The Wedding Circle: Where Ancients Dance in Modern Threads

Some weddings are beautiful. Others are revelations.

Recently we traveled to Denver for not one, but two wedding ceremonies.

Same couple, just two different ceremonies honoring the new and the old, the modern and the ancient, the new country and the old worlds.

The first was beautiful of course—modern suits and ties, bridesmaids and groomsmen, rings, familiar music, traditions, and familiar vows.

A radiant bride embracing her new life with her dashing groom here in America.

Building a life together that will be the foundation for generations to come.

The reception was song and dance, food and drink, with family and friends from around the world in attendance.

All beautiful, all familiar.

Even with everything so familiar, there were a half dozen languages being spoken, and a few traditional dresses around, giving the first hints that something deeper was brewing beneath the surface.

We went back to our hotel afterward talking about, and thinking, what a wonderful wedding and reception that had been.

Then Sunday came, and we attended the second ceremony.

I’ve been at my share of weddings across America, in Mexico, in Europe and Africa, so I’m not a stranger to other customs and differences in the festivities.

But this was different: The cross-cultural celebration made it feel like history reawakening itself—not in ruins or rituals, but in dance steps, colors, food, drink, and laughter that spanned continents, faiths, and forgotten empires.

🌍 The Bride, the Groom, and the World Between

She: Congolese and Nigerien — a daughter of the rainforest and the Sahel, where the earth hums with stories older than writing.

Raised in America, but steeped in the history, culture, and ritual her parents carry with them.

He: Ethiopian and Indian — a son of the highlands and the monsoon, where ancient crosses and incense mix with curry leaves and sacred chants.

Also a first-generation American with deep ties to the homelands and strong family connections that carry into every aspect of his life.

Between them: legacies of Christianity, Islam, Judaism, and Hinduism. Not clashing — converging.

Not diluted — danced into unity.

And as I said, they did it twice—to honor the old and the new, a nod to the future, and a deep bow to the past:

Friday brought the elegance of a Western ceremony — white dress, tailored suits, vows wrapped in modern tradition.

Sunday brought the drumbeat of ancestry — textiles alive with ancient symbols, dance circles older than the written word, and spices in the air that whispered stories of temples, markets, and memory.

🕯️ A Celebration Older Than We Realize

This wasn’t just a multicultural event.

This was remembrance, reverence, and pure marvel for any outsider blessed enough to take part.

Ethiopia has always been a crossroads—where Jewish, Christian, and Muslim traditions met, traded, married, and evolved together.

India’s stories have reached African shores for millennia, not just by ship but by kinship.

Niger and Congo birthed kingdoms rich in textiles, diplomacy, and philosophy.

So, when Congolese shoulder rolls met Indian hand flourishes and Ethiopian ululations echoed above it all — it didn’t feel experimental.

It felt inevitable.

It felt as if the soul itself had been unleashed to celebrate that moment, and the heart was completely free to just feel.

🧑‍🌾 And Then There Was Me

A white, Irish-descended farm boy from Iowa. Soaking in the sweetness of this wonderful moment in time, feeling just for these few precious hours, what the world should be like all the time.

Oh, guests came from Minnesota, NYC, Chicago, Seattle, and beyond.

Some had roots in France, Belgium, Congo, Ethiopia, and India.

Others brought Catholic, Protestant, Muslim, Jewish, and agnostic voices.

All friends of, or spouses of, or just friends, or family, there to share, and celebrate.

All standing in the circle too.

Not there observing. There belonging.

We shared food, we shared drinks. We danced. We laughed. We toasted. We listened. We didn’t smooth over our differences. We wove them into something vibrant.

Through the night I reflected on the wonder of it all—the beauty, the warmth, the humanity—it felt deep, ancient.

It could’ve been a moment from an ancient Red Sea trading port.

A wedding by the firelight of empires. A place where languages blended and hands reached across divides.

🧠 What I’ll Never Forget

For the next few days, we talked about the beauty of it all, we remembered the moments, the people, the conversations.

In a time when the world often feels fractured, I stood in a room that openly refused to participate in that illusion.

This wasn’t a melting pot.

This wasn’t uniformity.

It was a circle of humanity, the way we are meant to be.

One that every single religion points back to.

A unified people, together, for one another, sharing, laughing, surrounded by love, all of us on this small blue marble hurling across space.

The true emotions that live in every heart before prejudice poisons it.

A circle of life and love that we are born into.

A place where every culture had space to shine. Where faiths didn’t compete — they were on display and celebrated.

Where old met new, and neither flinched. The circle wasn’t symbolic.

It was a map. And for a moment, we all remembered the road.

✨ Final Thought This wasn’t just a wedding.

It was proof that the world has always known how to live together.

Our souls crave that togetherness.

We forget the lessons we were born knowing — how to love.

But not that night. Not in that circle. Not when the music called and the ancestors danced too.

Because truly— There is nothing new under the sun.

Only beautiful reminders of how we belong.

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