The Ceremony of Living and Dying

Altar created by my beautiful Auntie

The darkness is returning as we slip through the seasons toward the long nights of winter. The world grows quieter, and the veil is thin.

Within this yearly cycle of light and dark that we are bound to through the seasons, there is also a call to honor the constant changing in our lives and bodies. Longer nights create space for more internal time — reflection, writing, and prayer. The seasonal arc of deep time — slow time.

Lighting the Candle

I sat last night at my altar and lit a candle for my ancestors. No grand ritual, just an arrival — my body sitting on the cushion, my spine straight, my breath flowing.

Speaking to my old ones from my heart, I let them know they have not been forgotten. That their work in this world matters. That I understand I am on the receiving end of all of their toil, hardship, and joy.

The Womb of Death

Five years ago, on Day of the Dead, my beloved uncle John took his last breath. My auntie, my cousin, and I had been tending him around the clock for two weeks as he slowly made his entry into the next world.

Though I have walked beside families as they navigate the dying process of their loved ones many times in my elder-care work, this was my first experience being with someone through their entire death process. The beauty of this womb of death — yes, beauty — marked me and opened me so profoundly that I will be forever changed.

Magic and Ceremony

The days preceding his death were filled with magic. The four of us — his three carers and the man himself — were enclosed in some small universe, a field created by love, spirit, and the work we were doing together.

My auntie has a natural inclination toward ceremony, and even in her grief she knew that the way we were to approach her beloved’s dying time held great power. She crafted a beautiful altar on the dresser; candles burned around the clock, fresh flowers adorned the space, soft music played. There was no specific plan — rather, we all moved like the turning of the tide, taking turns sitting at his bedside, speaking words of love, crawling into bed beside him, stroking his soft white beard.

Songs for Letting Go

My auntie and I have both sung with Threshold Choirs — community choirs created to use music to help people during their dying time. Women from the Taos choir came, and we stood around his bed, softly singing songs of letting go. Songs of being carried. Of leaving behind this world of flesh and moving into the world of spirit.

Whatever that may be. Whatever that means. Which none of us really know — because we are entirely wrapped up in mystery.

The Man of Integrity

My uncle was a man of integrity, wisdom, brilliance, and great soul. A physicist, a builder, a father, a lover, a spiritual seeker — a man who embodied truth and joy.

My auntie once asked him, after his Parkinson’s diagnosis, if he was afraid of dying. His reply: “No, my molecules are just going to be rearranging.” This was the wide-angle view he held of life. Death was another adventure. And yet, leaving is still so hard.

Words of Love

For the first days, he was still conscious — taking in the world around him, receiving our care and words of love. I sat beside him one evening, holding his large hand, and opened my heart to tell him everything he meant to me.

I told him how loved I felt by him — how, in his presence, I always felt like the only person in the world. His love that intense, that spellbinding. I told him how much I appreciated his wild stories about the universe and mathematics — how he pushed me beyond my limits, guiding me into realms of understanding I never would have reached on my own.

I told him how grateful I was for how he loved and cared for my daughter — his and my auntie’s unending generosity offering us experiences that made our lives richer and fuller. I told him that I believed his ancestors were proud of him — waiting to call him home, to bring him close again.

I let the tears flow down my face, as they are now as I write these words. I let my heart break right in front of him, pouring out my words of praise and sorrow. I wanted him to know how much he mattered. And how much I would miss him. That there would be a John-shaped hole in the world, and that he would not be forgotten.

The Final Blessing

When the moment finally came and he took his last breath, we gathered around him. We blessed him with smoke and songs, anointed his body with oil and prayers, and dressed him in his beautiful handmade Mexican wedding suit — embroidered with flowers and birds, somehow still fitting him perfectly.

There was sorrow. So much sorrow. I will never forget the cries of anguish on my auntie’s face, the way she crawled into bed beside his cooling body, cradling her love in her arms. And yet — there was tenderness. Even joy.

We knew he would not want to live in a body unable to move or swallow. He would not want to live a diminished life. He was free now — free from form and suffering, free to explore whatever lies beyond this mortal world.

Awakening the Ceremonialist

In many ways, walking beside my uncle in his dying time awakened the ceremonialist in me. I found that prayers flowed from my lips with ease, that I had an innate sense of how to honor the ending of a life, and that I could stay present with the pain of my loved ones in that household. Something sparked in me — and that spark keeps growing.

A Vision Quest

A year later, I sat for four days and four nights with an empty belly on the canyon edge above the Rio Chama, praying with all my might for guidance — to know the meaning of my life, and what I was to do with the gifts I had been given.

It was in that vision fast that it became crystal clear:

“It is in the work of holding ceremony that everything I have to give comes together.”

All my paths of learning, the stories I carry, the songs in my heart, the way I can gather people and hold them close — they all belong in ceremony. For the first time, I felt that I made sense. That my satchel of gifts had a place to come home to — a place of belonging and honor.

