, “Courage is resistance to fear, mastery of fear - not absence of fear.” And that’s awesome because, I, and everyone else on this planet, are afraid of things that we actually have to deal with. Sure I can avoid roller coasters forever. Not facing that fear has little to no effect on my quality of life. But flying, which also terrifies me, has to be faced. I have one child living in California and another in Spain.

Generally, we don’t have a choice about having to go out into the world. We can’t always keep our loved ones next to us, safe and sound. We most definitely will experience injuries and loss. And that is why I am creating the workshop on bravery rituals.  I want to help find ways to make fear-facing a little bit easier.

We could all use a little help and support while we face those challenges. Think of the scene in Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. The students all line up to face a boggart, a magical creature that takes the form of one’s worst fear. Professor Lupin teaches them a spell to transform what they are seeing into something that makes them laugh. The giant spider that horrifies Ron Weasley suddenly gets eight roller-skates that send it flailing wildly across the room to howls of laughter from the students.

My support comes in the form of ceremony and ritual. I am not going to hand you a wand. We are going to do some inner work and create something personalized for you to use to inspire you to face your scariest challenges. Let me know if this a path you would like to explore.

Signs of Spring

“The earth laughs in flowers.”

Ralph Waldo Emerson

My Paperbush in bloom.

Ceremonies and rituals are my life. I think about them all the time. I help people create them and officiate them. Some are complex ballets with weeks of preparation, multiple steps, and elaborate props.

And some are simple rituals that just ask you to pause, notice, and be grateful.

I am currently enjoying one of those. It’s a seasonal thing that takes place just outside my door. To the right of my small front porch grows a Paperbush, scientific name Edgeworthia Chrysantha. It’s a native of China and I’d never seen one until I moved here eighteen months ago.

Like most deciduous plants, it drops its leaves in the fall. But then it does an odd thing. In early winter flower buds form. And the plant holds them like little fists all through the frozen months. They sleep there outside my kitchen window through snow and ice and terrible winds. They are my little promise that I see each day - “Don’t worry, winter won’t last forever.”

And it doesn’t. Forsythia and snow drops may be the classic heralds of spring, but not for me. Because right now, when the mornings can still be frosty, and few things are budding, the Paperbush blooms.

The blossoms hang downward and resemble glowing yellow lanterns. And the scent! Oh, its heady perfume greets me every time I open the door.

So now, whenever I leave home, or arrive, I stop and smell the flowers. At least two, but maybe three or four. Or more. I just pause, notice, and am grateful.

That’s it. That’s the ritual. Nothing complicated. Just a few moments of sensory bliss and the gratitude that for a few weeks each year it is mine.

Remember to create, celebrate, and gather.

(I hope what I write here on Celebrationism.net is helpful. But I know that it cannot replace actual therapy. If you are dealing with serious emotional challenges, please seek out a mental health professional.)

Feel free to leave a comment. Click “read more” if the comment box is not visible.

Three Questions

Lately, three themes have been bouncing around in my mind: promises, home, and wonder. I have been pondering them for several things - my blog, my ceremony work and my personal life. I am preparing a workshop on how to write meaning-filled wedding vows. I just finished a home-rededication ceremony. And I am hoping to experience a little wonder in the upcoming holiday season.

And while all these things can be life-affirming and fun, they are also “big” ideas. I find myself asking am I really up to dealing with such immense concepts? Can I get them right? Can I find “the” answer?

Maybe the answer is to just keep being curious.

Then I listened to Krista Tippett, whose voice never fails to inspire me. She is the creator and host of the podcast On Being. Whether interviewing physicists, poets, archbishops, or activists, she opens our eyes not to just new subjects, but new ways of seeing. I cannot emphasize enough how amazing she is as a resource for exploring important questions.

And questions were the focus of a nine-minute piece she just put out. I had to laugh. There I was pondering questions and answers, and the universe sets before me someone I greatly respect, taking up that very subject.

She talked about living the questions that perplex us. She brought up my favorite quote from the poet Rainer Maria Rilke from his “Letters to a Young Poet.” 

(Published posthumously in 1929, it was a collection of ten letters of advice to Franz Xaver Kappus on writing, creating, and living. The 19-year-old military student wanted someone to tell him if his poetry was any good, and how did one actually  become a poet.)

