At the end of my recent Final Passages home funeral guide training, we were given two parting gifts designed to remind us that joy, humor, and resiliency are intimately bound together with death and loss. The first gift was a goofy flashing toy ; the second, a stress management kit.

The stress management kit contained a world of wisdom slipped into a Chinese money envelope no bigger than a credit card. An enclosed card provided a key to the contents:

• An eraser… so you can make all your mistakes disappear. 
• A coin… so you will never have to say “I’m broke.” 
• A marble… in case someone says, “You’ve lost all your marbles.” 
• A rubberband… to stretch yourself beyond your limits. 
• A string… to tie things together when everything seems to fall apart. 
• A button… for your lips, so you’ll have time to think before you speak. 
• A knot… so when you reach the end of your rope you’ll have something to hang on to. 
• A hug and a kiss… to remind you that someone, somewhere cares about you. 

Cute, yes. Simplistic, maybe. But this dear little packet was also sweetly symbolic of the caring support extended by Jerrigrace Lyons and her husband Mark towards each of their training program graduates. And it was a potent representation of the power of symbols to sustain us in times of trouble.

I recently composed a ceremony-on-the-spot to support dear friends facing a life-changing crisis. I knew they considered sage a source of purification, so we began by burning some, wafting the smoke into every corner of their apartment. Then I folded a long strip of card stock, accordion style, and had them take turns writing their private responses, fold by fold, to the statement, “May we be supported, strengthened, or blessed by….” 

As they sat together on the couch I read their words back to them, revealing a lovely synchronicity between what each had written independently. We paused to let these prayers sink in, then bound their folded intentions with a soft red string.

After offering them John O’Donohue’s Blessing for Courage, we lit Flying Wish Papers to focus on what they needed to release. One round was definitely not enough! We did another, capturing the ash bodies of the papers and letting them go, out the window, into the night air.

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What symbols and rituals do you draw upon in times of trouble?

My ancestral story is full of departures; many left the fabric of our family badly frayed. So it was a joy to help my gifted yoga teacher Jay say an intentional farewell to her community in Portland when she relocated to Ojai last year.

Jay returned to Portland a few weeks ago to lead a workshop, almost exactly a year after moving. Reflecting on her farewell ceremony she says, “Because of the intentional marking, grieving, and celebrating of that transition, I am clear that Portland is no longer my home - and is always my home."

Last spring, a month after arriving in Ojai, she said “I've never before had the support of my community in such a potent way when moving to a new place (and everything else that represents). The ceremony allowed me to feel like I've arrived here in my new life cleanly, and with blessings.”

Jay and I began envisioning her ceremony in a conversation in which she reflected on the nature of her journey and transition. She reported later that day: “I have to say, the ceremony is already working – as they do when you consciously begin to craft! Our conversation this morning was the first time that I began to feel into the immense journey I've been on as a whole, and to the mixture of so many emotions that I'm feeling as I'm about to bring this chapter to a close.”

Jay outlined some of the ceremonial elements that appealed to her and connected me by email to the women she had invited to participate. I then worked with this close circle of her sister-students to explore the ways they wanted to honor Jay. The result was a ceremony in three parts.

Part I. Creating Sacred Space
Jay had said, “Nothing says ceremony to me like sage” so we began by burning a bundle one participant had brought. Another sounded her singing bowl to signify our connection to the voice within each of that speaks the truth. Then, as we had so often in Jay’s classes, we honored the circle of connections among us by joining our voices together with three rolling ohms.

Part II. Our Shero’s Journey
Drawing on the themes Jay had shared with me and using her words, I narrated her “Shero’s Journey,” placing her imminent transition in her larger life’s context and naming the gifts her journey had delivered. We then invited each participant to share from her own gifts, perhaps something we’d learned in ourselves from our time with Jay. The first offering was a beautiful viola performance, enlivened through the embodiment of the musician’s yoga practice. After each woman had shared, we bestowed our blessings on Jay through words, a charm necklace composed of beads we’d each brought, and a special blend of essential oils we created together. One participant presented a small box labeled “Joy” to contain all the treasures.

Part III. Departure
Jay then offered a poem to the group, Derek Walcott’s Love After Love. We closed with flying wish papers and a delicious feast of wine and homemade foods.

From her new home a month later Jay wrote, “I have the JOY tin box on my bathroom sink, so every morning and evening I’m reminded of the journey I took to get here and the community of people who helped me along, let me go, and are still here with me in support. That little treasure reminds me of the magic and beauty of that afternoon together, and always makes me smile.”

In the approach to my 50th birthday, I knew I wanted a ritual that would go deeper than the typical big blow-out party (I had one of those, too). But the croning ceremonies I looked into weren't quite right. I didn’t feel like I was crossing a threshold from one status into another. 

Instead I chose the theme River of Life, inspired by the short John O’Donohue poem, Fluent: "I would love to live/ Like a river flows/ Carried by the surprise/ Of its own unfolding." I wanted to honor the flow of my life and the ways that flow merges with the lifestreams of all those around me.

I invited a loved one from each decade of life, 5 to 74 years in age. In a ceremonial space surrounded by candlelight, a low table held a deep blue scarf representing the river, a baby photo of me at one end, and a photo of my maternal grandmother at the other. Along the way was an unlit tea light candle for each participant. 

