Sinking Psalm: Rite of the Broken-Open
I sink, I sink, I sink—
into the black-reed water,
into the marrow of my sorrow,
into the hollow that grief carved open.
Let the surface close above me,
let the silence swallow my name.
I am not drowning.
I am being carried down.
Shards of me drift like glass in the tide,
cutting, gleaming, unclaimed.
O ancestors, gather them.
O spirits, hold them.
I bleed so I may be unbound.
My heart is not shattered—it is broken-open,
a wound that listens,
a wound that sings.
From the silt I gather myself,
from the bones I gather my song.
I surface not whole,
but holy.
The bog does not bury me
it remakes me.
I rise with moss in my hair,
and the drowned stars in my eyes.
Hear me, waters,
Hear me, reeds,
Hear me, grief.
Nothing taken stays lost.
Nothing broken stays silent.
I am the rite of the broken-open.
I am the psalm of the sinking made sacred.
~Grief is her gospel. Mud her altar. Echoes her spell.~
To sink is not to drown, but to be carried down… broken not to shatter, but to open.
Tonight I chant the Sinking Psalm, a rite for all who have been broken-open by grief and remade in the water’s silence.
Grief is her gospel. Mud her altar. Echoes her spell.
#bogbanshee #griefwitch #sinkingpsalm #brokenopen #witchrite #lamentandrise
#swampmagic
It's fascinating how different people find solace and understanding during challenging times. When we think of 'psalms,' our minds often go to ancient verses like Psalm 144, Psalm 31:6, or Psalm 124, which beautifully articulate human struggles, prayers for deliverance, and declarations of faith. These timeless words offer comfort and a sense of shared experience across generations. But what happens when our own struggles are so personal, so deeply felt, that they form a 'psalm' within us – a raw, unwritten song of sorrow and resilience? My own journey through grief led me to create what I call a 'Sinking Psalm,' a deeply personal, almost ritualistic expression of being 'broken-open.' It’s not about quoting ancient texts, but about finding a language for the unspeakable, much like the original psalms did for their authors. When you're 'sinking' into the depths of sorrow, it's easy to feel lost and alone. Yet, I discovered that this descent wasn't about drowning, but about being 'carried down' to a place where profound transformation could begin. Just as Psalm 124 speaks of the soul escaping like a bird from a fowler's snare, my experience was about finding freedom within the pain. My heart wasn't shattered beyond repair; it was 'broken-open,' creating space for something new to emerge. This transformation isn't always gentle. There are moments when the 'shards of self' feel scattered and sharp, yet it's in gathering these pieces, in acknowledging the wound, that true healing starts. Many of us, in our own ways, craft such personal 'psalms.' Whether it’s through journaling, a heartfelt conversation, or even a creative outlet like painting or writing a 'handwritten poem' in a notebook, expressing these deep emotions is a vital step. It’s about recognizing that grief, when faced, isn't just an ending but can be a powerful catalyst for growth. My journey, like many others, taught me that nothing truly 'sinking' is permanently lost. Instead, it can lead to a sacred remaking, a powerful 'transformation' where we rise with a new kind of strength and clarity. It's a testament to the human spirit's capacity for healing and finding 'holy' in the hardest places. This personal liturgy of pain and rebirth can be just as potent and meaningful as any ancient verse, offering a unique path to understanding and peace.