Rilke’s advice was not exactly a step-by-step manual. He wrote, “Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books that are now written in a very foreign tongue. Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer.”

When I read that years ago, it knocked me over with its depth and simplicity.  And since then I have tried to be a little easier on myself when I feel confused by life and downright harassed by all the possible answers. I have, indeed, tried to live the questions.

Tippett had a similar reaction to his words. Questions became a practice for her. She went on to discuss the qualities of the questions we ask each other and ourselves. I took some notes while listening to her. The following is a bit paraphrased:

“Questions elicit answers in their likeness. It’s hard to respond to a combative question with anything but a combative answer. The opposite is also true. It’s hard to resist a generous question. There is something redemptive and life-giving about asking a better question. We are shaped by the quality of the questions asked of us as much as the answers we have in us.”

She sees creating, and asking, and living morally imaginative questions as a spiritual discipline. She encourages us to formulate a question and commit to living with it for a month or a year and see where it takes us, what it shows us.

So I am taking the three themes I have been pondering, promises, home, and wonder, and turning them into questions I can work on living.

Why do we make promises, what gift does a vow made give to us?

How can I really live in my home, not just inhabit it?

How can we create child-like wonder in our ordinary days?

I totally get Franz Xaver Kappus’s craving for a different response. There is a part of me that chomps at the bit to construct some great answers to my queries. Yet, I am willing to try to delay that desire. I am willing to try to live the questions and see where they take me. 

Anyway, I am beginning to think that the really good questions are never truly answered – not definitively. Or maybe the answer is to just keep being curious.

Remember to create, celebrate, and gather.

(I hope what I write here on Celebrationism.net is helpful. But I know that it cannot replace actual therapy. If you are dealing with serious emotional challenges, please seek out a mental health professional.)

Feel free to leave a comment. Click “read more” if the comment box is not visible.

What Makes a House a Home

Today’s question is inspired by the Home Rededication Ceremony I just did. What I want to know is: what events or things made you house feel like a home? I cannot wait to hear you answers!!!!

Home Sweet Home

Lisa and her parents’ wedding photo

A house is made with walls and beams; a home is built with love and dreams.

– Ralph Waldo Emerson

Recently I facilitated a Home Rededication Ceremony for my friend Lisa in the suburbs of Philadelphia. She has spent ten years in her fieldstone house and wanted to celebrate that fact and look forward to the future with her friends and neighbors. We gathered in her back yard. Mother Nature had given us a beautiful day.

Lisa and I have been friends since high school in New York City. She has lived many places  - Upstate New York, San Diego, Toms River, NJ and the Philadelphia neighborhood of Roxborough. But her current home is most near to her heart.

“I love spending time here,” says Lisa, “I feel safe and at peace inside. And the backyard is full of natural beauty. Knowing that my friends and family enjoy spending time here too, makes it more special. It’s my gathering place.”

So, she gathered about a dozen people to take part in her “Home Sweet Home” ceremony. We decided to focus on the people and events that turned her house into a home.

“Within the theme that Lisa chose of Home Sweet Home, it is understood that there is a process. A house becomes a home. An empty house is just a physical structure of wood and brick, glass and metal, tile, and insulation. When someone moves into it, and begins to live within its walls, only then does it become a home.” I told everyone.

Lisa and me - on her front steps

It also felt really good to talk about Lisa’s parents, Len and Yvonne, who both died in 2011. With the money they left her, she was able to purchase the house. Their last act of parental care was to help her establish this home. Although they were never there, their presence was deeply felt.

I incorporated several ritual elements, the first of which is the libation.

From the dawn of history and in all corners of the globe, people have poured out onto the ground libations of food or drink. This is a spiritual act. Generally, it is done to honor the gods or to honor the ancestors. In this case we were tying together the wonderful contribution by Lisa's parents and the things that transformed the house into a home.

Each guest got a tiny packet of lavender buds. (Not food but very sweet smelling and easy to scatter.) We had several readings that highlighted the special events of the home. It was a safe haven during Super Storm Sandy. It was a flame that ignited her creative work. It was a clubhouse for dancing and toasting marshmallows.

