lonely man with overcast sky at water's edge (Photo by iStock/canerozkan)  

Composting is essential in our times. We must compost food and plant waste to nourish the soil and the web of life. We must also compost our grief to come into the right relationship with ourselves, one another, and the beings with whom we share this planet.

Practices for Transitions in a Time Between Worlds

There is no manual for living through our wildly unpredictable times. How do we imagine, prepare for, and shape an unknown future? Who do we need to be or become? Instead of a road map, we offer this supplement to illuminate inquiries, capacities, and practices that we believe can open consequential new pathways to a better tomorrow. Sponsored by Joseph Rowntree Foundation

I define grief as embodied sensations and emotions that surface when we experience loss, harm, or sudden change. For many people, grief emerges outside the context of bereavement, such as from state violence, forced migration, or environmental degradation.

What does it mean to compost grief? It means creating space with intention to notice what has moved within us, and feeling these shifts to digest the discomfort and loss that are woven into our days. This can take the form of a ritual, a sharing circle, or movement practice, to name a few examples. My book, Tending Grief: Embodied Rituals for Holding Our Sorrow and Growing Cultures of Care in Community, offers a selection of supportive individual and group practices. By spending time with our grief and releasing tears, sounds, or intuitive movement, we can begin to absorb the nutrients—or lessons—from our experiences and release the waste: anything that prevents us from living in alignment with our values.

The soil and our bodies and minds have been depleted by the project of Western civilization. Over the last 500 years, many of our ancestral or Indigenous approaches to grief tending have been destroyed. These practices once connected us to the life cycle and gave us soft “containers” in our communities where we could fall apart. My ideas about grief have been shaped by Sobonfu and Malidoma Somé, elders of the Dagara people of Burkina Faso who engage in monthly communal rituals to process grief, which they view as a social good. Unlike the Dagara, for most Westerners grief remains taboo, leading many of us to feel deep isolation and shame when navigating loss. As a result, it’s common to avoid grief or discomfort at any cost by numbing or distracting ourselves. This untended grief often builds up and spills over into our relationships in destructive ways, like the odors from a pile of rotting food that begins affecting the environment around it. But a well-tended compost heap will break down matter in a way that benefits the web of life.

The COVID-19 pandemic catalyzed a crisis in mental health, exacerbated by young people around the world feeling a sense of doom due to the climate crisis. Is it strategic to outsource our grief and discomfort to a small group of paid therapists? We need to relearn the skills to resource our communities to create regular, nourishing spaces to sit with grief. Regular grief tending can reduce isolation, build trust, and provide clarity about our priorities so that we can move forward together.

Grief is a great unifier. We will all experience loss, change, and death. It is worth practicing grief tending and peer support so we can prepare for the inevitable losses that are part of the beautiful and painful experience we call life.

Read more stories by Camille Sapara Barton.