Defining Ceremony

We tend to think of ceremony as something reserved, special, sacred, big, rare, a cause for celebration, a cause for reflection: a wedding, a funeral, a graduation, a jungle retreat, a plant medicine circle, or a hospital room just before surgery.

But ceremony is also quieter than that:

Ceremony is any time we recognize: this isn’t working.
Ceremony is when we feel the tug of discomfort and choose not to look away.
Ceremony is when we name the thing we’ve been avoiding.

Every moment holds that possibility:

The conversation you’re avoiding.
The sigh you let out without knowing why.
The decision to say no. Or yes.
The instant you tell the truth, even just to yourself.

It’s the moment you admit to yourself that something has to change.

And while ceremonies mark the turning points, the real work takes place in between them. In the uncertain middle. In the disintegration. In the showing up.

All moments invite us to shift, to change, to reflect, again and again. Hold space for the big ceremonies, yes, but remember: every moment allows for that same potential.

So next time you notice a tightness, a tension, a pause, a block, or the feeling that something isn’t working, take notice. You’re being asked to sit with the feeling and explore it, to begin to feel for the roots of it. This is how ceremony begins.

Ceremony as a continuous, lived experience.

It’s hard work, but it’s work you already know how to do.

-Richard