Lisa’s friends read and as each finished, together we responded, “But every house where love abides, and friendship is a guest. Is surely home, and home-sweet-home: for there the heart can rest.” (From a poem by Richard Van Dyke.)

 Then we sprinkled a few buds onto the ground. It was a ceremony that connected us to our most ancient roots.

But I also wanted to give a nod to the modern and so I added the house hippo. Wait, you don’t know about the good luck of having a house hippo?

It all started in 1999. Canadian Public Television created a public service spot to help teach kids critical thinking. The one-minute video talked about how tiny “house hippos” were invading homes and causing trouble. The adorable piece showed a very realistic little hippopotamus rummaging through the kitchen for crumbs, escaping the cat, and curling up inside a mitten to sleep.

Basically, it was to let children know you can’t believe everything just because you see it on TV. Maybe kids did learn that, but it wasn’t the only outcome. Based on this public service announcement, for years now, Canadians and Americans have been buying little hippos and placing them in their homes for good luck. I myself have a miniscule ceramic pachyderm on my kitchen windowsill who is obviously bringing me health and prosperity.

It is heartening that humans keep creating new rituals and traditions like the house hippo. However, because my friend is a great lover of all things Australian, I got her a tiny ceramic house koala. My own twist on the tradition. She has since placed it on her kitchen windowsill.

When the ceremony was over, all the guests wrote good wishes for Lisa and hung them on a little tree. Someone brought a cake with a picture of the house on it. That really was a “home sweet home.”

The Wish Tree

The home should be the treasure chest of living.

– architect Le Corbusier

We love our homes, whether a little cottages, an apartments, an Airstream trailer or a marble mansion. They are our nests for comfort, creativity, and connection. The day we move in our first box is the opening of a great new book we can’t wait to dive into. But as the years pass, we start new chapters in that book called home and those are also important moments that deserve commemorating.

If you would like to host a new home dedication or re-dedication, contact me at celebrationism1@gmail.com or 267-496-3881. I will create a ceremony full of sweetness that will reflect your treasure chest of living.

Remember to create, celebrate, and gather.

 (I hope what I write here on Celebrationism.net is helpful. But I know that it cannot replace actual therapy. If you are dealing with serious emotional challenges, please seek out a mental health professional.)

Feel free to leave a comment. Click “read more” if the comment box is not visible.

Weekly Question:

This week I wrote about choosing a personal symbol. What is a symbol that represents you? Anything can be a symbol.

When the Signs are Right

“It’s up to each individual consciousness to develop its own symbol or symbols; its own symbolic universe.” - From the unpublished notes of writer and philosopher Henry Corbin

 But why?

 When I studied ceremony and ritual at the Celebrant Foundation & Institute, we were assigned to figure out and present to the class a symbol that was important to us. If I remember correctly, there were hearts and trees and moons. One person chose a flamingo. I picked a spiral. 

Spirals have always fascinated me. I have been doodling them forever in the margins of my notebooks. I think, at first, I just loved their hypnotic nature. But in middle school, when I became obsessed with mythology, I started seeing them in photos of ancient ruins all over the world. There they were carved into stone in Ireland, Colorado, and the islands of Spain, and painted into countless aboriginal works from Australia. 

I researched the meanings and found that the spiral represents many things including life, creation, birth and rebirth, evolution, awareness, and growth or . Awesome, positive associations!

 I kept doodling.

 Years later I was listening to a talk by a rabbi who said that he’d heard too many times that life was a circle. He disagreed. I will paraphrase his words. “Life is seasonal, so I understand why people compare it to a circle. But it’s just not correct. Even when we come back to something, be it a holiday or a milestone like the birth of a child, we are different. We have grown, evolved. We are in a different place. Rather than a circle, life is a spiral.”

 That resonated with me. The same events may happen, but WE are not the same. This is what I shared with the class. But for days afterwards I kept thinking about it.  Creation. Awareness. The passage of time. I wanted to do more with this than just understand it. I wanted to incorporate it into my life. But what could I do with the spiral? I could get a spiral necklace, but I already had jewelry that I wore every day. It could be a tattoo. I have one tattoo but was not ready for another one. Maybe one day.

 A few days later, an idea popped into my brain: physical movement. Many faith traditions have hand and body movements that are connected to a prayer or meditation. The sign of the cross in Catholicism. Bowing and swaying during parts of Jewish services. Tai chi is a physical representation of Taoism. I decided to create my own movement using a spiral.

