By Jamie Corvus
I have again rented the White Clover Grange in Nehalem on Saturday and Sunday, November 21 & 22 for a participatory community grief altar. A space and time set aside for the honoring of grief, both personal and collective. A place to come and practice taking off the “everything is fine” mask, if just for a while.
There are so many good reasons to grieve. Maybe you, like me, have had an almost unbearable personal loss, or many losses. Such it is to be human, because whether we like to think about it or not (and culturally, we do not!), one-by-one, we will all die. I’ve long loved the Ram Dass quote that says “We are all just walking each other home.” I truly feel that. If we allow ourselves to love in this lifetime, then we will know grief. Whatever your personal grief means for you, it all matters. Bring it. There is so much power and healing and beauty in witnessing each other, and tending to each other, in this way.
Collectively, we all carry the original trauma of having been cut off from our ancestral, earth and village-based practices and knowing. We all carry the harms that we, or our ancestors, have endured or caused. We all carry the pain of the desecration of Mother Earth and all her creatures. We all carry the wounding from the lack of care and tenderness our souls deserved to receive upon landing in a body vs. the culture of shallow disconnect and violence we were born into, and live in today.
No matter who you are, or where you come from, your pre-colonial ancestors had grief practices, rituals and ceremonies. We were never meant to hold our grief alone. Making space for grief, and remembering how to share our grief and to grieve together as a community, is truly one of the most potent and healing things we can be doing with our time. When we connect to our grief, we connect to our humanity, and when we connect to our humanity, we increase our capacity to reconnect to the things that really matter, like each other and the Earth (to wonder and authentic joy, as well!). If we ever want life on Earth to be truly, meaningfully, better for all, than it is today, we have to be honest about where we are right now. And if we are honest about where we are now, and how we got here, well, grief is the reasonable, natural response.
Doors will open Saturday November 21 at 3. Like last year, there will be tables arranged around the edges of the room. I will set up a larger community/collective grief altar for us all to add to, and I will set up my own personal grief altar. There will be tables left empty for your personal grief altars. I will make tea and snacks to share. There will be paper to write your griefs on. There will be stones from the forest and from the beach. There will be twinkle lights. There will be flowers. There will be a cozy corner. There will be chocolate. There will be tissues. I’ll have some music on low. I will be there holding space from Saturday afternoon to Sunday evening around 7. Come anytime. Stay as long as you like. Come and go and come again. Whatever works for you. If this speaks to you, then it is for you. Please spread the word. We don’t need to know each other before we grieve.
Things to consider bringing:
Items for your personal altar and to add to the collective grief altar.
Food. Bring your ancestors’ favorite dish, or whatever you’re inspired to make. Vegetarian food encouraged. Let’s eat together.
Bring your own dishes/utensils if you’d like.
Come as you are. Dress in your pajamas or dress in your finest.
A yoga mat, a cozy blanket, a journal, art supplies.
Sobriety encouraged.
This is my gift to the community (and to myself, to be honest), but if you would like to bring or send $ to support the effort, and help pay for the space, you are welcome to.
Join us Sunday Nov. 15th at Heart of Cartm in Wheeler to make “Mini Ancestor Altars” …
Meanwhile, I’ve been hanging out with the ancestors. 
Our ancestors, whether it’s our actual relatives, or those who have inspired us and/or guided us along our path, want to be tended to and fussed over. I’ve recently discovered (thank you, Rachael Rice!) that sardine cans make the *best* mini altar! And if you don’t have any small enough pictures of your loved one, check out mootsh.com. When you order from them, the prints come with a contact sheet of black and white minis, and that’s what I’ve been using here. It’s been a very meaningful process to think about who I want to honor in this way. The list is long!
If you’re local, come make Mini Ancestor Altars with me at The Heart of Cartm on November 15 from 3-6pm. I have gathered plenty of sardine cans!
