10/31/2024
Caught in the Tumult: Honoring the Dead and the Power of Water
Today marks a rare convergence—both All Hallows’ Eve and Diwali, the festival of lights celebrated in the East. As we honor Halloween, a tradition rooted in my own ancestral ties to Scotland and Ireland, I’m reminded of the shared theme between these days: a reverence for what lies beyond, whether in the shadows or in the warmth of light.
It’s a powerful reminder of memory, the cycles of release and renewal, and how time itself can be a gift—a current that both flows from the past and guides us forward.
In the spirit of this season and its reminders, I wanted to share something deeply symbolic—the power and memory in water.
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This recent natural disaster, Helene, has left many of us in the beautiful mountains of North Carolina feeling caught in the tumult—pulled by powerful currents, both literal and figurative. In this season when water has shown its overwhelming strength, I’m reminded of the threshold between the seen and unseen, the dead and those still living.
Like our The Wild Temple School prayer mandala (image below) —a weaving of detritus and flowers honoring all the lives lost to Helene—this time of Samhain and Diwali offers a similar reflection and juxtaposition.
It feels like a threshold of opportunity to honor the dead, the memory of the spirit of place we find ourselves in, and the wisdom of our ancestors. It also brings me to reflect on how water, in holding memory, cleanses, purifies, AND brings us new life and ways of being.
When we experience water in this way, it’s easy to feel as though we’re tumbling, spinning, and searching for something to hold on to as familiar landscapes shift, both externally and within. But water isn’t just a force of destruction—it’s a vessel of memory, life, and cleansing, with a wisdom that runs deep.
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Water’s memory is vast, carrying with it the imprints of what has come before—just as we carry the unspoken stories, emotions, and inherited pain of our ancestors. When disasters like floods release this memory, we’re confronted not only with physical devastation but with the emotional residue of generations. Old paradigms, unprocessed and outdated, rise to the surface, and we’re left with a choice: to shove it down once again or to tend to it, to heal.
In moments like these, we often feel the pull of emotional baggage, wounds left unresolved, and ways of being that no longer serve us. This cycle is especially clear during a season like this, when we’re called to honor those who came before us, to reflect, and to acknowledge both the love and the trauma passed down to us.
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When we’re physically caught in a disaster, like many were in Helene, we find ourselves at the mercy of stress hormones, trauma responses, fighting for safety and stability. In the aftermath, we can be left with what’s often termed “compassion fatigue.” The act of caring, of holding space for pain, can drain us, leaving us feeling worn thin.
So how do we tend to these old memories, this ancestral inheritance of emotion and experience, when it rises all at once? How do we honor the past while stepping forward into a healthier way of being?
First, we can start by recognizing water’s gift, even in the midst of its tumult. Just as water floods the land, it can flood us with an invitation to release, to cleanse, and to create space for something new. By acknowledging what’s risen to the surface—the pain, the fatigue, the old patterns—we allow ourselves the chance to process, to integrate, and to move forward.
This is why honoring the dead, in a way, means honoring ourselves. It means taking time to sit with our emotional landscape, to recognize what no longer serves, and to commit to healing. It’s a call to step out of the currents of unprocessed stress and trauma, to tend to our own nervous systems, and to make space for compassion.
We can also DO RITUAL (see the attached RECIPE CARD in images below for a ritual to do today or over the weekend.)
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In this season of memory and honoring, may we each find ways to pause, take stock, and care for ourselves as we navigate these waters. Together, let’s find moments to slow the current, recognize what we’re holding, and honor the beauty and resilience that flow within us—a legacy from those who came before and a gift we pass forward.
Thank you for being here, for honoring, and for continuing to navigate these waters with strength, compassion, and love.
With heart,
Brooke Sullivan
PS. A little insight on Detritus:
Detritus—often dismissed as “dead stuff”—is far from lifeless. In reality, it is like a form of “mother’s milk” for many young marine creatures, especially baby sea turtles, providing them with a nursery and essential food. Baby sea turtles, for example, thrive in floating mats of seaweed, such as Sargassum, which collects detritus like plant matter, microorganisms, and algae. These mats offer food, shelter, and warmth, creating a safe haven that is essential for survival, protecting them from predators and supporting their delicate growth as they navigate the ocean’s currents.
Detritus also forms the base of aquatic food chains, sustaining life in mangrove ecosystems and estuaries by nourishing a variety of detritivores—tiny organisms that recycle these nutrients and pass them up through the food web. Without detritus, the intricate web of marine life would be disrupted, affecting everything from small fish to larger predators. As humans, we often misjudge detritus, labeling it as "waste," when it is in fact the womb of the ocean, sustaining biodiversity and fostering new life at every level
Thank you to my friend Jennifer Bryce Polon, a wildlife rescuer and old friend who shared this wisdom with me:)