 That was a year and a half ago and now when I notice that I am feeling anxious or a little down, I make a spiral with my fingers over my heart. And I say to myself, “As I was, as I am, as I will be.” It reminds me that life is a combination of change and return. I always feel a bit more grounded and connected when I do this. Finding this symbol and using it has enhanced my spiritual life.

 This past weekend I did a one-evening workshop on discovering your personal symbology at Float Haven Spa in Pitman, NJ. It was a small group, but two participants had an unexpected and delightful coincidence. It was a woman and her teenage son. We had gone through our discussion of letting your imagination go in search of a relevant symbol. Writing or drawing in stream-of-consciousness. Mining your memories. Noticing the things that continue to capture your attention.

 We also started discussing using a favorite fairytale, story, or song as a jumping off point. I suggested that Harry Potter might choose his lightning-shaped scar as his symbol. But what would it mean to him? The heavy responsibility of being a hero? Or that love can protect you from the worst actions? I reminded the participants that they might not find their "forever" symbol at that moment; that they could repeat the exercise when they were at home and feeling more centered. 

Then we started to work. Calming music from my phone (Spotify’s Binaural Beats playlist) set the mood. Task one: imagine what your symbol might be. Use words or images. Set down as many as you can, so you have a good list to choose from. Task two: Once you have settled on a symbol, draw or write it in the center of your paper and begin exploring why you chose it. What does it mean to you? What memories is it connected to? How does it make you feel?  The room had that "hum" of people thinking and writing.

Finally, the time was up. I asked if anyone wanted to share. (If people don’t want to share, that’s totally OK.) The mom and son were open to speaking. They had not been sitting close, so they could not see what the other’s paper. 

 Mom went first. She had drawn a large tree. She had written phrases like "Provides a safe space," "Has strong roots and the ability to bend," "reaches for the sunlight." It was lovely.

 Then it was her son’s turn. But she caught sight of his paper before he started speaking. “Oh wow, look at this,” she squealed happily. Her teenage son had drawn a sapling. He had drawn a tiny tree and next to it, “This is a story beginning ...  it will lead to strong roots and a strong core ...but it has the potential to touch the sky itself and protect people from the rain and be a shelter for the weak."

These two people had not simply identified their symbol. Through the symbols they also identified how they were connected to each other. The symbol of a tree also displayed their shared values and hopes. They both cherish strong foundations, reaching for their dreams, and protecting others.

The moment had turned from merely lovely to deeply meaningful. 

“Far more powerful than money, or even land or violence, are symbols. Symbols are stories. Symbols are pictures, or items, or ideas that represent something else. Human beings attach such meaning and importance to symbols that they can inspire hope.” – fantasy author Lia Habel

 If you are interested in exploring your own symbols and personal spirituality, contact me about a one-on-one ritual counseling session or a workshop for your organization.

Remember to create, celebrate, and gather.

 (I hope what I write here on Celebrationism.net is helpful. But I know that it cannot replace actual therapy. If you are dealing with serious emotional challenges, please seek out a mental health professional.)

Feel free to leave a comment. Click “read more” if the comment box is not visible.

The House of Order - and Chaos

I’d like to think I am an orderly writer. Ahead of starting a blog essay, I spend several days thinking about it and writing up notes. I plan out the anecdotes that will be part of it and my quotes from famous people. I am clear on what I, the writer, want to get across to you, the reader.

But I am in front of my screen, not exactly sure where this is going to go.

For the past few weeks my life has been chaotic, but chaotic for all the best reasons. My eldest Emma got engaged to her longtime boyfriend – whom I adore. And my two other children came home for a long overdue visit. My second child Golde lives in Madrid, Spain, and I have not hugged her since before Covid. My youngest Lucas lives in San Francisco and it’s been a year since I saw him.

I had weeks to prepare for their trips home, yet as the day got closer, I was filled with trepidation. I wanted everything to be perfect, so I really overthought it. I wanted to plan out every second and have them with me 24-7. I even fantasized about locking them in my basement and never letting them leave again.

