HOLD FAST
Love, loss, and an unbreakable bond in the face of unimaginable loss lead Wendy to discover healing approaches for personal grief and climate breakdown despair.
Preface
It’s early February 2016. Upside-down, tangled in my seatbelt in our submerged car, I watch my husband drown. Our car has plunged forty meters into a river. Within minutes, I lose my lover, partner, research assistant, editor, business colleague, and advisor. I am injured and lose my physical and mental health, home, community, profession, income, financial support, intellect, and self-confidence. Later, as I stand alone in the Tweed River, bidding farewell to my beloved husband, I find myself unexpectedly thrust into a realm where grief and hope coalesce—a space that extends far beyond the confines of individual sorrow.
A month after Karl’s untimely passing, I stumble upon Rudolf Steiner’s book, Staying Connected: How to Continue Your Relationships with Those Who Have Died. Inspired, I begin a daily ritual of pouring my heart into a journal, addressing my words to Karl. To my astonishment, Karl is listening, responding from the other side of the veil. What unfolds is nothing short of miraculous.
Amid our daily dialogues, I unearth “marigolds”—Karl’s term for the remarkable synchronicities and blessings that manifested around me. We rebuild our connection through nearly 400,000 words of channeled wisdom, healing the chasm left by his physical absence. With Karl’s guidance, I embark on a journey of profound transformation, eventually moving from Australia to Canada, my birthplace, at the age of 74 to rebuild my life from the ground up. I also embark on a “survivor mission” of road safety activism, resulting in massive repairs to the dangerous Australian rural road where Karl died.
In 20 months of communicating with Karl, I discover I can find healing when I rest in four Stopping Places: Acceptance, Gratitude, Forgiveness, and Engagement. They become the road map for my model of healing. The support of my local and broader community members sees me through my worst pain. I discover that being in a community is invaluable to the grieving person. Everyone needs support in this sacred work.
My sustained griefwork gives birth to another book: Creeksong: One Woman Sings the Climate Blues (2023). (See www.creeksongbook.com/) That memoir is my praise for the living Earth and my lament that Earth’s human population failed to listen to voices over many decades that foreshadowed the current climate breakdown crisis—and our associated human grief.
This current book is in many ways complementary to Creeksong. It recounts my journey through the labyrinth of emotions, where the echoes of personal loss harmonize with the collective heartbeat of an Earth in crisis. The heartache, the uncertainty, and the indomitable resilience needed to navigate personal and global upheaval become the focal points of my exploration in this book.
This new book, Hold Fast, reveals a story of interconnectedness, where the raw ache of saying goodbye to a dear one becomes intertwined with climate breakdown and climate grief: the lamentations of an Earth in peril—the loss of human, animal, and plant life and identities, beliefs, communities, and lifestyles.
Drawing inspiration from the “continuing bonds” theory of grieving, which argues that connections with loved ones persist even after death, we can also explore its application to climate grief. Just as one stays connected to a departed loved one throughout life, staying connected to Nature becomes a powerful coping mechanism for climate grief.
In this book, following guidance from Karl, I offer a guide—a compass—through the complex emotions that arise in the face of profound grief and change. As I recovered from the loss of Karl, I began to return my attention to ecological issues and climate change, my long-term professional calling. I found that the Four Stopping Places provided me with a means to engage constructively with my fear and grief over climate change (now called climate breakdown). As we apply these approaches to the broader realm of the living Earth—we can abide in acceptance, gratitude, and forgiveness and eagerly seek opportunities for engagement or service to the Earth, the source of all life.
In this book, I invite readers to join me on a journey of healing and transformation. Early on, I’ll refer to legends from my landscape of memory: the rugged countryside and dramatic history of the windswept shores, mist-shrouded moors, and towering crags of the Isle of Skye. In my imagination, “Hold Fast” is both a historical motto and a guiding light—a radiant luminary that pierces through the darkest depths of grief and urges us to anchor ourselves firmly in connection with what we have lost so that we can navigate the tumultuous waters of grief.
