Falling into the Season of Samhaintide

For me, October is the pre-cursor to Samhain; Samhain being the Gaelic word for the month of November. October is filled with glorious color as the trees dance in wild abandon with the wind - in the last soiree of the season. The stunning beauty of their scarlet, orange, and gold party attire swirls about them, and me, like an exotic silk veil.

 It is Samhaintide, the gloaming sunsets become more purple hued, and there’s a marked change in dreams and meditations. I think, as the world stills, spiraling into its ‘season of death’ my mind and body also become more still and, in that stillness, awareness becomes sharper. 

 It is at this time of year that I experience increased episodes which involve flickers in the peripheral vision, shadows that don’t seem to belong to anything, a comforting hand on the shoulder, a waft of perfume or pipe smoke, elusive whispers, heightened dreams and a delicious melancholy; a longing to connect, even as I spiral in. This is what it means to me when I say, “the veil is thin.”

 I believe this happens more prevalently now because the Earth is in her season of dying, and like any death the act requires full attention. Rather like labor and birth. And while she is distracted with her dying, the attention usually more carefully paid to things ordinarily obscured, is diverted. Hence, the slippage of the veil, or the thinning of the mists which results in an increased opportunity and ability to see the Otherworlds.

 Traditions are vital food for my soul, and at this time of year my kitchen is busy with baking, and soup making and crafting of medicinals. There’s a smell of bounty that leads and lingers into a month of spoken gratitude; a month that culminates with turkey. All of this, along with seasonal decorating, and altar building, is part of my personal practice. I find comfort in the familiarity; in my roots.

 This year I will miss the traditions I generally celebrate with others. The Dumb Supper is a tribute particularly poignant for me, a meal taken in silence – each bite a sensory experience done in the name of a Beloved. Also, the Dance with the Dead, that allowed me to be with my earth tribe as they engaged with their Mighty Dead in a rite where spirits crowd the room and jockey to have their messages heard.

 It is during this time; in these November days, that I sit with those whose absence has left a rift in my soul and an ache in my heart. I sift through the memories of times shared, I smile and weep, feel and heal my grief in the space of gratitude and loss, relieved that I have carved out this time to remember my Beloveds, and my bloodline and to be in that moment. This is the only time of year I allow myself to truly surrender to tending and mending the rips and tears that these deaths have caused in my heart and use the shredded edges to reweave – reintegrate back into the tapestry that is my life. 

 Instead, this year, the dinner will be intimate, and the fire will be built here at home, and connected with other fires across the country to form a web of light intended to purge and transform in a celebration of the New Year. Each flame across the land will represent a kindred heart and mind, focused on the death of old paradigms and on moving us into a better world. This year feels like a fight for our lives, and a fight to make meaning of the hundreds of thousands of souls that have gone into the West as the result of a virus unchecked. Samhain reaps a grand harvest this year.

 Samhain energy builds. The altar is set, the offerings are made.

I tend my heart and my hearth.

I invite you to do the same.