"... celebrate the lives of those who have passed on, and it often involves paying respect to ancestors, family members, elders of the faith, friends, pets and other loved ones who have died. In some rituals the spirits of the departed are invited to attend the festivities."
It was really a moving ritual, where people poured water (from our holy water of the UU) from a pitcher into a bowl, while inviting the departed spirits to be part of the circle.
I'm not sure what Mom would have thought of this, but I invited her anyway. It kind of felt like she was already present for me, anyway.
The people sat in a circle around a low round table with candles on it, and each got up to invite their loved one into the group.
I thought about Charlotte S but didn't say her name. I also thought about Erika P's mom, who just passed away recently, and who Julia remembered.
I wasn't actually sitting in the circle because I was helping John with the percussion. We were sitting on chairs up on the "stage" and everyone else had chairs in a circle in the main area.
But I came forward in order to go invite Mom.
I was also very moved by the chanting, and felt even more involved than normal because I was also trying to accompany John on shakers, rattles, and improvise my way into it. (fun challenge).
We recited this poem which I will quote here to remember it (and in case this blog is some kind of spiritual connector to Mom). Like my NaNoWriMo writing, which is about to start up again. Jackie and I are going to write this year.
I could also feel her presence at the Day of the Dead service on Sunday. I wrote her name on a piece of paper because I didn't bring a picture this year, but at some point I was imagining her standing near the paper, to the left of the altar, or sitting with the choir. Maybe she'd be sitting next to Jen and they'd be talking science stuff or something.
Here's the reading chosen by LZ, which Julia led, before the Spiral Dance:
We remember them
In the rising of the sun and in its going down, we remember them.
In the blowing of the wind and in the chill of winter, we remember them.
By the opening of buds and in the rebirth of spring, we remember them.
In the blueness of the sky and in the warmth of summer, we remember them.
In the rustling of the leaves and in the beauty of autumn, we remember them.
In the beginning of the year and when it ends, we remember them.
When we are weary and in need of strength, we remember them.
When we are lost and sick at heart, we remember them.
When we have joys we yearn to share, we remember them.
So long as we live, they too shall live, for they are now a part of us, as we remember them.
From Roland B. Gittelsohn (adapted)