Growing into the Work

Ever since that autumn ceremony in 2021, I have been slowly courting the ceremonialist that lives within me. Studying the art of council — how to draw others into ceremony and hold them safely, mirroring stories to help others see the depth of their own beauty and power.

I’ve facilitated women’s circles, taught workshops, and engaged in a daily practice of courting my own soul and wild woman. I have been blessed with mentorship, a community of care that upholds me, and a deep knowing that this is the work I am meant to do in the world.

The Thread of Becoming

I can see clearly now the thread that runs through my life — from a childhood steeped in faith and early transcendent experiences of the divine, to an adolescence and young adulthood fraught with challenge and addiction, to arriving now as a grown woman with both blessings and burdens that have taught me how to stand strong as who I truly am.

This process of becoming, I believe, is the work of a lifetime.

Turning Toward the Darkness

As the sun fades and the Oregon rains settle in, I turn toward the darkness with an open heart and a deep bow to the mystery. A prayer that this winter will be a womb — a place where I can root down and grow deeper into the truth of my own becoming.

I feel my ancestors around me, singing:

“Keep going — we are with you — become all the beauty that you are.”

The Spiral Path

There are no shortcuts when it comes to living the life the soul longs for. We have to show up, cultivate the willingness to stay in the darkness as long as necessary, and listen for the still, small voice inside calling us forward.

I lean into my ancestors for support. I know they have survived hardships I cannot even conceive of. I know that I am their dream come true — and this gives me strength.

Strength to continue walking the spiral path that leads me deeper into myself and into my work in the world. There is no hurry. Life will keep holding me until my body drops.

Until then, I will follow the path where it leads.
I will sit in the ceremony of my life, in honor of all that I am, all that I came from, and all I am becoming.

— Marianna Iverson
Seeds of the Sacred

Honoring Darkness - Ceremony Guidance for Winter Solstice

The wheel of the year turns toward darkness. Calling us inward. Longer nights and less doing provide the perfect opportunity to gather ourselves in and look at what really matters, and what we want to create in the coming months. Throughout history, winter was a time when people came in from their work on the land, gathered together in homes lit by candles and heated by wood. Practiced handcrafts, told stories, and engaged in celebrations of the darkest night of the year and the return of the sun.

In our current time where we live lives of constant summer, homes heated to a perfect 72° year-round, and electric lights creating daylight long after the sun has gone to bed, it's easy to feel disconnected from the wheel of the year. From the limits that were a daily reality of our ancestor’s lives. We live lives of inconceivable comfort and endless distraction.

While these comforts are most welcome, and most of us don't desire to go back to a time when we had only candlelight and lanterns to light our homes, or wood stoves to heat them, there is something precious about remembering these old ways. Something tender about honoring the seasons as they change and creating ways in our busy modern lives to slow down and be with the darkness.

It's less than a week until winter solstice. Many humans are busily getting ready for whatever winter holiday they celebrate, and while the hustle and bustle can feel good, exciting even! There can also be a sense of exhaustion, burnout, and a lack of the deep meaning that our souls long for.

Solstice celebrations were at one time, and still are in some communities and parts of the world, a time for humans to come together and honor the sacred in their lives. To gather in a good way and create ritual, song, and feasting to celebrate being alive and surviving through the dark times of the year.

In the frenetic, capitalist-driven holiday celebrations that so many of us are too familiar with, there is not much sense of the sacred. Post-holiday slumps and seasonal depression point towards something that is not spoken about enough. We were born for more than this. We were born to be part of connected communities that live a life guided by the wheel of the year. Honoring and celebrating the changing of the seasons and the significance and meaning of being a human being alive in a living world.

What if we decided to do it all differently... What if we turn away from what feels like necessary spending, and towards time together? Creating bonds of community and kinship, and rituals to celebrate and embrace this season in the way that our ancestors before us have done back and back and back through time.

In my work as a ceremonialist, I treasure the opportunity to craft ceremonies to honor the cycles and seasons in our natural world, and in our human lives. Ceremonies enacted by a community when well-crafted and held, can be powerful and connecting experiences. Self-guided individual ceremonies can also be powerful and connecting experiences. Connecting the individual to the divine, the more than human world, ancestors, and our own souls.

I have found for many people who are longing to bring ceremony into their lives that there is a sense of “I don't quite know how to do it...” This makes perfect sense considering that ceremony is deeply lacking from the fabric of our modern lives. If we didn't grow up in communities that practice ceremony together it is unlikely that we will have confidence in creating ceremonies of meaning for ourselves, or our communities.

I share here some simple ideas that you can work with, mold to fit your own needs, To create a ceremony to honor this coming solstice.

1.       Set an intention- what are you hoping to offer and receive in your ceremony? Set with this question, a pen and paper, and give yourself time to feel into what it is that you are longing to bring forward through your ceremony.