I know that was unrealistic. And I’m not just talking about the basement confinement. All the hour-to-hour scheduling and just having them with me was silly. They are adults and there were more people than just me that they needed to connect with. Emma (who, thank goodness, is local) reassured me that everything would be OK, and that I just had to let go of my anxiety.

So, I let chaos in. No plans. Just went with it. And I think it actually was OK.

We hugged – a lot. We decided at the last moment where we were going to eat. They visited their people. We watched movies and played with the dog. We shopped. No itineraries were needed. There was much greasy food eaten. There were suitcases and clothing all over my house. The dog was wild with happiness. I know how he felt. I treasured every moment.

My own day to day routine was, of course, shot to hell. I’d taken vacation days from work, so there was no packing my lunch, commuting to Mount Laurel, or keeping up with my responsibilities at the office. It was great to not be at work. But I also know that I am a creature of habit, and my habits bring me a fair amount of comfort.

I eat the same thing for breakfast almost every day – oatmeal and iced coffee. I meditate before leaving the house. I listen to podcasts during my drive. I pick out my clothes, the night before. It’s not that I don’t like to try new things or challenge myself. I just enjoy novelty and boundary-pushing in my own way.

I rarely deviate from my routine – except for vacations, parties, when I’m sick, or for this wonderful family reunion. From these examples, you can see that three out of four reasons for personal anarchy are truly positive. Still chaos can make me queasy – hence my detailed plans for parties and travelling.

But for the ten days of my children’s visit, order went out the window. And that was hard. I see my ordinary life as a sturdy framework of the expected and the planned. Within this “house” I can choose to open the door to the spontaneity and really enjoy it. Conversely, when I am in the house of chaos - whether due to travel, or sickness - if I bring a little bit of my structure with me, I can keep my balance.

What was my teensy bit of structure? Early morning walks with my dog and the poem I say with him. Each day, I take Felix outside and I recite aloud Mary Oliver’s “Why I wake Early.”

This you must understand about me. Poetry is my prayer. And Mary Oliver is my patron saint.

In this short poem, she greets the sun which spreads light over the world to fields and flowers, and even into the windows of the “crotchety.” There are many mornings I know I am the crotchety. She thanks the sun for keeping us from “ever- darkness” and “holding us in the great hands of light.” Her words bring me such a feeling of well-being – even during the long stretch of winter when I am walking before the sun is even up.

Why have I chosen this poem?

There are many days I don’t want to leave the house. However, having a dog necessitates it. More than just wanting to remain behind closed doors, I sometimes don’t want to move forward with the day. I want time to stand still. Oh, my goodness, so many times during my children’s visit, I wanted to freeze time so they would never leave. I would have been willing to live in perpetual chaos, if only time would stop.

But that’s not how life works. The days, the weeks, the years progress. There was nothing I could do to change that, so I decided I’d better learn how to celebrate it. This morning poem/prayer is part of that reconciling with reality.

And this morning poem/prayer honoring the onward march of time was my lifeline to the house of order. It did its job keeping me balanced.

So, on our last afternoon all together, Emma, Golde, Lucas, and I created something as a group in my living room. During one of our shopping trips, we had bought paint and brushes, because we are a crafty family. And I had saved a giant piece of cardboard from a delivery at work – because, well, I’m a weirdo.

We laid it on the coffee table and each of us took a quarter of it. We painted. We painted whatever came to mind. Like this essay, we thought nothing through. Emma painted flowers. Golde, a design that turned into a face. Lucas, a truly bizarre abstraction of colors and line. I painted the sun and around it, the final line of Mary Oliver’s poem: “Watch now, how I start my day in happiness, in kindness.”

Whether one is in the house of order or the house of chaos, and whether one is comfortable or not, the days still start. Let’s start them all with happiness, with kindness.

Remember to create, celebrate, and gather.

(I hope what I write here on Celebrationism.net is helpful. But I know that it cannot replace actual therapy. If you are dealing with serious emotional challenges, please seek out a mental health professional.)

Feel free to leave a comment. Click “read more” if the comment box is not visible.

Tea with Lady Whistledown?

Celebrationism Zoom Two will be Wednesday September 28th at 7:30PM. I may not be Lady Whistledown, but I share her interest in all things Bridgerton. Do you?

