‘I don’t know if we were meant to carry so much grief in one body… Yet, we are not alone’ (Alexandra/Ahlay Blakely)

-These are the lyrics of a song that I’ve sung with others at song circles, protests and other events where groups have assembled to process and express grief (alongside other emotions) and to share the experience of trying to make sense of things that feel big, scary and unfathomable. The song also contains a part that is essentially a tuneful wail, in a bid to reconnect us to the embodied, messy, loud and cathartic nature of expressing grief. Right now, I’m struck ‘I don’t know if we were meant to carry so much grief in one body… Yet, we are not alone’ (Alexandra/Ahlay Blakely)

-These are the lyrics of a song that I’ve sung with others at song circles, protests and other events where groups have assembled to process and express grief (alongside other emotions) and to share the experience of trying to make sense of things that feel big, scary and unfathomable. The song also contains a part that is essentially a tuneful wail, in a bid to reconnect us to the embodied, messy, loud and cathartic nature of expressing grief. Right now, I’m struck by the ways in which reclaiming ritual, authentic expression and communal grieving can be forms of resistance to the legacy of colonial, Victorian Britain, where emotional repression and sanitised grief processes became the only socially acceptable options.by the ways in which reclaiming ritual, authentic expression and communal grieving can be forms of resistance to the legacy of colonial, Victorian Britain, where emotional repression and sanitised grief processes became the only socially acceptable options.