There's a grief that doesn't have a name in the languages around us. Not the loss of a person — the loss of a world you believed in. It keeps arriving, with no body to bury and no clean date to mark as the day it ended.
I built somewhere to put it. Not a cure. A made thing — something you can do alone at your kitchen table and somehow not be alone at all, because all across the window, other people are feeding the same vessel and letting their own mended frequency come out of it, each of us holding a thread.
This page is the whole working, free, start to finish. Do it with what you already have. The kit is here too, if you'd rather hold something my hands made — but you need nothing on this page that you have to buy.
No signup. No email. No gate.Take the ritual with you
A printable version of the whole working, with the mark to copy and substitutions for every piece.
Download the ritual (PDF)It's yours either way. If it reaches you, subscribing keeps the rest coming — but the working doesn't ask for anything in return.
Just so we're on the same pageA few words first
You don't need these to do the working. They're only here so nothing feels like a riddle.
- Noor
- The energy running under everything. No face, no agenda. It's just there, the way the jet stream just flows.
- Hesha
- The face we give that impersonal energy so we have something to hold onto.
- Cariveth
- A hesha I made on purpose: a vessel we all pour into and feed across the window, then let dissipate. No deity. A tool that does one job.
- The sigil
- The mark drawn on the seed paper and the back of the star. It carries the instruction — create love from misguided destruction — so you don't have to say anything. The mark does the work.
What this actually is
On a day inside the window, wherever your body is, you sit with the grief and rage that's thick in the air this year and let it move through Cariveth — the vessel all of us are feeding. The sigil carries the instruction; she turns it. What goes in as destruction comes back out as love of humans because they exist. Then you let your piece go and come back to your night.
You're not picking a side, and you're not fixing the country. You're doing the one thing that helps with a grief this size: tapping the power all around us, building it somewhere to live, and not being the only one doing it.
And why the timing mattersWhy the Fourth
Neptune — dreams and dissolution — comes to a standstill right at the very start of Aries that week, square on the 250th. The window opens as Neptune slows in late June, peaks around the Fourth, and closes as it starts moving again, somewhere mid-July.
Cariveth builds while we feed her and leaks the whole time — a slow, steady letting-go — until the window closes and she's fully gone. The flexibility is the point: it makes room for those of us who need a safe, quiet moment to find one.
Four simple steps, however your body isThe working
Clear
Sit — a chair, a bed, a wheelchair, the back porch, a parking lot under the fireworks. Smell the eucalyptus, one slow breath. It tells your body something is happening. Set down what's yours, just for now — the day's rage, your own grief. You'll pick it back up after. You don't have to be calm or empty. Just willing.
Join Cariveth
Hold the keychain with the sigil against your palm. Cariveth is the vessel the rest of us are feeding too, across the whole astrological window — an object we made together to pour this into. You don't have to call her or perform anything. Just know you're joining her, one of many.
Let it move
Open to what's thick in the air this year — the grief, the rage, the misguided destruction, all of it, every direction. Don't sort it. Don't judge it. Let it move through you and into Cariveth. The sigil carries the instruction to transform and release. What goes in as destruction comes back out as love — love of humans because they exist. If it helps, name one thing you're handing over, silently or out loud. Sit with it a breath or two. You're not holding it alone.
Let your piece go, and close
When you're ready, send it to the land: bury the seed paper, or dissolve it in water and pour it onto soil, or tuck it into the compost. Wildflowers may come. Then let your part of Cariveth go — you're done; she keeps dissipating out into the world and will be fully gone when the window closes. Keep the keychain. It's a memento of our shared journey. Come back to your night — eat something, drink water, touch the ground, cry if it comes, reach for someone, or just rest. Whatever you need.
Doing it unseen: all of it works silent, hand in your pocket on the keychain, nothing lit, nothing spoken. At the fireworks you look like someone watching the sky. You're also doing the work.
No kit? The working still works.Use what you have
- To hold — a stone, a wad of yarn or string, a shoelace, a ring. Draw or picture the mark.
- To bury — plain paper, or a single seed in a scrap. Draw the mark on it if you can.
- To smell — eucalyptus, mint, rosemary, a citrus peel. Anything sharp and clean.
- Your color — a thread of red, white, or blue. You're choosing your strand.
Or hold the made thing
If low spoons, no supplies lying around, or just the wish to hold something made by hands means the kit is the kinder option — it's here. I worked hard to keep the cost very low. More than any profit, I want people to join me.
The kit: a keychain I crochet one at a time, a star on the front with the sigil drawn on its back, a eucalyptus bead on the hardware, and a piece of seed paper inscribed with the sigil that grows wildflowers when you bury it — plus the instructions printed on cardstock.
$20 Get the 250th kitBecause I make each one by hand, getting it to you before you sit down to the working means ordering around June 27 — and if you're close to the line, reach out; the working can be done across the whole window. After that, the free download is the way in, and it's a complete way in.
I don't have a resolution. I can't fix our pain. But I can create, build, and release — and share that with all of you.
Something you can do alone at your kitchen table and somehow not be alone at all. I built somewhere to put the grief. The door's open. Come do it with me, if it's yours to do.
With truce, with peace, with love.