I am trying something a little different this time with the Zoom – a meaningful conversation (like our discussion on bravery rituals) that is also light-hearted. I think movies and TV shows can be fun, romantic, AND explore deep topics.

Truly, I have had some of the most profound realizations about life after watching an episode of Dr. Who or Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

And now Bridgerton – Shonda Rhimes’s lavish Regency drama on Netflix – which I wrote about a couple of weeks ago. Don’t let the gowns, balls and ill-fated romances fool you, there’s depth here. The show has gotten me to think about the nature of love, friendship, and sharing your innermost self.

But to really enjoys the conversation, here are the two questions we are going to discuss. A little homework for you to prepare ahead of time:

•         What is one ritual or ceremony you have seen depicted on the show that you really connected with? And, no, it does not need to be a formal ceremony like a wedding.

•         What is a meaning-filled question that you feel Bridgerton has explored?

So, if you’d like to join us for this Celebrationism Zoom, email me at Celebrationism1@gmail.com. And I will send you the link.

Question: Have You Ever Chosen Your Pain?

Monday, I wrote about how sometimes we can choose the kind of pain we experience. Have you ever chosen one kind of pain over another and felt the choice was really meaningful for you?

Choose Your Pain Wisely

“What is the noble truth of suffering. Birth is suffering, aging is suffering and sorrow and lamentation, pain, grief, and despair are suffering.” – The Buddha

I love Bridgerton, the Netflix, romantic drama set in Regency England. The gowns. The balls. The scandals. It is a guilty pleasure I know I share with many of you. (Yes, that’s a far cry from quote above, but I will connect the dots, I promise.) Anyway, back to Bridgerton. I am currently in the middle of Season Two and the big wedding has had its unexpected twist. I won’t say more, I don’t want to spoil anything. But I do want to discuss a moment in episode three “A Bee in Your Bonnet.”  The eldest Bridgerton son, Anthony, has decided that after many years of licentiousness, he must marry and is discussing a particular maiden with his mother Violet.

There are eight Bridgerton children and Violet was pregnant with her youngest daughter when her beloved husband Edmund died. He died horrifically right in front of Anthony, then a teenager, from an allergic reaction to a bee sting. The event deeply scarred the young man, who had to grow up overnight. He had to immediately take on the responsibilities of a giant estate and watch how grief almost killed his mother.

Seeing that he swore off love and now tells his mother he only wants an amiable, appropriate wife. He neither wishes to suffer the anguish of losing someone he loves nor cause such pain with his own death. He refuses to listen to Violet’s urging that love should be the centerpiece of any marriage. He simply walks away from her.

And I so wanted Violet to stop him. I wanted her to sit him down and tell him the truth. I imagined her saying:

“Anthony, all lives have pain. Lots of pain. And discomfort. And anger. And fear. That is inevitable. Most of it is out of our hands, but sometimes, you can choose the kind of pain you want to experience. Which life would you be content with? The pain of losing the person you love to death? Or the pain of going through an entire life with no love at all? Both of those are a monstrous amount of pain, but those are the options. So, choose your pain wisely.”

That might have gotten through to him. He might have picked love. Certainly, it would have made for a much less interesting Season Two. Drama makes stories better. Drama makes real life worse.

And in the middle of it all the messiness of “real” life are our thoughts on happiness, joy, pain, and contentment and what we choose to pursue. At one time or another, we are all Anthony thinking about making the safer, “happier” choice. What I’m about to say is my own personal take on this topic. There is a myriad of opinions on such huge subjects as these.

The way I look at it everyone is searching for happiness. Anthony believed that having an appropriate partner who would fulfill the role of wife and mother dutifully, but would ignite no passion in him, would make him happy. He might have been correct. But happiness, in my opinion, is not the best goal to aim for.

There’s a lot of talk about happiness out there right now. The twenty-first century has seen the explosive growth of positive psychology, which studies human thought, feeling and behavior with a focus on our strengths, and how to build a good life. It spotlights resiliency and learned optimism. It is where I found the importance of daily gratitude and how to view roadblocks as challenges rather than failures. There are tons of books and podcasts on the subject.

And this is truly wonderful. We should all look for ways to build positive emotions and happiness habits.

