Rites of Passage
The power of rituals in finding purpose
Rituals. I don’t mean the Dutch cosmetic brand. I mean ritualized routines, I mean rites of passage, I mean exploring the connection between the divine and the mundane. The first rituals I was exposed to must have been Catholic. Both my parents were born and raised in Catholic families and neither of them still practice. I believe they both actively left the church. I attended catholic school. Praying around eight times a day quickly lost its meaning, although I enjoyed the rhythm of an entire classroom drumming up their Hail Mary’s and Our Father. The holy communion, watching our pastor pour the wine into a giant chalice, I appreciated it, but it had no deeper meaning. It was something we did because our head teacher told us to. It was just part of the program.
My grandfather, more Catholic than the Pope, had the habit of praying for the souls of the deceased at dinner. Something he kept doing his entire life, even as time passed his mind increasingly succumbed to dementia and the list of deceased loved ones grew longer and longer. One of the best memories I have of my grandfather is the way he would put me to bed at night whenever I slept over at my grandparent’s house. He would come up to the guest room in the attic, where I would be all snug under thick woollen blankets after a long bath. He would ask me how my day was. In the most elegant and compassionate of ways, he would also help me pull out all my worries and lay them to rest, so I could sleep peacefully. Then as I dozed off, he would kiss me on my head and with his thumb draw a cross on my forehead. For protection.
I long for that comfort, that safety as it is something I have always found hard to provide for myself. Bathing became a ritual for me, either at home or at a local hammam or spa. Making my coffee in the morning feels like a ritual. Even singing my puppies to sleep now does. I am often conflicted when it comes to the internal and external. What is what en where does it connect? Ritualising becomes a form of self-soothing, first. Secondly, it becomes an expression of faith. Or rather, seeking to restore faith. I don’t know if rituals always have to be embedded in a specific cultural or religious practice, but I have created a small altar that I fill with flowers, candles, and incense. Behind it is a picture of an Indian prosperity dance. I read my horoscope daily and then I throw six virtual coins on the Chinese oracle website and meditate on what they say. I suppose this can be considered a ritual (I usually do this during my morning trip to the outhouse).
Even though our weekly school trips to the church across the street didn’t have any deeper religious or sacred resonance, I do miss the sense of a (religious) community, or sangha. I have a few people around me, friends, and family members, whom I occasionally discuss these things with, whether they are Reformed, Buddhist, Orthodox, or a bit of a pick and mix. I have always enjoyed group meditation, whether during a yoga session or at a cob-building camp. Doing my solo morning salutations in my garden I feel invigorated, but it does not always feel complete. There seems to be an added power in shared practices.
Like any helpful habit, it should be fully integrated into our behaviour. Like my eye doctor said when fitting me for a new pair of glasses: It is not an aspirin that you take when your head hurts. Wear it al the time so your head won’t hurt in the first place. The same applies to rituals, meditation, or prayer. The trick is not to only turn to it in a time of need, crisis, or desperation. Building a consistent practice is what I believe harnesses optimal power. Then why is it so hard to stick with it? Would having a community with regular interactions and shared rituals intensify the benefits? Or is it something we can accomplish completely on our own? In communion with nature, the elements, the divine, or the planets?
A friend once said, for all I care you are tied to the moon. My star sign is Cancerian, but other than that I think there is a physiological tie to the moon besides an astrological or sacred one. One thing I do practice consistently is moon rituals for both the full and the new moon. When I live near a natural body of water, I will put my crystals in it for cleansing and recharging. I will forage for some natural treasures to add to the altar, and I chose the colours of candles symbolically, depending on my needs. Then I write down what I need to let go of, or want to invite in. I thank and bless everything and everyone and then throw the small pieces of paper in the fire.
I don’t dance naked under the moon or build a bonfire (for that I would also need a community), but the preparation and the actual ritual itself help me with self-reflection and with connection to the greater “oneness”.
I will dig deeper into this theme: either to be explored further in a personal essay or save it for therapy. Please leave a comment if you wish to contribute your thoughts or experiences!
For now, I have put this on my reading list: “The Power of Ritual” by Casper ter Kuile.