Holding Space

My morning started in the usual way. I brought the same level of surprise to the moment as if it had never happened before. Jasper, our eighth-month-old puppy, jumped on the bed urgently dragging us back from a softer and less abrupt dream world by sitting on our heads and licking our faces. “Get up! I need to pee!” he said. Now, barely awake, I’m standing in the backyard in my underwear with Jasper wondering if the neighbors can see me through the trees. Holding space for Jasper to complete his morning business and thinking, as the pressure builds in my own bladder, could get away with peeing out here too without alarming the neighbors and getting myself arrested before breakfast. A mature frontal cortex best regulates the things we consider doing when we are on the wrong side of coffee. “You might want to wait on that. You are the one who is holding the space here.” It says. 

Now back inside with that first cup of coffee in hand, opening the door wider to let in the morning sunlight and bird song in and entering into conversations about the day with my sweetie. A mockingbird flies into the bedroom circles the room three times and flies out again. The day was calling us forward with no concern about my being on the right side of coffee. It would not wait for such small self-indulgences. As my mind began to turn towards writing for this newsletter I found myself thinking of the words “holding space” and how we are all called on at different times of our lives to hold space for others. So often I have written about initiatory rites of passage from the perspective of the one who is navigating the deep waters of transformation; the one who goes onto the mountain to pray for vision; the one who finds themselves in a soul’s descent or in a dark night despair looking for answers or more life directing questions. Today, I would like to speak of the ones who hold the space.

It was still dark when the four ceremonial midwives awakened before that first light on the morning of the threshold ceremony. At sunrise they will usher those going onto the sacred mountain through the threshold fire and into the wilds of nature to fast and pray for vision for the next four days and nights. The guides gather under the kitchen tarp to discuss the ceremony before the questers awaken. Before too long, the drum begins to echo a strong heartbeat rhythm through the early morning mist along the river calling everyone to the fire. Each vision quest candidate comes to the fire carrying minimal provisions and the written prayers they wish the guides to offer on their behalf that will see them through their solo time. These four guides will alternate holding prayerful watch by the fire every hour of the day and night through rain or starlight for the next four days. By this fire, they will exchange shifts to pray, to sing songs, to make offerings, and hold silent vigil during the long hours of the night for the ones who have gone onto the sacred mountain to seek new vision so that their people may live.

One at a time now, each quester steps into the circle of stones surrounding the fire. With humbleness and focus, they walk a sun-wise direction around the flames offering a bit of tobacco, cornmeal or cedar to the ones who have come before. They pick up one small, blackened ember from the ashes to take with them onto the mountain as a reminder of the prayerful connection that is being held for them back here in the village at this fire. After circling the fire they stand facing the rising sun and facing the ceremonial guides who has now stepped in front of them, looks them in the eyes, pauses, and asks: “What is that you wish to mark with this ceremony?” Words are spoken, sometimes about the ending of an old story or the beginning of a new. The guide speaks again, “Who or what would you like to dedicate your quest to?” More words are spoken, sometimes about children or parents or ancestors, future generations or the environment. Sometimes they speak of dedications to the ones who have carried the same challenges that they themselves have faced in the hopes that their time on the mountain will offer a bit of grace to the lives of others. With a goose wing, cedar, and sage, the guide encircles their body with smoke and prayers for safekeeping, mirroring back to them all the words they have spoken. The single heartbeat rhythm of the drum is held until the last quester disappears from sight. The guides will continue to hold this sacred space by the fire until they all return from the mountain.

I think now of those more ordinary and recognizable moments that speak of the ways in which we are called on at various times in our lives to hold space for each other. We often sit and bare silent witness to moments of transition or challenge: the birth of a child; the death of a parent; deeply listening as a friend shares a story of grief and challenge; moments of reconciliation and repair between friends or lovers; a graduation ceremony; sitting in a hospital room waiting to hear news of a loved one; getting up night after night weary to the bone to attend to a crying child, waiting to hear of a friends virus test results; driving a loved one to their chemotherapy appointment, witnessing a marriage ceremony; witness a separation and divorce of those we love, or those times when we ourselves have something to say and we hold the space of innocence around another because we know when it comes time to speak, it will shatter that innocence and break the hearts of those we love; or times of offering safety and watchful attention for the presence of danger for the things that another more innocent one under our care does not know they don’t know.

To hold space is much more than simply witnessing and waiting. To hold space for another during times of transition is to make that moment more real; to offer our loving presence and a blessing for the crossing of this threshold the other has entered; a certain kind of accountability that also says; “While I can not take this from you, I will walk beside you and remind you along the way of who you are and the loved that surrounds you when you forget these things. The one who holds the space also prayerfully calls upon the sacred, upon the greater mystery, to offer protection and grace for the one who walks in the dark. 

Now, back in the village, it is sunrise on the fifth morning. The sound of the drum begins again to pierce the early morning mist and travel along the river as these ceremonial midwives send out the call to those on the mountain that it is time to return to the village. Sometimes the drumbeat is held for hours as if it were an umbilical cord that cannot be severed until everyone returns safely.  Each quester will step back through the threshold circle at the fire being greeted there by the one who has held the space. Once again sacred smoke & prayerful gratitude encircles them as the holder of the space offers gratitude for their safe return and a blessing of confirmation for that which the quester went onto the mountain to mark with this ancient ceremony. “Deep breath into your heart… now let it go” the guide says as the goose wing and the smoke of cedar and sage make a final pass across their heart. “Welcome home.”

The one who has held the space now offers a taste of sweet nectar, in the form of pomegranate juice, a ripened strawberry and a piece of cantaloupe for the new the life that is to come, the first taste of something other than water to cross their lips in four days. After some time to feast and rest the guides will call together the elders council to sit and listen to the stories of their time on the mountain. They in turn, will mirror back to each person what they hear reflected in the story that speaks to the mysteries of their personal medicine and the gifts healing they have returned with to offer their community. These holders of space will assist each of the questers to begin to form in their own understanding a personal mythology that will guide their lives like a silent vow spoken in solitude to the river at sunrise.

My friend and teacher, Malidoma Some´, has shared with me that in the Dagara Tribe of West Africa it is understood that based on the year of your birth you are born into one of five elemental clans; the earth clan (years ending with a 0 or 5); the water clan (years ending with a 1 or 6); the fire clan (years ending with a 2 or 7); the nature clan (years ending with a 3 or 8) and the mineral clan (years ending with a 4 or 9). Each clan member has certain medicine gifts they are born with and specific responsibilities during ritual gatherings. Earth clan people are considered to be the holders of sacred space giving attention to the larger container, to belonging, to home, to connection, to community and to the nourishment of others. From this perspective we are currently in an earth clan year, 2020. It appears to me that we are all being asked to hold space for our global community at this time as we cross a threshold of uncertainty where old stories return to ashes and new stories rise out of those same ashes. May we each keep the sacred fires burning through the long hours of the night as we prayerfully hold watch for the safe return and the new stories that are to come.

Written by Kedar Brown