The calendar year is drawing to a close with longer, darker nights and the wettest days I have seen in my 6 years on Vancouver Island. Winter extends her palm full of magic, while the speed of consumerism and urgency cranks up in a glitzy distraction from winter’s teachings.
When I see myself engaging in a year end sprint to get everything done with my fellow stressed-out humans, I wonder what the finish line really is…Christmas? Or the visceral sense of ending that the darkness of winter brings?
The death that might happen.
The hibernation that might come.
The spring that we hope for, but is not guaranteed.
The transformation that might unfurl from letting go into the deep dark of winter or the stillness of solstice.
Deep winter sings keening songs.
At Samhain (Halloween time) I am aware of the dead in my family. Closer to winter solstice, I become more aware of my own death, my own turning into soil.
Grief is upon me as I look back at the horrors we have witnessed through eyes, bodies, screens, and newspapers over the past year—the dread, fear, and confusion that have become part of our everyday landscapes.
I grapple with what it means to bear daily witness to terrorism, fascism, war, and ecocide, communities dissolving, loved ones becoming radicalized, and more, while simply being here and embodying values like reciprocity, compassion, caring for the earth, and ensuring all people have access to food and healthcare.
I’ve been in the sauna under the cedar tree lately, lit by one candle, singing to the spirits of winter. I have been laying down the collective horrors of the past year, turning them over to my ancestors, to the Cailleach, to the Morrigan, to the sopping wet soil around me. For me, these darker days are a time of stripping off, surrendering into earth to make way for the return of the light at winter solstice.
For those from Celtic ancestry, or who simply feel a connection to her, Beira or the Cailleach, the Celtic primordial creation/destruction goddess who presides over the dark half of the year, has much to teach in the winter if you invite her. She is a master of composting, grief medicine, deep time, and letting go. Once she told me that our culture was going about grief all wrong.
“Depression is not grief, it’s a defense against feeling grief,” a wise friend (who is also a therapist and grief ritualist) told me recently, echoing a sentiment from the Cailleach.
Grief needs to move, to be gestured, to be seen and acknowledged. It is, after all how we know that we love.
Grief opens the space for joy, and these last days before the solstice (or Christmas if that’s more meaningful for you) are the perfect time to slow down and give grief a place to be.
A simple seasonal grief ritual:
Take an hour or a day to slow down. Reduce your intake of information (podcasts, TV, etc.) and notice what comes when you walk outside or are doing simple tasks like cleaning, laundry, art, snow shoveling.
Ask yourself: is grief here?
If so, create a place for it.
Choose a location and a time.
Place: Perhaps in front of your fireplace. In the backyard with a fire. Your bedroom with a small candle. A sauna. With friends or alone (you are never really alone, though and ritual makes that explicit).
Time offering: 30, 60, 90 minutes, or an open-ish timeframe, but be sure to close the ritual when you are complete.
The Ritual
1. Acknowledge who is helping you
Once you arrive at the time and place, acknowledge who is helping you. Name them out loud. Thank them. Give them some gifts: song, dance, food, drinks - whatever you feel naturally inclined toward.
The element doing most of the holding will likely be the earth at this time of year.
The spirits holding you are whomever you call for help (ancestors, deities, plants, guides), and the seasonal spirits. Some people have a particular guide or ancestor who is well versed in grief support: Mother Mary, the Cailleach, Rose, Hawthorne, Whale, and so many more.
2. Invite the grief
When the flame is lit and you feel ready, invite the grief.
Feel it, let it move. And lay it down.
Surrender it to the earth, to the rose, to the wild wisdom of all of life. Let it move through you. You are not banishing it, you are feeling and turning it over.
The gesture of laying down and turning over can be inner (imagined or felt) or physical, such as physically laying down leaves, stones, photographs, sticks, etc. as you feel and embody the grief.
Do this until you feel you are done.
Receive any messages that come.
3. Find an ending
Give thanks to everyone human and other than human who witnessed, received, shared your heartbreak, honored you and your grief, and blow out the candle.
Grief doesn’t need to be a wet blanket that stays on us all day every day, it needs places to be.
Alternate Version
If you are not particularly animistic (viewing the world as alive, inspirited, interconnected, and filled with unique expressions of wisdom through human and other than human beings) and the above sounds too out there for you, you can easily adapt the ritual to be held by the symbols and people that matter to you.
Writing a prayer
As the light returns, I love to write a prayer, a blessing, or even a two line couplet that invokes how I am showing up for the season ahead. This beauty came in author Selah Saterstrom’s last newsletter and thought I would share it with you as an example:
Bright blessings to you through these winter days and nights,
PS. Grief is always welcome at this retreat:
Bio
Rayann is a ritualist, artist, and researcher. She helps 1:1 clients and groups get to know their guides and ancestors, recover from spiritual abuse, and unlock creativity. Currently completing her MSc in the Psychology of Coercive Control at the University of Salford, Rayann also assists research at the University of Victoria studying cult survivors’ mental health needs. She lives, quilts, writes, practices Seiðr, and dances on Lekungwen ancestral lands (Victoria, BC, Canada). Rayann co-facilitates Tending the Writer’s Flame and is a member of the Right Use of Power Institute and the Association for Spiritual Integrity.
Learn more: Rayanngordon.com
This grief ritual in this darkest season is so welcome and hopeful. Thanks for sharing it.
Beautiful! Thank you for this!