2.       Winter solstice is a time to honor the darkness and celebrate the return of the light. Consider using darkness and light in your ceremony. Dimming the lights in your home, sitting in prayer and meditation, and then lighting a candle to symbolize the sun, and the beauty of this constant force in our lives, returning again to bring light and warmth to the land.

3.       What are you longing to release in your life? What are you longing to call in? Use strips of paper to write down one thing you are releasing, and one thing you are calling in. You could burn these paper strips with your candle, or in a fire. You could also bury them in the earth, tucked in tight like seeds waiting for the sun to kiss them and call them forth into new life. Even the things that we are releasing, the things we don't want to carry anymore, can be transmuted through the power of the earth, the elements, and time, into something new, whole and beautiful.

4.       Close your ceremony with some words of gratitude and thanks for the gifts that have been given in this life. It is important to have an opening and a closing to each ceremony. If you have called in helping powers, ancestors, or guides, make sure to communicate that the ceremony is ending and thank them for their support.

You can use these suggestions to create a ceremony for yourself, or to be enacted with a group of friends, or an extended community. Trust your guidance and intuition as you prepare for your ceremony. Gather candles, stones, sacred tools that you wish to use in your ceremony. Trust that you cannot do this wrong. Your offering will be well received if you proceed with a clear intention and an open heart.

Creating ceremonies can bring a richness and depth to this time of the year, and bring you closer to your own souls deep longing to live a life of meaning and purpose. Connected deeply to the sacred, to ancestral traditions, and to the unique beauty that you were born to bring forth into this world. May you be held gently in this tender time of darkness, and may the sun return again to warm your face and your heart in the months to come.

Broken Open to Belonging

Altar at my recent Broken Open - Tending the Gifts in our Wounds Workshop - August 2024

I'm home now, in my little nest in the tall trees. Settling in and resting after an eventful and beauty-soaked week, learning and facilitating at the Temple of Belonging Women's gathering here in Oregon. Imagine this, 230 women, acres and acres of pristine forest, Douglas fir, cedar, big leaf maple, a diverse and beautiful forest. Bubbling brooks, clear streaming water, and even a waterfall. Delicious meals, new friends and old friends, ceremony, prayer and song. To say my heart is full would be a vast understatement. I feel satiated in a bone-deep way.

We humans really are tribal creatures, even in this time of great forgetting, this time of isolation, and the poverty of terminal aloneness, we still need each other. Women need each other. To be gathered in with company such as this, able to freely express our beauty and uniqueness, our longing and our hunger for life, our tender truths, is such an incredible gift. And that doesn't mean that it's all easy, or fun and games.  For me, learning to belong, allowing myself to belong, and showing up as my full self is a work in progress. My prayer before leaving for the gathering was that I would allow myself to belong, that I would be able to remove all of the barriers to love inside of my heart, and be open and willing to the possibility of what this gathering could bring into my life. My prayer was answered.

I was honored to be able to offer a workshop during the gathering, a council circle with an element of time on the land. I called my offering Broken Open – Tending the Gifts in our Wounds. 20 beautiful women joined me in the sanctuary space, a gorgeous old Chapel with wooden floors, a wooden roof, and those old glass paned windows that almost look like they're ice, patterns swirling in the light. We came together with a collective prayer to share our hearts, our wounding, and the beauty that arises when we are able to turn and face ourselves, in our truth. Suffering truly is the doorway into the soul. Each one of these women came with  tender truth and with courage that was stunning to witness.

As a circle facilitator and ceremonialist, it is always a privilege to be able to hold women in this way. As I step deeper into this path it's such a joy to realize that there is honestly nothing that I would rather do. Being able to create space for women to feel safe enough to bring themselves fully forward fills my soul with a sense of purpose. Ceremony is the place where my gifts are most alive, and what a precious treasure it is to be able to share these gifts with the world.

In each circle there is a magic that happens, the right women show up. It has never failed. We gather and the stories that are shared have synchronicity, one woman needs so much to hear what another shares. We find a thread of connection and we know we are meant to be there. There is a palpable hum of aliveness in the space. What is this wonder? I can’t know, but I can guess that it has something to do with our spirit kin, our ancestors, and the spirit of the depths that calls us at the right time to say yes to our soul’s longing. Our showing up brings the magic, it is our creation and it is also a gift.

I spent some time in my preparation for this workshop sorting through my collections of poetry and finding poems that felt resonant with the work that we were going to be doing. You can see them in the image above, rolled into scrolls and tied with a lovely green silk thread. As our circle came to a close I asked each woman to go to the altar and take a scroll, open it , and then tie the silk thread onto the wrist of their neighbor, as a symbol of our togetherness, of what we had created together.

I rub the silk thread on my wrist as I write this. I feel these women with me. I hold their sorrows, and the earth holds their sorrows. We grew stronger together, and the wonder of that beauty is enough. We are enough. Ceremony is enough. We were born for these wild and turbulent times and together we find our way. We belong to each other.

Many Blessings,

Marianna