I invite you to join me as we weave together the threads of our shared humanity and collective responsibility to heal and protect the precious tapestry of life on Earth. As we recall all that has been lost, we may find a sacred space where our tears mingle with those of kindred spirits, and where our shattered souls are gently knit back together with the threads of continuity, love, and understanding. Nature, too, assumes a central role in our healing. In our memories and in Nature’s presence, we hear the voice of the Earth urging us to remember our interconnectedness and shared destiny.
In navigating the two types of grief—personal grief and climate grief—we may find ourselves deeply healed by staying connected to all we have lost. In the realm of personal grief, this may involve preserving memories, cherishing keepsakes, and finding solace in rituals and traditions to honor the lives of those we have lost. In the case of my relationship with Karl, this process involved daily communications for over 20 months. In the realm of climate grief, it may require bearing witness to the irrevocable changes unfolding in the natural world. We may need to mourn the loss of species, habitats, ecosystems, lifestyles, and whole nations. We may need to find active and hopeful ways to stay connected to the Earth in the face of seemingly insurmountable challenges.
If we imagine two hypothetical people, Sarah and Carlos, their stories can offer potent reminders of the deeply intertwined nature of personal and climate grief. Sarah, a woman in her sixties, finds solace in tending her late father’s garden to honor his memory. He was a passionate gardener, who instilled in her a deep love for the natural world. Now Sarah discovers a sense of continuity, a reminder that life persists even in the face of grief and loss. Her connection to her father and to Nature helps her heal her grief. She feels great consolation in recalling her father’s words as she sits in his garden.
A member of a much younger generation, Carlos, a climate scientist at the beginning of his career, grapples with the realities of devastation wrought by extreme weather events. As he confronts the enormity of the ecological crisis unfolding before him, Carlos often feels overwhelmed by grief and despair. Carlos knows so much! He is a long way from denial! Yet, through his connection to the Earth and recognition of all that has been lost, he discovers a renewed sense of purpose and unexpected resilience, channeling his grief into action as an advocate for climate justice.
Carlos’ journey is deeply influenced by the ideas of Active Hope proposed by Joanna Macy and Chris Johnstone. Through the practice of Active Hope, Carlos learns to acknowledge his grief and despair while also embracing a sense of agency and empowerment. He recognizes that by acting, he can contribute to positive change and become part of a larger movement working towards a more sustainable and equitable future. Carlos is learning that climate grief can be transformed into action. With his deep knowledge of climate systems, he’s likely to become a fierce advocate as he seeks productive ways to channel his grief.
Just as Sarah finds comfort in tending to her father’s garden, and young Carlos channels his grief into action for climate justice, we too can find strength in staying connected. In the face of the enormity of climate grief, staying connected becomes not only a source of solace but also a call to action. We must stay connected to all aspects of Nature and act on Nature’s behalf to address the profound implications of the climate crisis. Sadly, with climate breakdown, there may not be a definitive “solution.” Our grief is undoubtedly warranted. Life on Earth faces an unremittingly bleak future. Therefore, as our grief deepens, we must stay connected. As we navigate the complexities of grief, let us hold fast to the knowledge that we are not alone. We are part of a vast and interconnected web of life, where every action, no matter how small, has the power to make a difference. Together, let us embrace the transformative power of staying connected—to our loved ones, to the Earth, and to each other—as we seek the resilience to protect life and pledge to work for a future for all life on Earth.
I wrote this book because I wanted to link explorations in my 2023 Creeksong book to this book because climate breakdown is a significant focus of my life. I support every initiative to heal our relationships with the Earth while we grieve for what we have lost. I am here to protect the one Earth we have. There is no Planet B.
A Scottish legend
As I was writing, a voice reminded me of my Scottish heritage. “Hold Fast” is the motto of the MacLeod clan of the Isle of Skye. Nestled amidst the rugged beauty of the Inner Hebrides, the Isle of Skye is a land of mist-shrouded mountains, ancient castles, and breathtaking landscapes. About 150 years ago, both of my father’s grandparents on his mother’s side emigrated to Canada from Skye. Not surprisingly, they made excellent settlers in the harsh Canadian prairies.