But there is also toxic positivity. Toxic positivity is a dysfunctional desire to see everything in a positive light, to always look on the bright side, to see “negative” emotions such as sadness as a personal failure. Feeling all the feelings is healthy. Happiness is a normal reaction to getting a raise; sadness to your best friend moving far away. And we shouldn’t ever feel ashamed for appropriate anger and grief – even if others are advising us to move on. We should move on when we are ready, and if we can’t, we should seek out a mental health professional.

So, I have been wary in the past few years of enthusiastically seeking happiness at breakneck speed. Joy and contentment feel far more reasonable to me than happiness. They do not require the absence of pain, but rather rely on internal qualities and values.

My daughter Emma tells me that sunflowers always bring her joy.

Writer and scholar Brene Brown agrees. She has spent the past twenty years researching and writing about human emotions. I often refer to her latest book Atlas of the Heart when I want to understand what a particular emotion is in its essence. According to her, happiness does not equal joy, nor does it equal contentment. Happiness is a positive emotion that is more externally driven and circumstantial.

Joy, per Brene Brown, is “sudden,” and “high-intensity.” It is when we feel connected. “Joy expands our thinking and attention…” She notes that Oxford researcher and moral philosopher Matthew Kuan Johnson imparts that in joy, “we don’t lose ourselves, we become more truly ourselves.” I have felt joy watching my children embrace each other at my father’s wake. I felt grief-stricken too, but also definately connected, my heart expansive.

According to Brown, contentment, which correlate to a sense of satisfaction and even to a biologically healthier life, is “the feeling of completeness, appreciation and ‘enoughness’ that we experience when our needs are satisfied.” And as someone who was raised to have their ethics and morals drive their behaviors, I would add this. I am content when most of the time I am living my values. It’s the familiar comfort as I finish reading a great book or put all my groceries away.

So even amidst the most annoying circumstances I can find things that bring me joy. The traffic can be a crawl and I am already late, but I can listen to my favorite music on my car stereo or find a particularly beautiful cloud. Even in tragedy I can be content. I can watch the nightmare that is the nightly news and feel my heart break, BUT ALSO know that I have educated myself on the issues, been careful of how I have voted, and, when I can, donated to worthy organizations.

This is joy and contentment that is beyond the happiness I also crave.

What does all this have to do with ritual and ceremony? Rituals and ceremonies – the more official types and the ones we create for ourselves - can enhance the wonderful things that happen. They can heighten joy and contentment. And they can bring comfort to the lowest of days.

A lovingly crafted eulogy helps all remember the stories and qualities of a loved one who has passed. A moment of prayer or reflection makes the start of a trip something sacred. Lighting birthday candles illuminates the lessons of year before as well as the hopes for the year ahead.

So much of our time is joy and pain braided together. The way we mark and celebrate them can become like golden frames that hold works of art. Life is our most precious work of art. We can all learn from the words of Thich Nhat Hanh, the Buddhist monk and peace activist who died this past January.

“Don’t throw away your suffering. Touch your suffering. Face it directly, and your joy will become deeper. You know that suffering and joy are both impermanent. Learn the art of cultivating joy. Practice like this, and you come to the third turning of the Third Noble Truth, the “Realization” that suffering and happiness are not two. When you reach this stage, your joy is no longer fragile. It is true joy.”

I am still not sure if Anthony Bridgerton finds happiness in Season Two. He has certainly suffered.  But I hope he ultimately chooses joy and contentment.

Remember to create, celebrate, and gather.

(I hope what I write here on Celebrationism.net is helpful. But I know that it cannot replace actual therapy. If you are dealing with serious emotional challenges, please seek out a mental health professional.)

Feel free to leave a comment. Click “read more” if the comment box is not visible.

Tuesday is for Questioning: What objects would you place on your personal altar?

What objects would you place on your personal altar? I have things I have made, been given, and found on the street. Tell me what you have or would include.

Little Altars Everywhere

An altar is defined as “an elevated place or structure, such as a mound or platform, at which religious rites are performed or on which sacrifices are offered.”

That very formal definition brings to mind magnificent ancient structures. The Pergamon Altar from Asia Minor was 116 feet wide. The Neolithic Monte d’Accoddi is 4,000 years old. The Biblical Temple in Jerusalem contained five distinct altars. And the Gothic Chartres Cathedral features its High Altar with a large marble sculpture of the Assumption.

