Grieve This, Too.

written by Dori Baker

🦋✨ Every October, I await the monarch butterflies’ return to Florida’s coast — delicate wings following the ancient sky-paths of their ancestors. 

This year, their arrival feels heavy to me, and holy. As they drift and dance, casting reflections on the sand, I notice my grief. I am part of nature, grieving, grieving. In addition to grieving Mother Earth, I’ve been accompanying two close girlfriends as they navigate end-of-life decisions for their mothers. My own mom, spry and vibrant, turns ninety soon, and I find myself hit by a wave of anticipatory grief as I imagine life without her. 

October holds space for grief: turning leaves, quieter light, and candles lit for All Souls celebrations in their many forms. It’s a time to honor the ones we've lost, to remember that the veil thins and love lingers.

Seeing the monarchs —fragile yet determined —feels like a whisper from beyond. As an indicator species, they remind me of all the systems broken beyond repair. I am sad to live in a divided nation, where my taxes support heinous crimes and my regular forms of activism seem minute. I work to relieve anxiety and depression in younger generations, but I know my actions are a drop in the vast oceans of need. “Grieve this too”, the butterflies are saying. Beauty and loss often arrive together, as companions; memories migrating across time and space. Thank you, monarchs, for reminding me of the souls we miss and the ways they return; for the systems that are dying and the acts of human courage that continue creating new forms of resistance. 

If we are to grieve with full access to our anger and pain without getting stuck in despair, we need individual and communal practices that help us express our losses. 

A soulful practice for grief is one that alchemizes pain and joy. One of my favorites can be easily engaged in formal or informal settings. Here’s how to lead a simple, nature-based,

soulful practice to honor the heaviness of grief and let it take its time moving through us. 

1. Invite yourself and/or participants to go for a brief “wonder walk”* outside, in whatever nature looks like in your context. 

2. Name a specific person or thing you are grieving. Perhaps everyone is grieving the loss of the same friend or family member, or maybe you are collectively grieving a loss connected to issues such as political divisiveness or climate despair. Help people get specific about one thing or person. 

3. Then, invite them to remain unplugged from media, keep their eyes open and their hearts attuned as they take a slow stroll for 10 minutes, with all their five senses engaged. Then suggest: “Allow yourself to notice your surroundings. The wind. A tree. A leaf. A stone. Is there something in your walking environment that reminds you of that person you are missing or the specific loss you are grieving? If so, linger in that memory. Don’t force anything. Invite imagination and intuition. Allow any feelings to flow. If the thing you notice can be held without disrupting the environment, like a blade of grass or a leaf, bring it back. If not, take a photo or a mental snapshot to bring back from your walk.”

4. When ready, regather in a circle (or with a journal if solo). Share what surfaced. Be sure to hold space for it all: regrets as well as gratitudes and everything in between.  

This soulful practice emerges simply from life, and invites us to be more intentional about everyday acts. Initiating meaningful conversations deepens the potential for soulful practices to mitigate anxiety and loneliness. At Our Own Deep Wells, we curate practices as they arise from our collective. You can check them out in previous posts, in our newsletter (subscribe here), or by following us on Instagram. Be well, Dori

*Thanks to our friend Nya Abernathy for this phrase, illuminated in her book Welcome Wonder. Thanks also to the work of Day Schildkret of Morning Altars for inspiring this practice.