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“Grief must be released in a sacred way; otherwise, it accumulates in the body and the psyche, creating blockages that can lead to illness and suffering. Grief rituals provide the necessary container for this release.”
— Malidoma Somé, Ritual: Power, Healing and Community
When I learned of my father’s passing, I was at the Esalen Institute, deep in a CranioSacral Therapy training. In an instant, I shifted from a space of profound connection with peers—immersed in learning a healing modality—to sitting alone in my truck, perched on the edge of a cliff in central California. Below, the ocean waves churned under an overcast sky, reflecting the turmoil within me. This marked the beginning of a life lesson in navigating grief and loss on a scale I had never known before.
In On Death and Dying, Elizabeth Kübler-Ross outlines five stages of grief: Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, and Acceptance. Other models expand this to seven stages:
Shock and Denial: Initial disbelief and numbness.
Pain and Guilt: Suffering and guilt over what was left unsaid or undone.
Anger and Bargaining: Frustration and attempts to regain control.
Depression: Deep sadness and realization of the loss.
Upward Turn: Calming and organizing of feelings.
Reconstruction and Working Through: Finding practical solutions and adjusting.
Acceptance and Hope: Peace and renewed hope for the future.
These stages can offer a framework for understanding the grieving process, but grief is intensely personal and does not adhere to a set order. We may revisit stages, skip some entirely, or experience them in a way unique to our own journey. What strikes me is that our culture, in its attempt to organize and conceptualize grief, seems to have lost touch with something essential—the embodied experience of grief, beyond the intellect.
For me, the anger stage was particularly significant. Looking back, I see how my internal system acted out, self-sabotaging in ways I didn’t fully understand. I had no idea how to tend to the overwhelming emotions that arose, emotions that seemed to hijack my being. There was no cultural roadmap for allowing this energy to move and express itself in ways that honored the love at the root of the grief. In my confusion, I isolated myself, retreating to a cabin with bulk beans and rice, falling into a deep depression. I did the best I could, but my soul grieved not only the loss of my father but the profound loneliness of the grieving process itself.
“The wisdom of grief is that it breaks the illusion of separateness. In grieving, we become part of a larger story, connected to all those who have suffered loss and all those who have found healing.”
— Michael Meade, Why the World Doesn’t End: Tales of Renewal in Times of Loss
Years later, I first heard about grief-tending and grief rituals from my dear friends Erin Geesaman Rabke and Carl Rabke, who have studied this work extensively with Francis Weller. In his book, The Wild Edge of Sorrow, Weller writes, “Grief has never been private; it’s always been communal. When we are in grief, we are in the river of all other beings who have known loss.” I felt this deeply when I attended a men’s retreat facilitated by Michael Meade, a pillar of the mythopoetic men’s movement. For nearly 30 years, Meade has hosted this retreat outside Mendocino, nestled among the redwoods. Here, about 100 men gather from all walks of life and a wide diversity of backgrounds, with ages ranging from teenagers to elders in their late 80s. Through mythological stories, poetry, and “radical ritual,” Meade draws forth the held pain within both the individual and the collective.
At this gathering, I made two observations that touched me deeply: First, at the level of grief and pain, we become closer to one another, cutting through the labels and circumstances that usually divide us. Second, in witnessing each other and being witnessed in our outpourings of grief, the healing becomes a communal act. Deep in the marrow of my being, I recognized that grieving in this way is our ancestral human heritage—something many of us have forgotten until recently. In that space, I was no longer alone in the pain of my heart, in the suffering from past abuse and rejection, or in the collective grief over the dysfunctions of our societal systems. This shared knowing is a potent medicine.
“In the village, grieving is seen as a collective effort, a communal expression of sadness. It is believed that grief must be shared with the whole community in order for it to be fully processed and healed.”
— Malidoma Somé, Ritual: Power, Healing and Community
Recently, as part of a year-long training in guiding ceremonial wilderness rites of passage, I had the privilege of participating in a community grief ritual, a gift to the West from the Dagara people of West Africa, shared by Elder Malidoma Somé. Upon arriving in the West, Malidoma recognized that our mental health crisis stems from the isolation of the individualistic Western mind—a profound source of both individual and collective grief. The loss of community, belonging, and connection has left us adrift, searching for purpose. In Malidoma’s view, the remedy lies in reconnecting with our ancestors and our grief through sacred communal rituals.
With my father's passing being more than 15 years ago, I had believed I had fully processed my grief over his death, but during the ritual facilitated by my mentor Kedar Brown, a student of Malidoma Somé’s, new dimensions of grief surfaced. What I thought had been healed came alive again, perhaps stirred by the communal energy, both human and more-than-human, present in the ritual. In that sacred space, a deeper layer of pain emerged, and with it, a greater capacity for love and gratitude. The ritual allowed me to touch a part of my grief that had remained hidden, waiting for the right moment to be felt—within the safety and embrace of the community.
“Without the village to help us carry our grief, we wouldn’t survive it. Grief has to be metabolized in community.”
— Martin Prechtel, The Smell of Rain on Dust: Grief and Praise
What is the value in re-connecting to ways of being that reflect the interdependent nature of our lives on this planet? I am not an idealist calling for a return to ancient ways, abandoning modernity. There is no going back. What I am suggesting is that there are practices that are essential to human beings, and if we forget them, we sow the seeds of our own demise. I believe that these practices are not something we “return” to, but are ever present in the deepest places within us, waiting for us to re-member. I advocate for reintegrating practices that honor death and dying, grief and praise, and our fundamental need for communities centered around life itself, not its commodification.
I close with deep gratitude for the cultures and people who have kept the flame of the indigenous soul alive, even in the face of widespread forgetfulness. And gratitude to the pioneers from those cultures who have created bridges into modernity and with compassion, have shared their knowledge and ways, encouraging us to wake up and remember our belonging.
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