According to legend, the clan motto originates with Malcolm MacLeod, the third Chief (1296-1370). One day, far from his castle, Chief Malcolm found himself confronted by a wild bull. As he wrestled with it, his clansmen, standing nearby, shouted, “Hold Fast, MacLeod.” Malcolm overcame the bull and dispatched it with his dirk. “Hold Fast’” became his new name and has been the clan motto ever since.
This powerful phrase, with origins in nautical terminology, is commonly used to convey the idea of holding tightly or firmly to something or someone. Figuratively, it communicates courage, resilience, and determination in facing challenges. Hold Fast feels like an appropriate title for my book about healing all aspects of grief. We must hold fast to ourselves in grief and build our resilience as grieving people. We must hold fast to those we love: to the humans, the greater-than-humans, and the living Earth. And to do that, we may need to reach out to them across the divide of death, as I did with my late husband, Karl.
And we must hold fast with determination to our principles that all life is worthy of our consideration. Despite our challenges, we must affirm that all life on Earth matters. We must steadfastly persevere in our commitments to protect the living Earth.
Another Skye legend
My heritage blesses me with another legend with powerful contemporary relevance. Life on Skye can be unremittingly harsh, with its tumultuous weather and unforgiving terrain shaping the character of its inhabitants for generations. Emboldened as a MacLeod descendant, I’ve added my contemporary interpretations to this legend.
Deep within the heart of Skye stands Dunvegan Castle, the ancient seat of the MacLeod clan. The castle’s weathered stone walls echo the past generations’ stories, including the legend of “Hold Fast” MacLeod. In this ancient story, Chief MacLeod, widely respected for his wisdom and leadership, shoulders the burden of his people’s suffering amidst a terrifying catastrophe.
Famine is killing his people.
The crisis, initially discounted, has wreaked havoc on Skye over many years. In a moment of introspection, Chief MacLeod recognizes that he cannot find the answers he seeks within the walls of Dunvegan Castle or from conversations with his clans people. He cannot find them within himself. With a sense of desperation, he steps to a window and gazes at the landscape below. His fear breathes him:
My people are dying, and I can see no end to this famine. We need gentle rain and weather to rebuild ourselves and take stock for the future. If we’ve caused this famine, I must work out how we can atone. How can I save my people? How can we bind heaven and Earth back together?
MacLeod must venture beyond his castle walls to find the guidance he seeks.
Before he leaves Dunvegan, MacLeod dons his yellow and black tartan kilt, acutely aware of its symbolism. Yellow symbolizes vitality, resilience, and determination in adversity. It also represents the sun, signifying hope, optimism, and enlightenment. The black symbolizes power, strength, nobility, and authority and represents the darker aspects of life: the challenges and hardships the Clan has faced throughout its history. For MacLeod, deep in this crisis, the black threads convey leadership and status, qualities he must now embody.
MacLeod journeys on foot. He enters wild and forbidding forests of native pine, birch, oak and mountain ash that nestle in rolling hills and rocky outcrops. Finally, he finds a Stopping Place in a patch of dark forest within a grove of mountain ash. This is a place of “crossing-over” where the veil is thin. He knows about these trees, also known as rowan. They are messengers we may meet during a time when we heed our calling or start a new journey. In their presence, we may experience the completion of one cycle and the beginning of another. MacLeod prays for guidance among these powerful beings.
As he rests here, MacLeod allows his grief to deepen. The dense canopy casts shadows that dance across the forest floor, and the air is thick with the scent of ancient wood and damp Earth. Humility is his only option. As MacLeod implores the spirits of the land for assistance, the mysterious forest gathers around him like the living entity it truly is. Its ancient guardians watch silently from the shadows.
MacLeod, burdened by his community’s collective grief, reflects on his people’s shared responsibilities. Grief turns to guilt as he considers how Island farmers may be at least partly to blame for the famine. Did their actions contribute to the devastation that now threatens to destroy them?
“Did our land clearing and farming harm the land?”
“Have we killed our Mother?”
MacLeod rises and continues walking. His despair deepens as he enters another dark, ancient forest. Surrounded by towering trees and stumbling over tangled undergrowth, he feels small, insignificant, and humbled. In a clearing, he falls to his knees. He weeps. His broken heart contains every broken heart he ever knew. MacLeod is broken open by grief.
