I've been trying to put together a "presence" on social media for a couple years. Originally my intention was for my socials to demonstrate that this work is alive, active, and current. Instead, generating content for social media began to feel like the entirety of the work, a distraction from the real task of connecting and ritual-making. Add to that the enshitification of the social media world, and I've decided to move my writings and musings over here, to an old-fashioned blog, where I can tell stories and explore what I am doing rather than creating bite-sized content for others to consume. I don't really know how this will work, but it feels right for now!

Walking down the hall, I heard screaming at the nurses' station. I recognized the voice--they had been in my Spirituality Group at the inpatient treatment center just a half hour earlier. I kept walking, and found myself face to face with the screamer.

In Spirituality Group I had introduced a body meditation where we stood, placed our feet on the ground, and stretched our arms down, fingers spread, reciting the opening words "I am grounded, my roots go deep." The meditation affirms, in body and words, our own flexibility, resilience, honesty, and letting go of what is not ours to carry.

Confronted with the angry group member, I stopped in the middle of the hall. They stopped facing me. Without introduction I planted my feet and stretched my fingers down like roots. They copied me. "I am grounded..." I began. They echoed me. We made it through the whole meditation. They smiled, and continued on their way.

We practice tools in the calm so we can draw on them in the storm. Get the practice of ritual under your very skin, so when your mind does not know which way to go your body can carry you in the right direction.
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Thanks to my seminary prof Rachel Miller Jacobs for this meditation, and for teaching me so many practices that just keep on giving. Check out the full meditation text here!

We intentionally hired a Queer photographer for our wedding, and made sure they knew we didn’t want any traditional gendered shots.

And then our photographer got sick.

They called in a sub to save the day, who took awesome photos but who did not receive the “no gender norms” briefing. At the reception I felt pushed and prodded into poses I did not want, like the now infamous (in our household) suggestion that I sit on Jake’s lap for one shot.
I did not plan to cut the cake; I did not care about cutting the cake. Until, that is, the photographer bullied us into this standard pose and I realized I DID NOT WANT TO CUT THE CAKE. So we ended up with this photo.

I love this because it shows so clearly how I feel when I am not being authentic. I am not present in the moment, I’m not at peace in my own body, there is tension in my relationships.
One second after this photo I walked away and didn’t do another posed shot for the whole night.

I wish this authenticity and honesty for you, in your ceremonies and celebrations: to know you have the option to take up what serves you and leave behind what doesn’t. To make deep and gorgeous meaning that is honest for you. To let truth shine out of even the smallest moments.
All this is to say, I’d love to do your wedding and give these gifts to you.

Special thanks to Sarah who made these incredible cakes, with which I happily took many photos; it was not about the cakes, the cakes were perfect.

I met an old, old man. Within three minutes of meeting, he told me about an object he kept in a box in his attic. This object was the physical manifestation of all his shame and guilt. It had been there for decades. He never looked at it. He did not want to take it out. He wanted to leave it there.

I didn’t know the right thing to do with that object, but I could feel it burning a hole in his heart, and everything in me screamed to get it out and deal with it. It is anchoring him to the past, keeping him stuck in an old version of himself.

I made some gentle inquiries about it, told him what I noticed and felt, and encouraged him to think about a way to remove the object from his house. I suggested various ritual actions or safe hands to place it into. 

And then I left him to take the next step.

I keep thinking about this, wondering what he might do, and wondering what I would suggest if I were planning a ritual for him. 

Identifying details changed

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We had one of those big, (hopefully)-once-in-a-career type of traumatic events at my hospital, and someone asked me, “How do I learn to cope with this so I can walk into the next room and keep going?”

I told them two things.

Well, three things, because first I said “These are impossible situations and it’s very hard to know exactly how to cope.”

Honor the moment of transition from tragedy to business-as-usual; ritualize it. You need to keep going, but if you try to stuff your emotions down they will pop up at inopportune times. Instead of stuffing them down, lift them up. Find a quiet spot for thirty seconds. Cup your hands in front of your chest and fill them with everything you are feeling. Reach your full hands out in front of you and send all those feelings love and warmth. Lift your hands up, releasing everything, and then put it all in God’s care and keeping (if that’s your thing), or up on a shelf (if it’s not.) When it’s a better time, pick those feelings back up, look at them again, and release them again.
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And know that you won’t “get over” your experience of trauma. But you will grow bigger around it. It will not take up so much of who you are. You will become better at carrying it with grace.

A huge part of thinking ritually is taking the time to stop and notice. Sometimes noticing something will stop me in my tracks, snap me into the present moment, and reground me in identity and purpose.

A decade ago, after a lifetime of claiming cool non-intrusive shades of blue as my favorite color, I suddenly started being drawn to the color orange. I just loved it. I wanted everything to be orange. I bought orange curtains, orange earrings, and knit more orange scarves than I care to admit.

Then a spiritual director introduced the idea of a “God color,” a color we are drawn to for no particular reason that can act as a reminder of the presence of God. That’s what orange has become for me: a color I notice and love, that reminds me I am not alone every time I see it.

Last year, on a hike, my brain was in a bad place. I was actively working to try to get myself out of it; and as we all know, thinking our way out of feelings works oh-so-not-at-all. I was stuck in my miserable head.

Then I looked down and saw a bright orange salamander, an Eft. I was in awe. It was love at first sight. I spent many minutes ogling and photographing it. When I walked on, I realized my head had cleared. My eyes could see the beauty around me, and my heart could believe in it.
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With rituals, I seek to create space that accomplishes this grounding and reorienting. And the first step is to notice.