This is not about such grand structures or about official houses of worship. This is about small, intimate tableaus we create – sometimes even unintentionally – which become the centers of inspiration, memory, and grounded-ness.

My first altar was my seasonal table when my children were in elementary school, and we lived outside Atlanta. I cannot find the article now, but I remember reading that in Victorian times, homes might contain a table that showed off objects pertaining to a season or holiday. We had a sideboard next to our dining table that never held anything but mail. So, we got straight to covering it with scarves and fabric and populating it with all sorts of flowers and knick-knacks (mostly purchased at the thrift shop).

The day we changed the table - the first day of the new season - was always a celebration. We would take down each item, wrap it in tissue paper and place it in its box – winter, spring, summer, or autumn. There was a moment of melancholy, as we said goodbye to, say, a ceramic snowman. But it was momentary because then we opened the next box and unwrapped all the flower fairies that heralded spring.

I never really thought of it as religious, just fun. Of course, those two things are not mutually exclusive. But there was something deeply spiritual about joining together with loved ones to note the passage of the seasons.

When we left Georgia for Pennsylvania, the seasonal table was not resurrected. But over the years I became more intentional about my altars.

Right now, I have a tiny one in my home office with a glass bell that I use in ceremonies, an old Peter Rabbit music box which belonged to one of my kids, a retablo box from Mexico, a Scherenschnitte Paper Cutting of a tree, my 2022 birthday crown (more about that in a future post), and a piece of my great grandmother’s necklace from the 1920s. These objects tell a story about my personal history and love for learning about world cultures. I have a cushion on the floor before this altar for meditation, prayer, and just thinking.

My home office altar. The inscription on the retablo translates to “It’s a small luxury, but I think it’s worth it.”

It's a small place I have created in which I feel grounded.

I am also reconstructing my work altar now that I am settled into my new job. I tend to take work VERY seriously. Sometimes too seriously. I have a group of small toys that live in a spot under a desk lamp. I did not buy any of them. They were gifts or literally found on the street. They remind me that life is more than labor.

Instead of grounding me, this altar insists that I also fly.

All my “altar toys” before being packed to come to my new work office.

But there is another kind of altar that is dear to me. The holder of memories of those who have passed. Think of all those piles of flowers and stuffed animals we have seen at news stories of crime scenes or just on the side of the road where a fatal car accident has occurred.

Think also of the Mexican holiday Dia De Muertos (Day of the Dead) which falls at Halloween but is not Halloween. Families create elaborate temporary altars and ofrendas (a collection of food, photographs, and objects) to honor their deceased loved ones.

When my best friend Maria died in the spring of 2020, I decided that I would make one too, to honor her at this holiday which falls very close to her birthday. She had been gone for six months when Dia de Muertos arrived. Those had been some of the hardest months of my life mourning her death during the extreme isolation of Covid. But something shifted as I prepared the altar. I covered a table with a bright cloth and set up photos of Maria and other loved ones who had passed. I lit candles, arranged paper marigolds and baked pan dulce bread. Carl and I ate a special meal in Maria’s honor.

It wasn’t that I was any less sad. I was just that I was ALSO joyous, remembering Maria and knowing how much she would have enjoyed this kind of memorial.

Ofrenda 2021

A big part of sacred rituals and ceremonies is that they provide a place to honor and experience multiple emotions. My life with Maria was full, full of everything. We helped each other through terrible times. We partied through achievements. We spoke almost every day, so we knew each other’s daily routines. Lighting the candles on that first Ofrenda, I cried, and I laughed.

Part of that definition of altar talks about sacrifice which is kind of a scary word. Technically it is “the offering of animal, plant, or human life or of some material possession to a deity, as in propitiation or homage. To surrender or give something up, for the sake of something else.”

Happily, we are WAY past the days of sacrificing living beings. But I do believe we bring a very precious offering to our personal altars. The thing we bring is priceless and can never be replicated.  We bring time.

Time to create it. Time to appreciate it. Time to let it inspire our contemplations. It is a magnet to our souls to linger and remember what is sacred.

Remember to create, celebrate, and gather.

(P.S. “Little Altars Everywhere” is also the title of a wonderful collection of short stories by Rebecca Wells)

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