Dagara Grief Ritual
we are the neurons of mother earth
i bowed before
before time
we were
wombs
bowing to wombs,
space
bowing to space,
we were
born before
beginnings had names, but
before i bowed,
i prayed
and closed
my eyes
to say,
Teach Me,
Let Me Feel
Chuah, chuah, chuah
The white haired daughter of Odysseus danced in her blue skirt swaying like the ocean, a rattle in each hand, shaking to the rhythm of a West African chant, “We can’t do this alone.”
We drummed and sang the simple and beautiful melody of this chant for hours and hours. Three days, a container of grief. In a mother tongue of another land, we were told this chant’s meaning in English, a chant for grieving, a chant for funerals:
We can’t do this alone
We can’t do this alone
We can’t do this alone
To the Dagara people of Burkino Faso, West Africa, grieving is an opportunity to BE together, to SHARE in the movement of our waters, of tears, of subtle and long griefs accumulated over the years; grieving is an opportunity to sing Love back into the weave of Life, of our hearts, of community. To grieve, openly, is to be ALIVE. To grieve is to be fully human, to love.
Wailing into
Snot and fists, we
Portal through
and beyond, we
Give our grief
Like food
To the ancestors
One of the facilitators mentioned a memorable term: “emotional plaque.” I could sense the waves of wailing appeasing the entangled misgivings of those gone past. Generations of unfelt grief. A culture of shame. Fix it or hide it, but don’t feel it and definitely don’t share it with others. These subtle messages embedded in the cloth of our culture. And if you’re a man, forget it.
Grieving the ungrieving men. Grieving the man who learned to be ashamed of tears. Grieving the young men learning to cry and being isolated for it. Grieving the generations of disconnect between fathers and sons.
When will we free the tears of our Grandfathers? The tears of our Grandmothers? How far does WWI carry through the generations? How far does WWII carry on? The loss of daughters and sons, the disappearance of sisters, mothers, aunties. When will we loosen the knots of self-denial and allow ourselves the GIFT of grieving?
The white haired Grandmother danced with her rattles and her beauty, the only one standing in the soft spotlight of The Hearth. Dancing, swaying, grieving the loss of home, the loss of immigration, silently communing with her own deceased lineage of Villagers.
The sacred link of women, Jewish women, gathered before the altar clothed in candles and flowers, red cloth and framed pictures, they spoke out loud to those gone past: Help Us. Be With Us. Show Us How To Heal.
My grief moved from the personal to the universal, from the child to The Child, from the mother to The Mother. My womb rattled, like the shakers of the dancing daughter of Odysseus, and my womb released, at least a lifetime of tension (mine?), as I blessedly connected to my own, very long time ago Grandmother, one who claims me as her own, one who speaks to me through my womb.
The womb carries memory.
Genocide, suicide, car accidents, loss of home, the deep lonelinesses of our culture, imprints of war, the aching pains of Mother Earth, the ocean, the birds…
i swayed
to the rhythm
of the djembe
cradled in the Old Ways
cradled in the Old Ways
wailing
for the waters, i
surrendered my own
to the shrine
to the bundles
in the circle of ash,
i gave it all,
again and again and again
* * *
Technologies of transformation are appropriate in trauma-informed societies. We can’t move forward without feeling what has come to pass. We can’t be healthy without allowing the forces of nature to pass through us. Cry. Wail. Rage.
Thank you Malidoma Somé. Thank you Sobonfu Somé. Thank you to the people of Burkino Faso. Thank you facilitators, those who are carrying this work forward.
* * *
How was the Grief Ritual?
It was the beginning of the beginning of remembering how to be a Villager.
Blessing the Boats
by Lucille Clifton
may the tide
that is entering even now
the lip of our understanding
carry you out
beyond the face of fear
may you kiss
the wind then turn from it
certain that it will
love your back may you
open your eyes to water
water waving forever
and may you in your innocence
sail through this to that