My first ceremony as a newly-certified Celebrant was missing a typically essential ingredient: a client. Instead of a client in the driver’s seat, I had something equally important at my side... serendipity.
ser·en·dip·i·ty (noun): the faculty of making fortunate discoveries by accident; a happy accident or pleasant surprise.
I had stepped forward to offer a collective ritual of remembrance for an extended community that for nearly 40 years has produced a feminist arts and cultural festival in the woods of central Michigan, attended by thousands of women and girls each summer. The Michigan Womyn's Music Festival had lost three of its beloved longtime leaders: Therese, Kelly, and V. Knowing the impact that their deaths would have, and that some participants would be feeling other losses deeply, I placed a notice in the workshop program:
We lost some beloved Festival sheroes this year. Let’s come together to honor, mourn, and celebrate the passages in our lives and our community. Bring memories and ritual objects.
I had no idea what to expect. There were a hundred other activities scheduled at the same time, and the ceremony was assigned a fairly remote wooded location to provide a sense of peaceful seclusion amidst the hubbub of festival life. But I sensed early in the week that something special was going to happen. The ceremony would be directly touched, it seemed, by each of the women it was designed to honor.
The first bit of serendipity came in the form of a message from the close friend of Therese, a pioneer of the community known to many as “the voice of the festival”. It turns out this friend was the keeper of Therese’s guitar and was hoping to sing some of her iconic songs at the ceremony. Great! But I had no way to contact her so I wasn’t sure that she would end up coming.
The next happy accident came as I began to make my way to the ceremony site. Seemingly randomly, I ran into Kelly’s partner. We’d only spoken by phone, and I knew she wasn’t planning to attend, having organized several other memorial events. But she happened to have with her a memorial guest book that she asked me to bring for participants to write in. And she gave me some lovely keepsake cards to share.
The third surprise came part-way through the ceremony when V’s partner joined us. Several of the festival-goers had come to the ritual specifically hoping to connect with the surviving partner of this charismatic woman whose persona had affected them so strongly over the years. That connection happened now within the ceremony.
I knew that with this ceremony, I was taking a bit of a leap. Rather than collaborating in advance with a client to plan the ceremony according to their wishes, I had to trust that what needed to happen would unfold if I provided a time, a place, and a structure.
As it turned out, Therese’s friend turned up and shared some lovely, evocative songs. We remembered Kelly in her own words, through a poem on the cards her partner provided. And we heard some spectacular stories about V from her open-hearted partner, Dani. Afterwards, when the other participants had left, Dani and I walked to a grove of trees considered sacred where we released some of V’s ashes.
Letting go of the overly-elaborate structure I had originally planned and opening up to serendipity: it was a fortunate discovery indeed.
ser·en·dip·i·ty (noun): the faculty of making fortunate discoveries by accident; a happy accident or pleasant surprise.
I had stepped forward to offer a collective ritual of remembrance for an extended community that for nearly 40 years has produced a feminist arts and cultural festival in the woods of central Michigan, attended by thousands of women and girls each summer. The Michigan Womyn's Music Festival had lost three of its beloved longtime leaders: Therese, Kelly, and V. Knowing the impact that their deaths would have, and that some participants would be feeling other losses deeply, I placed a notice in the workshop program:
We lost some beloved Festival sheroes this year. Let’s come together to honor, mourn, and celebrate the passages in our lives and our community. Bring memories and ritual objects.
I had no idea what to expect. There were a hundred other activities scheduled at the same time, and the ceremony was assigned a fairly remote wooded location to provide a sense of peaceful seclusion amidst the hubbub of festival life. But I sensed early in the week that something special was going to happen. The ceremony would be directly touched, it seemed, by each of the women it was designed to honor.
The first bit of serendipity came in the form of a message from the close friend of Therese, a pioneer of the community known to many as “the voice of the festival”. It turns out this friend was the keeper of Therese’s guitar and was hoping to sing some of her iconic songs at the ceremony. Great! But I had no way to contact her so I wasn’t sure that she would end up coming.
The next happy accident came as I began to make my way to the ceremony site. Seemingly randomly, I ran into Kelly’s partner. We’d only spoken by phone, and I knew she wasn’t planning to attend, having organized several other memorial events. But she happened to have with her a memorial guest book that she asked me to bring for participants to write in. And she gave me some lovely keepsake cards to share.
The third surprise came part-way through the ceremony when V’s partner joined us. Several of the festival-goers had come to the ritual specifically hoping to connect with the surviving partner of this charismatic woman whose persona had affected them so strongly over the years. That connection happened now within the ceremony.
I knew that with this ceremony, I was taking a bit of a leap. Rather than collaborating in advance with a client to plan the ceremony according to their wishes, I had to trust that what needed to happen would unfold if I provided a time, a place, and a structure.
As it turned out, Therese’s friend turned up and shared some lovely, evocative songs. We remembered Kelly in her own words, through a poem on the cards her partner provided. And we heard some spectacular stories about V from her open-hearted partner, Dani. Afterwards, when the other participants had left, Dani and I walked to a grove of trees considered sacred where we released some of V’s ashes.
Letting go of the overly-elaborate structure I had originally planned and opening up to serendipity: it was a fortunate discovery indeed.
V, as Dorothy, at her last Halloween - oxygen tank concealed in Toto's basket - as she prepared after many years of sickness to go back to her version of Kansas. Her partner Dani came to that party as the (not) Cowardly Lion.
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