A sweet high note rang out from two tuning forks, held delicately between the fingers of a masked woman. The woman next to her fanned smoke from a smoldering brick of white sage with a long feather. The man between them made circles with his arms, wafting the smoke over his chest and face, basking in the gray haze. The three took turns purifying each other through “smudging,” which cleansed their energies for the ceremony ahead.

Soon after, Episcopal priest and spiritualist Kathleen Mandeville struck the lip of a metal bowl with a stick, letting it dance around the sides to create a long, reverberating tone. She had everyone’s attention.

“We were inspired to create this event to provide a ceremonial way for those who have lost people during COVID to honor and celebrate those lives,” Mandeville later explained. “We believe there is a great need to come together in these times in sacred gatherings, to hold love closely as a community.”

Mandeville hosted the event through her organization IgniVox, a production company dedicated to spiritual, regional and environmental witness through the arts, along with Reverend Dr. Allison Moore from St. Andrew’s Episcopal Church in New Paltz. On Sunday, at the Rail Trail Cafe, the two hosted a day of remembrance for the many losses folks experienced during the pandemic as the first “Outpost Church” event. These gatherings are meant to invite folks of all faiths to spiritually heal together in a serene, wilderness setting.

Jillian Lindsey was one of the first to take the stage, singing in traditional Yoruban, a native West African language, meant to call the ancestors. As Lindsey's soothing voice filled the calm air, everyone’s attention turned to the stage and a dedicated few up front joined in. Nada Kholdova then led the group in a Croatian circle dance where folks grabbed hands with the person next to their neighbor and slowly spun around with a series of side steps. Mandeville went on to share an indigenous prayer, in the native tongue, which spoke of finding peace and spiritual happiness.

“We had many different languages and ancestors as part of the event, to honor our lineages.” Mandeville explained. “We survived because they survived. So we remember their life which flows through us today.”

Felicia Flanagan then led the group in a half-hour-long mandala-making session: bringing heaps of flowers, leaves, acorns, sticks and other “elements” of nature for folks to use. Some wandered off to work alone, while others huddled in small circles to create intricate designs. Any hard adult attitudes folks came with melted away into something like a day-care activity. The creative time had no guidelines, rather folks were encouraged to express themselves and honor those they wished to remember through nature. Professional photographers snapped pictures of the mandalas to compile and send to attendees after the event.

Towards the end, the crew of roughly 30 gathered in a tight ring around a crackling fire. Mandeville poured piles of breadcrumbs in everyone’s hands, inviting them to honor lost loved ones and toss the crumbs into the flames. It was hard to find a dry eye in the circle. One woman lamented over the loss of her mother, who was both a nurturer and her best friend. Another man mourned the loss of his wife, who had passed exactly a month before the gathering. One woman remembered her grandfather who suffered from depression from the isolation of the pandemic. Earlier that morning, a dear friend of at least 15 of the guests passed away from early onset Alzheimer’s and the friends shared memories and words that embodied their companion.

“The universe is a great composer,” Mandeville said, feeling thankful she held the gathering at such a critical time for a friend-group and others. “I can feel that there’s been a lot of loss and death, and people haven’t been able to find completion.”

While the emotional tension was high, the shared love helped ease the somber tone. As tight hugs and warm words were passed along from one attendee to another, it seemed like some sense of closure was found that dreary Sunday afternoon.