Secular Burial in Nature – Forest – O how the hour reigns now in blissful peace! Every aching wound closes quietly!
Abbot Reding led the funeral service in the ravine in Wetzikon. The secular burial in nature in the forest was carried out with a procession of flags and torches. With lots of singing and music, the bond between family, relatives and friends was celebrated. The Zofingia (Swiss Zofinger Association) paid their last respects to a brother and said goodbye with flags and singing.
Torchlight procession to the waterfall - burial in nature in the forest . The waterfall was illuminated with torches and the violin playing was listened to devoutly. A fire dance was performed for the deceased around the fire bowls that had been set up.
Prayer
Sunny autumn days, allotted to me for pleasure, you are greeted with a softer beat by the breathing breast. O how the hour reigns now in blissful peace! Every aching wound closes quietly. The soul feels driven only to rest, to love, to quietly build on oneself and to look with love. And so I cry out in the valley, in the mountains, by the stream after every blessing, every consuming ray. I listen with quiet effort to every gentle discoloration, every growth and death, every withering and blooming.
Happy I learn to feel how creation along spirit and world touch each other to a harmonious sound. What weaves in the ring, what blooms in the field, it is only a symbol of eternal things to the beholder. Every sprouting plant that fills itself with fragrance carries the whole world mystery veiled in the calyx. It gazes silently out of the cliff, speaks in the roar of the waves, but the mus interprets it with holy lips.
Sunny autumn days, allotted to me for pleasure, you are greeted with a softer beat by the breathing breast. O how the hour reigns now in blissful peace! Every aching wound closes quietly.
Secular Burial in Nature - Forest
The soul feels driven only to rest, to love, and to look with love. And so I cry out in the valley, in the mountains, by the stream after every blessing, every consuming ray. I listen with quiet effort to every gentle discoloration, every growth and death, every withering and blooming.
Happy I learn to feel how creation along spirit and world touch each other to a harmonious sound. What weaves in the ring, what blooms in the field, It is only a symbol of eternal things for the one who sees. Every sprouting plant that fills itself with fragrance carries the whole world mystery veiled in the calyx. It gazes silently out of the cliff, speaks in the roar of the waves, but the mus interprets it with holy lips.