June | A Ceremony on Home

In this deeply moving ceremony our ritual was to take a length of beautiful coloured wool and spend some time reflecting on when and where we have ever felt the feeling of “home”, no matter the situation. Every time we remembered a sense of home we tied a bow or a knot in the wool to commemorate this. On the end of the wool was a leaf shaped tag upon which we wrote what home means for us - what qualities and reflections.

Then, as some of us sung the Threshold song “I am home, I am safe, I am loved” we each, in our own time and at our own pace, made a pilgrimage with our precious reflections of home round a giant spiral labyrinth made of stones toward the central altar, which was a candle, a white tree growing from moss and covered in keys. With whatever prayer, reflection, intention or release that felt right for us personally, we placed our wool of home-knots and our tags onto the tree and took a key to remember our infinite capacity to remember our human longing for homeliness as we made a pilgrimage back out of the spiral. We then brought into the space all the reflections of people who are displaced and without belonging or home and sung those very words by Ram Dass, the rousing song “We are all just walking each other home.”

The following resources were gratefully shared at the OneLight Gathering on Friday 8th June 2018 at London's monthly Interfaith Ceremony, generously hosted at Notting Hill's Essex Unitarian Church.





At Home
by David Whyte

At home amidst
the bees
the garden
in the summer
the sky
a broad roof
for the house
of contentment
where I wish
live forever
in the eternity
of my own fleeting
and momentary

I walk toward
the kitchen
door as if walking
toward the
door of a recognized

and see the
of shelves and
the blue dishes
and the
steam rising
from the kettle
that called me in. 

Not just this
aromatic cup
from which to drink
but the flavour
of a life made whole
and lovely
through the
seeking its way. 

Not just this
house around me
but the arms
of a fierce
but healing world. 

Not just this line
I write
but the innocence
of an earned
flowing again
through hands
made new with

And a man
with no company
but his house,
his garden,
and his own
well peopled solitude, 

the silences
and chambers
of the heart
to start again.