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Breaking the Silence

2/22/2015

11 Comments

 
PictureBaby Holly with photos of my father's family
When I went to the grief altar, I thought I was ready. But there was one aspect of what happened there for which I was entirely unprepared.

A grief altar - this in and of itself was a foreign concept - literally. A tradition of the Dagara people of Burkina Faso in West Africa, brought to the grief-illiterate West by Sobunfu Some. Sobonfu's name means "keeper of the rituals". For the past twenty years she has shared the spiritual wisdom of her people with the West, through writings and rituals such as the one I attended at Breitenbush Hot Springs earlier this month.

Sixty of us gathered in the main lodge after dinner on Friday. In one large circle, in a space skillfully held by Sobonfu and her helpers, we began to voice something of the griefs that had brought us there. Suicide, war, life-changing tragedies, terminal illness, addiction, betrayal, abandonment. So many ways we'd been hurt, hurt others; so much pain and sorrow; such longing for reconciliation, redemption, relief. The first breaking of the silence.

The next morning after she shared her framework of beliefs around the types and stages of grief, we met in small groups to share a bit more of our stories. Sobunfu was clear: this was less about what we needed to learn about each other, and more about our grief finding its voice.

Then we rolled up the rugs, cleared the room, and worked in teams to prepare the altars. The forgiveness altar, draped in greens and blues on one side of the room, and the red- and yellow-swathed ancestors' altar on the other held items we'd brought from home, along with color coordinated flowers and candles. The grief altar at the base of the room was constructed out of fresh fir boughs: a three-sided teepee open to the front, a row of white candles standing sentinel across the opening; inside, a vase of white flowers, a white candle, a square of black cloth on the ground.

Sobunfu had instructed us in how to prepare a bundle containing objects that represented each of our griefs, along with something that could stand in for the unexpected griefs that might arise. With each object, we were to speak out loud, with great specificity, the dimensions of that particular grief. She had modeled several examples. "The grief of a friend dying from cancer?" I asked. She spun out a dozen sentences, all precisely accurate articulations of the inchoate pain I've been carrying for the five years since Marcy's diagnosis. After finding these words we were to wrap the objects in a cloth tied with string.

With our bundles prepared, we would enter the heart of the ritual. Sobonfu and her helpers maintained a drum line at the back of the room. For the next nearly 24 hours each of us, as we were moved, would go to the forgiveness altar, the ancestors' altar, or the grief altar. If not at one of the altars, we were supporting those at the grief altar through sitting behind another (each griever had one or more "followers" whose role was to witness but not sooth or stop the flow of grief) or by joining the drummers in a continuously sung song that vocalized the promise of carrying each other.

Picture1st grade Holly
Sobonfu had warned that the ritual would begin as soon as we registered for it. Indeed, by the time we walked single-file down the center of the room to toss our bundle onto the black cloth in the center of the grief altar, I felt ready. Ancestral grief, grief I absorbed in my mothers womb, grief I'd carried more than 50 years along with the grief of losing my father again and again, the grief of my own actions I've lived to regret, the grief of others in my community or whom I've served - it was ready. 

Yet as I lowered myself to a cushion in front of the grief altar, a "follower" behind me ready to offer support, I was entirely unprepared for what was happening around me. Other mourners had begun to wail, to shriek, to scream and curse. It came to me as one of the unexpected griefs Sobonfu had predicted: the grief that in my life, in my family, grief has always been so silent. So. Silent.

In that space in that lodge before the grief altar I was pierced by the memory of the two times I'd heard the sound of grief growing up, two times my mother issued the unedited primal scream of a wounded animal. The first time, she was alone in our basement. The second time, in bed with us, her grade-school daughters, on the night my father finally left for good.

Those moments broke the intergenerational family code. I feel, even now, writing about it, a quickened pulse, a freezing in my chest. Don't feel. We don't know what to do with these feelings. Stay quiet. Don't make trouble.

Picture5th grade Holly with best friend Lisa
I went to the grief altar again and again over that weekend. I sobbed, I spoke a few words aloud that needed to be said. I experienced the grace of being held, having my hair stroked, having another literally have my back, getting everything I needed from this ephemeral village of support as I named and felt and released these griefs. And I experienced the grace of witnessing and supporting others in their grief - loud, messy, frightening grief - without having to fix it. 

I spent a lot of time at the forgiveness altar, too. I'm still trying to make friends with the child pictured here, the one who was trying to give voice to the grief all around her without a village that knew how to listen. 

11 Comments
Claudia
2/23/2015 03:01:55 am

THANK YOU SOOO MUCH FOR SHARING THIS HOLLY.....I AM GOING TO MAKE A GRIEF ALTER FOR MYSELF.....A POWERFUL RITUAL.....A PLACE TO GRIEVE....AND KNOW THAT IT DOES NOT NEED TO BE "FIXED"......I REMEMBER MY MOTHER REMAINING SILENT WHEN MY FATHER DIED WHEN I WAS 17.....NOTHING SHOWED.....DON'T FEEL, STAY QUIET...DON'T MAKE TROUBLE......NOW, IN MY 60'S.....I NEED TO GRIEVE HIS DEATH.......CLAUDIA XOXOXO

Reply
Holly
2/23/2015 12:14:00 pm

Claudia, I'm so touched by your story. May your altar-making and altar-tending serve you well.
xo Holly

Reply
Kathleen Saadat
2/23/2015 04:51:48 am

Beautiful both in sentiment and writing. Also thought provoking for me. When I was younger and had the occasion to attend funerals in the Black churches, there was no cap on the expression of grief. People screamed, cried, fell to the floor, leaned into the coffin. I remember my mother screaming for her mother not to be dead. My more recent experiences have been what people call "dignified" expressions of grief... almost no expression of grief... more a celebration of life. Wondering why we can't do both. I love you Holly.

Reply
Holly
2/23/2015 12:21:52 pm

Thank you, Kathleen. So many rich cultural traditions that teach us how to grieve, orphaned now in the "melting pot" of our dominant Puritan ethos. Martin Prechtel teaches that grief and praise are two sides of the same coin: "When you're grieving for the thing you got it's praise and when you're praising the thing you lost it's called grief." Love is at the heart of both. Let's get better at it all.

Loving you back, Kathleen, big time. xoh

Reply
Mark
2/24/2015 02:09:35 pm

Thank you for sharing this ritual and your personal experience with this process Holly. So powerful.

Reply
Holly
2/25/2015 08:34:03 am

Thanks for your comment, Mark. I'm glad it resonated with you.

Reply
Angela Johnson
2/25/2015 03:14:28 am

Thanks for this, Holly. You are such a beautiful person and I feel good knowing you are in this world assisting others through transition. Much love, Angela

Reply
Holly
2/25/2015 08:35:09 am

What a lovely, thoughtful comment, Angela. Sending love and appreciation back to you,
Holly

Reply
Dannielle
3/1/2015 01:16:22 am

Love your courage and vulnerability showing us the mystery of ancient healing rituals. Power of sacred space to honor process of recognizing, voicing, witnessing, releasing...

Reply
Holly
3/1/2015 01:56:51 am

Thank you, Danielle, for reflecting the process back so beautifully.

Reply
Elliot
2/21/2017 11:53:18 pm

Thank you Holly for this deeply touching and intimate sharing of your time with Sebonfu and her powerful grief altars.

Reply



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  • Holly Pruett Celebrant LLC – Creative Life Ceremonies from Cradle to Grave
  • Certified Life-Cycle Celebrant ® | Funeral & Wedding Officiant | Interfaith Minister
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