Rituals of Remembering by Lexie Wolf
Humans have always created rituals. Around fires and under stars, in temples and kitchens and yoga studios. They help us remember what is real—our breath, our bodies, the earth beneath our feet. A ritual doesn’t have to be elaborate; it’s simply an act made sacred through presence and intention. It’s easy for me to forget that the sacred doesn’t have to be separate from ordinary life. It can be what I notice when I am present, embodied, and briefly free from the pull of the noisy mundane.
Earth, air, fire, water. Body, breath, spirit, connection. Love. Freedom.
There are a few small rituals embedded in my yoga classes. They help create a container that invites presence for me as well as for the students. I arrive early to ground myself, shake off whatever might still be clinging to my mind, and circle the room a few times with palo santo. I burn incense, sage, or palo santo before I meditate or practice at home. The scent is a calling to presence through sense memory: it tells me it is time for practice, ritual, or ceremony.
Another ritual I perform in class is invisible. During Savasana, I recite a simple lovingkindness prayer to each student as they rest “[Name] may you be happy. May you be healthy. May you be at peace. May you live with ease.” It grounds me in my “why” in teaching—that I share yoga because I believe in its power to improve people’s lives.
Closing the space with an “Om” is another of my class rituals. Whether or not the rest of class included much yoga philosophy, the Om is a sound that represents a remembering of why we gather on the mat. It is the essence of the universe, the connection between body, mind, and spirit, the vibration that runs through all things.
While it’s simple enough to create your own rituals, it can be more challenging to manifest group rituals - just due to the logistics of our busy lives. I am glad we can offer some opportunities for community ritual at Yoga Garden, whether a yoga class or something else. On Saturday, our Women’s Circle met around a fire in the garden. We opened and protected the space, shared what was in our hearts, and held space for each other through deep listening. We made small offerings to the flames—of remembrance, release, and hope. It was simple and primal, and each of us left feeling more grounded and connected than when we arrived.
A day later, I sat on the cool earth in the hush of a Temazcal (Sweat Lodge) ceremony—the air thick with steam and breath and prayers. Tito, our wonderful guide, reminded us of the symbolism: the lodge as the womb of the Mother, a place of rebirth, of remembering what sustains us. Earth, water, fire, air—not only around us, but within us. The heat, the darkness, the songs—all of it a visceral conversation with Source herself. This is a ritual for deep healing and connection.
However simple or complex, rituals are all ways of coming home. The sacred isn’t somewhere else; it’s right here, inside of each of us, waiting to be remembered.
