Great question. I find many gifts in these rituals. They can be hard gifts like the poem, The Skinny Branches, written in the wee hours of the morning before the last day of the ritual.
For me the hard places often yield hard gifts. While time may erode these gifts, like water wearing away stone, I find the hard gifts persist the longest. Does that matter? Probably not and yet I find some solace in tenacity in the face of futility. What can I say? The sun has not yet risen and the darkness is still thick with mud.