From eldest (my mother) to youngest (my niece), I called participants to their seat in the circle, sharing a few words about why I had invited each of them. Once seated, we used O’Donohue’s poem as an invocation, and I shared with the group my hopes and fears about aging:

“I’ve created this ceremony to be not just about what 50 means to me, but about the gifts that come throughout our lives, gifts of girlhood and adolescence, of young womanhood and adulthood, of middle age and older age. In honoring the gifts of the ages that have already flowed through me, and the ages that await downstream, I hope to gain greater acceptance for the flow of time. 

"The truth is, sometimes the current scares me. The loss it brings feels like it might pull me under, with the loss of ones I love, the loss of faculties and powers I once enjoyed, and finally, the end of my own life. But I know that fighting against the current won’t work. It’s exhausting and it deprives me of the surprise and delight of the river’s unfolding.

"As my 50th birthday present to myself, I ask for the courage and the grace to live like a river flows, carried by the surprise of my own unfolding.”

I lit a candle placed mid-stream on the scarf next to a small Buddha figure in a wee birch bark canoe. Then, from youngest to eldest each participant shared a symbol that represented the gifts of their present age. As they placed their symbolic gift on the river, they lit a corresponding candle and took a soapstone star representing my appreciation for their role in my life. Symbols ranged from silly (a wind-up bunny reminding us of the gift of play) to sacred (a stamped tin relic of a heart, for compassion). A sumptuous crocheted slip knot, meant to symbolize the gift of letting go, failed to release, offering a serendipitous reminder of just how difficult that can be.

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Peace I Ask of Thee, Oh River

Peace I ask of thee, oh river
Peace, peace, peace
When I learn to live serenely
Cares will cease.

From the hills I gather courage
Visions of the days to be
Strength to lead and faith to follow
All are given unto me.

This week’s story is of a very special 71 year old, and the way we marked the dawn of his eighth decade at this time last year. Heading into his 70th birthday on the heels of a divorce, he didn’t want a party. Instead we took a walk into the woods together for a private Ceremony of Letting Go & New Beginnings, designed in four parts.

Part 1: Creating Ceremonial Space
We walked together to a favorite spot on the trail, a modest bridge over a gentle stream. We cast a circle of protection around us using wood ash, and purified the space by burning sage. He called in the spirits he wanted to acknowledge and asked his heart to open to acceptance and gratitude.

Part 2: Letting Go
Facing downstream, we used John O’Donohue’s Blessing for the Break-Up of a Relationship as prelude to a litany of questions: What are you letting go of? What needs forgiveness? Are you ready to forgive yourself and release what needs to be released? With his answers, he knelt to burn some keepsakes from the wedding that began the marriage now ended.

Borrowing John O’Donohue’s words, we invoked his Blessing To Come Home to Yourself:
       May all that is unforgiven in you be released.
       May your fears yield their deepest tranquilities.
       May all that is unlived in you blossom into a future graced with love.

Part 3: Opening
What is unlived within you that wants to blossom? Facing upstream, open to the flow, my friend responded to this and other prompts with his intentions for this next phase of his life. As he scattered the ashes from the objects he had burned, we turned to O’Donohue for one last blessing, the Blessing for a New Beginning.

Part 4: Celebrating New Beginnings
Finally, we moved from the transitional space of the bridge, which my friend had so often traversed alone, to a ground cloth we had spread nearby, representing the common ground of community. We had invited family and other loved ones to contribute a poem for this day, which I had bound into a book. I presented my dear friend with this book of blessings as we sat sheltered by the trees and shared celebratory food and drink.
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There are few resources more wonderful than John O'Donohue's Book of Blessings: To Bless This Space Between Us. My gratitude to the memory of Mr O'Donohue for helping to bring the art of the blessing into secular spaces.

The first time I tapped the transformative power of fire was to banish disbelief, to make real the fact that I had been jilted, to begin the progression from wounded rage to acceptance to ultimate relief.

I was in my early 30s and I’d never been dumped. After my father’s departure during my girlhood, I had resolved always to be the leaver, never again the left behind.

But as these things happen, eventually it was my turn. And I did not take it well. I stormed; I didn’t sleep; I obsessed over thoughts of vengeance.

I flew to San Francisco to seek the solace of the woman who had been a spiritual mentor of sorts since I met her at 24. She had seen me through my coming out and my first big jobs. Later, her last act before disappearing from my life would be guiding me through my father’s death.

That day in San Francisco still stands as one of my clear coming-of-age, coming-to-terms, getting-a-grip moments in life. We sat on the cliffside above the bay, in a spot we later referred to as the Sermon on the Mount, and she helped me to face the reality I was still struggling against.

She had me write down on slips of paper all the beliefs echoing in my head, all the protestations. And then we burned them. We watched them spark, catch, flame, fizzle, and die. As the ash settled into the ground, so did I. The dam of denial and distress broke, releasing the sadness and honest fears that would form my new start.

I repeated the ritual some years later in my farewell ceremony for my father. Since then, I’ve discovered a magical resource for engaging the regenerative power of fire: Flying Wish Papers.

Created by Julia Lambie of Hux Creative in Beaverton, Oregon, these little papers are a perfect way to focus whatever it is that needs to be released, transformed, or wished into being. I’ve used them in nearly a dozen ceremonies, from birthdays and baby showers to memorials and transition support.

63 years ago today a girl child came into the world who would grow to become one of the most significant influences on my life. I don’t know where she is today, or why we aren’t in touch, but I remain grateful for the enduring lessons she taught me in the 14 years we shared. I light a wish paper for her today.

"Write it. Light it. Watch it fly."