It’s the rituals that are going to get us through
May 24, 2026
If I look up from washing the dishes I can see him. St. Francis that is. It’s a small terra cotta statue, maybe three feet high and he’s nestled in the garden of my neighbor across the street. Of the many saints I resonate with, he’s one of them. And seeing that we catch each other’s eye more than once a day, I’m reminded of the presence, even the peace of mind that can be found through soapy water and clean, stacked dishes.
St. Francis walked gently upon the earth, spoke with plants and animals, cared for the planet, and lived modestly. In a sense, he’s my hero and I like to think I mimic, in my own ways, his charism. When visiting the Basilica in Assisi I spontaneously wept as I approached his final resting place deep underground. I’ve only had one other experience like that while visiting Kauai’s Hindu Monastery. Upon entering the main temple area I was drawn to the right of the main Shiva lingam to the statue of Lord Karttikeya. A crippling rumble of emotion overtook me. I collapsed in tears. Transformed by ritual and humbled while being completely and utterly renewed, these womb-like places, the garbhagriha, are where we can arrive one person and leave another.
Fifteen years ago I came upon a prayer ascribed to St. Francis which I’m sure over the centuries has experienced some transliterations. But within the words I sense a generous kind of love—the intangible made tangible. I’ve committed it to memory. I like to think a part of me now harmonizes with that frequency.
In the silence of this new day
I come to ask for peace, wisdom, and strength.
May I look at the world today with eyes filled with love
To be patient, understanding, kind, wise.
To see others as You see them,
The Good in each.
Close my ears to bad talking
Keep my tongue from bad words
Let blessed thoughts fill my mind.
May I be so kind and joy-filled that anyone who comes near
Feels Your presence.
Dress me in Your beauty and may I reveal you all day long.
(Prayer of St. Francis. Adapted. Original source unknown. I found it transcribed on a piece of paper a long time ago and have had a copy by my bedside ever since.)
Like St. Francis, I am keen on devotional acts that are tethered to the earth’s energetics, elements, and mysteries. I remind myself constantly that peeling a persimmon, watching the sunrise, or listening to the magpies when stopped at the traffic light at the intersection of Candeleria and 4th are moments where the acts and practices of seasonal life commingle and come alive as ritual.
It only takes a small hole for spirit to enter.
Throughout childhood I had my fair share of living in an environment where I felt as though I had to be a version of myself in order to accommodate other people’s standards or ideas so as to avoid judgement. When this happens, or any sort of accommodation of character happens, be it from school, culture, or family I think it can delay the understanding of who you are and or delay how to direct honest, loving acts of kindness towards oneself.
Over time, I’ve had to learn that rituals offer stability and clarity of sight. They are the tangible practices by which I explore and participate with life. They serve as anchor, antennae, and lifeline when having to swim in a pop culture sea littered with meretricious flotsam or telegraphing political stories fraught with cracks.
Rituals keep me honest in destabilizing times. Rituals keep me connected to kin and community. Rituals, I think, are what writer and director Chloé Zhao is talking about when she speaks of the power and beauty of intuition. It is forged by practice. “And what is intuition? You know, it's not just something given, it's something you have to cultivate. And the body is the vessel, the chalice that’s able to receive that intuition…Our bodies have to be taken care of. This vessel has to be prepared for the work and for the intuition to come.”
Practices that we repeat over time, perhaps because they can be so simple that we disregard their potency, are doorways to ritual. I don’t think it has to be a dream world to bring awareness to things that are in our control. This is the way they come alive.
Light a candle before beginning work or preparing dinner.
Thank and bless the coffee bean, the farmer who harvested it, and the forest where it grew while making your morning cup.
Today’s walk is not just walking the dog to the river, but once you’ve arrived at its shore anoint you and your pet with a few drops of the flowing waters.
God/ma/higher self/little one/etc., what would you have me know at this moment?
In the early morning hours when the moon is new, write down what feels alive for you. Tape it to the bathroom mirror.
Good news, you’re on earth already. Find your sit spot. The beauty of it is that you don’t have to go somewhere to have a nature connection. Take the time to be a human being.
The (non-negotiable) monthly or annual reunion of your closest, kindred friends.
Oh and St. Francis, may I be dressed in beauty, may it be revealed all day long, and may I hold what’s next with ease. I’m glad to know you're watching.
Yours, Erin
Introducing ‘Living in Each Season’
I’m writing a class and you’re invited to join. It’s in this vein of ritual and seasonal practice. It will be an exploration of the seasonal arc present within a day, a month, a year, and our lifetime. During each transition and shift there’s a space to re-imagine and re-introduce ritual.
We are not flat one-dimensional beings, nor should the lives we live or our surroundings be. Rituals are an important part of coexisting with each season; a homage to dynamism.
The format will be a mix of short lessons, visuals, writing from prompts, list-making as ritual, and inspired sketches (if you like to map things in this way).
Right now I foresee it being online via my Zoom room. Stand by on full details.
All you need is:
a notebook (or digital equivalent)
a willingness to talk about and write about time and space and your place in it
a curious, generous mind
What you will leave with:
A new language for the multiplicity of seasons that exist, surround you, and affect you
New practices or creative rituals for living in each season and climate
A renewed relationship with your inner voice, your surroundings, and time
Fresh material and ideas to insert into your life, writing, traditions, work, and day