Student in Training - The Geese Heard Me

Blog by Lel McAteer, March 26

The theme of our third training weekend was Summer, and Mother Nature blessed us with sunshine for much of the weekend.  Greeting us was Rites & Rituals Scotland's ceremonialist, Helen, who had joined Lindy and Victoria to help us navigate the learning journey.   The day opened as it always does with the creation of our altar, the lighting of the candle, and a poignant welcoming blessing that gently gathered us together and set the intention for everything that was to follow.  There is something about that ritual opening that I look forward to more each weekend.

Much of the day was devoted to practical teaching and first up, Lindy talked us through what she describes as 'How We Walk With People': her process of metaphorically holding the hands of a wedding couple from that very first enquiry, all the way through to the moment they stand together and make their vows.  It is, I can tell you, no small journey.  There are many stages, many conversations, many layers of preparation that go into a ceremony long before the big day arrives, and we role-played some of it.

Now, I'll be honest - I love a bit of role play.  Give me a scenario, and I'm in.  Mischievous? Adventurous? Amazon delivery driver - I’m yer gal.  But even for someone who enjoys stepping into a character, this was a different level of challenge, because the stakes, even in practice, feel surprisingly real.  We met a couple for the first time (or rather, we played at meeting a couple for the first time), and immediately I understood why this is another skill that needs to be practised and honed.  How do you put two people at ease?  How do you listen not just to what they're saying but to what they're not saying?

Running through all of it is something that struck me as simple but important: you have to be the right fit and the right person to hold their ceremony.  Rites & Rituals don't do ‘wrong fit’.  If the connection isn't there and you're not speaking the same language, it's perhaps not the right match.  And that's okay.  In fact, that's more than okay.  That's integrity.  Because a Rites & Rituals Scotland wedding ceremony is many things.  It is bespoke and built entirely around the couple, their story, their people, their vision.  It is joyful, warm, and fun, because a wedding should feel like a celebration, not a performance.  It is legal, of course.  But above all else, it is sacred.

And that word, sacred, is the one that matters most.  Any two people choosing to commit to one another are stepping into something that goes beyond the paperwork, the flowers, the venue, and the dress.  Two people are making a promise that asks to be witnessed, honoured, and held, and that is sacred ground.  The laughter and the tears, the nerves and the joy, and the hopes for the future are all enclosed in a vessel - and that vessel is Ceremony, where those feelings live and breathe.  Without it, you simply have an event.  With it, you have a moment that people carry with them for the rest of their lives.  That is what Rites & Rituals understand, and what I am learning to understand too.  Ceremony is not the decoration around the moment.  Ceremony is the moment.

Saturday afternoon brought us something I hadn't expected to enjoy quite as much as I did.  Victoria (trained actress, singer, and super-ceremonialist) led us through a voice-coaching session that was equal parts illuminating and hilarious.  We began with exercises to loosen the mouth, face, and throat.  We experimented with tone and delivery, shifting between joyful, dramatic, excited and solemn in a way that showed us how much the voice alone can shape the emotional landscape of a moment.

Tongue twisters made an appearance - "top of the tongue to the tip of our teeth" being a particular favourite - and then came the real challenge: projecting our voices out across Loch Lomond.  Not shouting.  Projecting.  There is, it turns out, a world of difference.

And this matters enormously for a ceremonialist who works in all manner of spaces - large halls, intimate rooms, outdoor settings, old stone buildings - all with different acoustics.  The people at the back of the room deserve to feel as held by the ceremony as those at the front, and that means the voice must carry with clarity, with warmth, and without strain.

Sunday morning brought us back to the ceremony opening - that crucial gathering of people into the same space, the same mindset, focusing on why we are all here together - and this time we played with something even more nuanced: shifting mood.  From joyous to serious.  From serious to anticipatory.  From light to weighty and back again.  Because a ceremonialist needs to be able to move a room by intention, by presence, by the carefully chosen word or the well-placed pause.  It is, as I am discovering, an art form.

So, my ceremonialist toolkit is filling up - voice, storytelling, ceremony craft, meeting people where they are, holding space, shifting atmosphere, opening ceremony.  I won't pretend it's easy.  It is way, way, way outside what I thought my comfort zone was.  But as the weekends go on, that comfort zone is expanding almost without me noticing - until suddenly I look back and realise I am standing somewhere I couldn't have imagined standing a few months ago.

Sunday afternoon was given over to our Summer ceremonies, and I have to say mine brought me an almost indecent amount of joy.  I’d crafted a graduation ceremony for a young lady whose family are dear friends of mine.  I had a grand time writing it, making ‘stuff’, stage-managing it in my mind, and casting family members in central roles.  I put a twist on the familiar elements of a graduation and created something participatory, fun, and celebratory, while always coming back to the heart of it: we are here, together, to honour this person and this moment.  And then, because it was a Summer ceremony and because absolutely nothing else would have done, we finished with ice cream and ABBA.  Obvs.

Helen played the role of our graduate with enormous grace, and she wore her ‘graduation crown’ as if she were born to it.  I was, I'll admit, ever so slightly jealous.

So jealous, in fact, that the following morning I did my housework wearing it.  Hoovering?  Crown on.  Wiping down the kitchen surfaces?  Crown on.  Putting the washing out?  Crown absolutely on.

I have decided this is simply my life now.  A crown a day keeps the ordinary at bay.

Three weekends in, and I find myself pausing to take stock.  The skills are accumulating, and, with each weekend, the ceremonialist I am becoming comes a little more into focus.  It's not always comfortable.  It's not always easy.  But it is, without question, one of the most rewarding things I have ever done.

Something else is happening too, and it's harder to put into words.  I came into this training thinking I might do a little spiritual exploring along the way - dip a toe in, see what I found.  What I had hoped for (but was not so convinced would happen) was for spirituality to turn around and start exploring me.  And it has, with absolutely no regard for my comfort zone, introducing me to parts of myself I hadn't thought to look for and asking questions I'm only just learning to sit with.  

I'm unsure where the road goes, but I'm enjoying the ride so much that I'm in no rush to arrive.

And then there are the geese.  Yip.  The geese.

When we were projecting our voices out across Loch Lomond on Saturday afternoon, I called out an open invitation to all the geese in the vicinity to come to my party.  And why not?  It felt right at the time.

Between Saturday evening and Monday morning, I heard four separate flocks of geese fly over.

Four.  I'm taking that as an RSVP.

I hadn't anticipated actually having to plan this, but a ceremonialist must be adaptable, and so I find myself with two new and pressing questions: how does one create a ceremony worthy of a goose, and what, precisely, does one serve at a party for several dozen of them?

Weekend Four is on the horizon.  And apparently, so is my flock.