MacLeod pleads for aid. The survival of his Clan is at stake. This revered leader is now little more than a humble supplicant: a desperate leader in desperate times. He cries out, his voice trembling: “My people are suffering. They are dying. I fear we have strayed from the ways of balance with Nature. Please guide us and lend us your aid in our time of need. I beg you to save my people.” His words echo with piety.
At first, he hears only a breeze rustling through the leaves. Then, a voice, ancient and wise, resonates through the air. “Hold Fast MacLeod,” it speaks, “the care of the land is not solely yours to bear. It is the duty of all who dwell upon it to nurture and protect its bounty. Your people have harmed the Mother. You are their leader and your task is to guide them. They will surely die if they do not change their ways. You have little time. Fierce leadership is demanded of you now, MacLeod. Your people’s damage to the land has changed everything. Now everything must change back.”
MacLeod bows his head. “Thank you. I vow to lead my people with reverence for the land. Please give us time to change our ways, I beg you.”
All is silent in the sacred forest. Then it begins to shimmer as the spirits bestow their blessing, etching every leaf with gold.
MacLeod returns to Dunvegan and guides his people to transform their farming practices. They return to the old ways: the true ways that honor the land and its cycles. And MacLeod helps them confront their loss, grief, and guilt through rituals and ceremonies. He promotes practices that care for Nature. True to his nature, MacLeod “holds fast” to what matters.
Change comes slowly, and many people die on the Misty Isle, but eventually, the famine fades, and prosperity returns. Many Islanders see this as a sign of the power of their newly remembered commitment to care for the Earth.
As I retrace my ancestor’s footsteps in my dreaming, I enter that dark forest: my sanctuary for reflection and renewal. I breathe the scent of its ancient trees and its whispering breezes comfort me. I embrace the call to action embedded in this legend. I seek to honor my ancestor’s legacy. And I acknowledge the depth of climate grief that touches all communities everywhere. Like MacLeod, I pledge to advocate for practices that protect the Earth.
This apocryphal tale reminds me of the specter of climate grief that weighs heavy on all life on Earth. Like the famine in the legend, climate breakdown is a stark reminder of the consequences of straying from harmony with Nature. Remarkably, the legend sounds a hopeful note. Through resilience, wisdom, and collective action, principled humans, guided by principled leaders, can change direction. We can follow a courageous path towards an ethic of caring for all life on Earth. I’m drawing on all my bloodlines (including the fierce Armenians) as I hold fast to my cherished hope that we can keep the Earth alive. For all beings.
For over thirty years, I’ve regarded Earth as my Mother. I did not come to that insight quickly, but I finally “got it” in a dramatic moment. In a tropical forest in northern Australia in late 1992, I experienced something I called a “consecration.” Then, I finally understood, at nearly 50, that I must dedicate my life to the Earth. Earth is my Mother, and I must serve my Mother.
Now, at 81, I view this book as my next step in service to the Earth. I am here, alive, in the Stopping Place of Engagement. And there’s no stopping me!
While Hold Fast sounds notes of sorrow, it also aspires to strike a chord of optimism. The first part is my invitation to readers to join me in navigating the turbulent waters of personal grief and loss, rest within and pass through the four Stopping Places of Acceptance, Gratitude, Forgiveness, and Engagement.
Chapters 1 through 11 offer a detailed explanation of the origins and application of my model for healing personal grief (co-designed with my late husband, Kal Langheinrich).
Chapter 12 is about climate grief. There I invite readers who grieve about climate breakdown to answer my call to transform planetary grief into collective healng and action.
I believe this book will help principled humans rise from the ashes of despair and find solace and guidance, whether we are addressing personal grief, climate grief, or both forms of grief.
In the end, it’s all grief.
It’s about loss, coming to terms with loss, and healing.
And ultimately, especially for climate grief, it’s about hope. It’s about active hope: how we can take hopeful action to move forward and build a new life on Earth.
Please join me on a journey that transcends the boundaries of sorrow and ushers in a narrative of healing, hope, and a shared commitment to healing grief—in all its forms.
BUY HOLD FAST, BY WENDY SARKISSIAN
Hold Fast will be available for purchase soon - watch this space!