Joyful Aspen

The drumbeat of loss reverberates deeply in times of collective grief, and as a Druid, I feel that sorrow along with the pulse of the land, the trees, the rivers. We are accustomed to living in cycles—of birth, death, and renewal. But sometimes, these cycles contain within them a season of destruction, of chaos, which rends the fabric of our shared world. Today, we find ourselves within such a season, and I feel called to reflect on the experience of loss and grief when a nation itself falters, shadowed by what may feel like moral decline, in the re-election of a figure marred by scandal, accusations, and convictions.

Grief, in this context, is no simple thing. It is not merely a personal sorrow but a communal one, a kind of ancestral sadness that we carry forward. It is the loss of ideals and aspirations, the recognition that what we once hoped for—a society rooted in justice, compassion, and shared values—has slipped further from our grasp. It is the descent of collective spirit, one that Druidry teaches us to honor and defend.

The Anatomy of Collective Grief

Our ancestors understood loss on a grand scale; they endured the fall of tribes, the razing of sacred places, the silencing of their language and stories. When we speak of grief on this scale, we are touching a wound that goes beyond individual lives and taps into the pain of our shared humanity. This is where we stand now: feeling the weight of betrayal, the sting of dashed hopes, and the ache of helplessness.

Grieving the loss of a nation’s integrity is as much an acknowledgment of what has been as it is of what could have been. It is a longing for the values we wish to uphold and a pain for those who suffer most under the current shadow—those whose voices are silenced, whose rights are trampled, and whose dignity is disregarded. For those of us who practice Druidry, the very land beneath our feet mourns with us; the soil remembers and holds our intentions. We are not alone in our sorrow, for we share it with the land itself.

Finding Meaning in the Ruins

Druidry teaches that from ruin and desolation, growth is still possible. It is the principle of transformation, of composting the old to fertilize the new. In the wake of such grief, we are called not only to mourn but to search for meaning in the ashes. We see this ideal in nature constantly: after fire, a forest grows anew, and after the long slumber of winter, spring inevitably comes. But to reach that rebirth, we must walk through our sorrow, not turn away from it.

In the grieving of a nation, we also find ourselves grappling with responsibility. We must ask: How did we get here? What have we overlooked, what complacencies have we allowed to take root, and what could we have nurtured instead? This introspection is painful but necessary, a type of soul-searching that reaches into the depths of our collective heart. The spirits of the land, the guardians of sacred traditions, ask this of us: to bear witness, to examine, and to emerge wiser.

The Role of the Elder: Bearing Witness and Holding Space

As we walk through the valley of this grief, those of us who are called to be wise witnesses have a duty to hold space for others. For those of us who serve as Elders in our communities, the work now is not only to voice our sorrow but to provide sanctuary for the younger generation, who inherit both the promise and the perils of our actions. We teach them resilience, not by denying grief but by moving through it openly, teaching that even in despair, there is strength and solidarity.

This involves ritualizing our grief. Just as our ancestors marked the passing of great leaders or the loss of sacred lands with song, fire, and prayer, we too must create moments to honor what has fallen. We call upon the spirits of this land, the ancestors, and the wise ones to join us in mourning—not merely to wallow but to process, to release, to honor, and to ultimately move forward.

Planting the Seeds of Change

What do we do, then, with the ashes of our disillusionment? We plant. We plant seeds of change, seeds of hope, seeds of wisdom that may take years, perhaps lifetimes, to sprout. We live in a time where we are called to care deeply for our communities, not in spite of our differences but because of them. In nurturing connections, in weaving a fabric of compassion and accountability, we build the groundwork for what must come next.

The wisdom of nature reminds us that even the smallest efforts matter. The oak begins as an acorn; a mighty river starts as a trickling stream. Our power lies in tending these tiny seeds—conversations, kindness, the courage to speak truth, the commitment to justice. These are the tools we wield, the ways we counter the darkness.

Renewal Through Love

The work of a Druid is one of love—love for the earth, for truth, for the people we stand beside in our communities. Love is not passive; it is fierce, resilient, and untiring. The poet Kahlil Gibran wrote, “Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars.” So too with a nation. Perhaps we are in a period of searing and scarring, one that will leave us changed. But it is only through holding fast to love, through embodying the ideals we so long to see, that renewal becomes possible.

So, as we walk this path, may we hold each other close. May we remember that from grief can come great strength, and from loss, a deepened sense of purpose. In our sorrow, let us vow not to turn away but to stand even more firmly in the light of our shared humanity, honoring the sacred bonds that connect us all. And in that sacred remembering, let us find the strength to dream again, to work, and to rebuild a world worthy of our highest ideals.