On Ceremony (cw - #2 in series)

As fires rage, with Covid, times of celebration and ceremony have often been stymied. For over four weeks I struggled with using a walker, and, at the wonderful weekend wedding celebration of Aspen and Kyle, I was in a wheelchair. This coming when a “hitch in my git-a-long” hit me out of the blue while gardening.  It was a struggle which had me wondering the “what if”s? What if the pain and crippled movement is permanent? I’m cause, again, to look at aging, at my aging.

 And now, I find that a dearly loved friend has discovered a reoccurring cancer with her life expectancy less than six months. 

 All of this has me reeling, while I also think about ~ or try to think about ~ ceremonies ~ think about the completion of the ceremony of life ~ where does it all fit in?

 As a result, I have been struggling with writing this blog, trying to sort through all the thoughts and emotions. First, to finish the story of that Easter Sunday of 1942. Then, in a few days, to write more about ceremony and what I have learned and am learning about its importance in a balanced life.

 Early that springtime morning in 1942 my family left San Francisco for the drive to Two Rock for our baptism and the Easter celebration dinner at my grandparents afterward. When it was time for the baptism ceremony, I remember feeling a little cheated, envious for the pastor held the babies including my brother, but because I was a "big girl", too big to pick up, he just touched my head with his damp fingers as I stood there with my parents. After dinner at Grandma and Grandpa’s we returned to San Francisco to finish moving our things from the small apartment on Van Ness to our new home, a first floor flat on Bosworth where we lived until the end of the war.

 Two important, life shaping ceremonies: the formal ritual of baptism as my parents and the congregation made promises about raising us children in the faith, welcoming us into the world wide community of the church, the other, informal; those powerful words of my grandfather as we entered the church, both introducing me to knowing I was part of a far larger family ~ where I belonged.

 I wrote the story of that so busy and life shaping Sunday a number of years ago. In the middle of the emotions of my current struggles, I am glad to have the words of these two blogs help me to remember that day ~ to remember how Ceremony ~ helped shape my life.

All of Life is a Ceremony - (cw - #1 in series)

 

I keep thinking about the idea of “reinventing cultural legacies ” for it’s a term which so clearly describes how I feel while looking at what I hope to be a part of in this phase of my life, living the adventure of being a single woman for the first time. I feel that it is part of what Vicki and I are trying to do, each in our own way. And, not looking only at our aging but all of the interests and concerns we talk about. Living more lightly on Mother Earth; and the challenges of communicating in positive ways our ideas, concerns, hope and vision. She and I speak frequently of being part of starting ripples on a pond.

 Because of the wonderful, joy-filled wedding celebration I was part of last weekend I’d like to share, in two or more blogs, my thought about all I’ve learned about the importance of ceremony in our lives. My thinking about it began in 1988 as:

 “All of life is ceremony!” a wise man from the Sioux Nation said to the crowd as we sat on green summer grass in brilliant Alaska sunshine, a few fluffy clouds floating in the deepest blue toward the mountain’s snow-bright peaks as a wisp of steam rose from the volcano.  He continued, “This ceremony didn’t start with the opening words we prayed a few minutes ago. This ceremony started in your home when you decided and began preparations to come. It continued during your travel by plane and car.

 His words were the beginning of my learning to live with intention and attention, to be aware, to live consciously. With his words the memory of what I only later came to recognize as my first ceremony came flooding back:

 I was so very glad to hold on tight to Grandpa’s large calloused hand as we climbed the steps. At three I felt safe in the shadow of his tall form. Early that morning my family had left San Francisco for the drive to Two Rock for my brother and I were going to be baptized that day. Stepping into the old Two Rock church, filled with its Easter crowd of people Grandpa looked down at me, his deep voice telling me, “Kisspatch, everyone here is your relative.” The feeling his words caused has stayed with me all my life. There have been many times that I have deeply doubted that I belonged ~ anywhere ~ but that memory ~ of his voice, his words, has been an undercurrent, warming and reassuring me. “Kisspatch, everyone here is your relative.”

 That was my first ceremony ~ a ceremony which has helped to keep me whole.

I later came to see how his words opened me to learning that everyone, everywhere is my relative ~ all of earth’s creation!