The Ghosts of Samhain Past

The Ghosts of Samhain Past

ANGIE BUCHANAN·SUNDAY, OCTOBER 14, 2018

We came together to celebrate endings; the end of the month of October; the end of the harvest season, the end of the Pagan year, and ultimately death, the end of life.

The leaves were turning and the weather was chilly – just as it should have been. We gathered indoors around the fireplace; shoulder to shoulder on our chairs to talk about the season, the associated cast of characters, spirits, deities and the dead who meet us at the crossroad and the magic we can work there. The wind begins to blow.

We are called together given instructions for the dinner we are about to consume.

· The meal is to be taken in complete silence; no speaking.

· There will be servers. Each place has a disk, red on one side, green on the other. If you need something, turn your disk to green and a server will attend to you, if you wish to be undisturbed, turn your disk to red.

· There is a tarot card on your dinner plate, under the salad bowl; the second of your three card divination for the New Year.

· There is a skull mask beside your place – when you have finished with your meal, put the mask on and sit quietly, communing with your dead.

We are dressed in black and we each carry a small photograph of our Beloved Dead. We invoked the spirits of all who had gone before us and invite them to gather at the portal, the threshold between this world and the next, where the veil was at its thinnest. We each individually call the name of the one we intend to honor. In doing so, we fulfilled the promise that we make to our dying loved ones – “We will call your name at Samhain. What is remembered lives.”

We are led in procession to the dining hall where a long banquet table awaits. There is an empty place setting at each end. The lights are very low, candles flicker. We pass by a place where dead pets are honored. An empty set of food bowls waits.

“Every sensation you feel from now until the end of the meal and afterward you will be feeling in the name of your departed. PAY ATTENTION!! Feel the floor beneath your feet, the chair that supports your back. Feel the sensation of silverware in your hand, of the bite of food as it crosses your lips, how your tongue cradles it and as your teeth pierce it, pay attention to the flavor and texture as it rolls through your mouth while you chew, and the constriction of your throat muscles as you swallow. Feel the comfort of a full belly.

Be aware of any whispers, breaths or brushes, scents of perfume, flowers, or cigarette smoke that might signify the presence of your Beloved.

Soft, haunting, music begins to float through the air from the speaker on the sideboard. The Priestess nudges the thermostat up a notch as the room begins to cool and the air grows thick with memories. She holds the space and watches.There are other servers standing by if they are needed, quietly filling water glasses and replacing napkins when the tears begin to flow. The Living serve the Dead.

One woman reaches out to stroke the photograph before her. An unseen hand touches her shoulder and stirs her hair. She starts a bit before placing her own hand on her shoulder, on top of his. Her food grows cold as she sits with her eyes closed; blissfully comforted by the presence that has graced her. Another woman moves her feet apart under her chair, and surreptitiously drops a piece of chicken on to the floor, a tribute to a missing pet.

One by one they finish the meal and place the mask over their faces. The servers clear the dishes.

Says the Priestess:

“Look up and down the table. Death; the great equalizer. Strip away the layers of personality, the skin and the flesh, and we all return to this. Bone. Made up of earth and air and fire and water. A conspiracy of love infused with stardust, and inhabited by memory.”

We remove the masks, rise on signal, and form a circle.The mystery is described to us - this descent to the Underworlds and our pending Dance With the Dead.

Hand to hand, eye to eye, we swear an oath to the larger Tribe. We look around the circle, and “You Are Safe With Me.”

Together we descend into the belly of the earth, to a room underground. A few candles flicker in the darkness, held on trays, by blacked robed Guides. We divide ourselves into smaller Tribes, each gathered around a Guide. Our Guide lights one candle, and we pass the flame from one to another until there are 8 rings of fire lighting the room. We each receive 6 pomegranate seeds.

“Hold the seeds in your hand. Within these seeds resides the contract of Persephone. A commitment to spend 6 months in the underworlds. She does not go defeated and weak; she goes proudly, willingly, for she is the Most Beloved Queen of this place. She is the caretaker of the Dead - and for this one night, She will allow you access to them again.

Will you commit to the darkness? To the spiraling in, the incubation, the limitless potential that awaits within these seeds; within your dreams?

Will you commit to Death; of the old habits and ways that no longer serve you, will you commit to the dreaming time, to the cold and the silence that allows you to deconstruct and then recreate yourself in time for the rebirthing of Spring?

We breathe in we live, we exhale we die. At the sound of the bell, take a breath in, and on the exhale extinguish your candle; the symbol of your life. Set your candle back on the tray of your Guide.”

In the now dimly lit room, a male voice floats across the darkness.“Huddle in! Huddle in together!

Now, we are standing on the beach of a large body of water. A dark ship approaches. “Hang on to one another for the journey.” his voice says, and we grip the hands of our small Tribes. His voice guides us across the water to the Isle of the Dead, where The Lady of the Veils speaks Her message to us - and allows our Beloved Dead to come closer - She calls them by name. The litany of the Dead ends - some are already weeping softly and He says to us - The Lady has agreed to allow you one last gift.”

There’s a second bell, and the Guides extinguish their candles. Suddenly, the room is plunged into total darkness. No light escapes from anywhere. I cannot see my hand in front of my face.. We are taken by the darkness, and the magic, the music begins, haunting and all encompassing.

We begin to dance. Slowly, slowing our hands to drift over one another, moving to the sounds and the contact with each other. The room appears to be getting smaller. It feels as though there are many more people here than those we have shared dinner with. The weeping intensifies to a wail.

A whiff of Old Spice, lavender, vanilla, Noxzema... A sob of recognition, an embrace, a familiar touch. Whispers that mean something, different languages, a coarse woolen shirt that I don’t remember seeing. Someone walks by holding something that’s purring. I am held against a chest. He is asking for forgiveness. “Of course” I murmur, as I am moved along by the current of bodies and emotion.

After what seems like seconds, and yet eternity, a hand takes my arm. I am blindfolded and I am led away from the group. “Trust me” they whisper. “You are safe with me.” I am brought to a chair, and gently seated. I hear others being seated around me.

The voice of the Priestess tells me to think about life; MY life and the doorways and portals through which I had to come in order to be sitting here today; right now. She reminds me that many of those are nameless and faceless and that while we honor our Ancestors this night, WE are the culmination of all of their hopes and dreams. She reads a piece by Mary Oliver:

Wild Geese

You do not have to be good.You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves. Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine. Meanwhile the world goes on. Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain are moving across the landscapes, over the prairies and the deep trees, the mountains and the rivers.Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, are heading home again.Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination, calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting -over and over announcing your place in the family of things.

--Mary Oliver

And then another...

The Summer Day

Who made the world? Who made the world? Who made the swan, and the black bear? Who made the grasshopper? This grasshopper, I mean- the one who has flung herself out of the grass, the one who is eating sugar out of my hand, who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down- who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes. Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face. Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away. I don’t know exactly what a prayer is. I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down into the grass, how to knees down in the grass, how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields, which is what I have been doing all day. Tell me, what else should I have done? Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon? Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life? —Mary Oliver

The Priestess repeats - “What will you do with your one wild and precious life.?”

She asks us to remove our blindfolds. I do - and I discover that I am seated in front of a headstone. It has my name on it, and my date of birth, and a dash, and then nothing...

“Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?” It echoes through my head.

I am left to contemplate that for a moment.

The Guides come again and this time, I am led outside - to a crossroads.

There are three figures. The guide tells me to choose one of them to seek my message for the new year.

There is one with a cane, dapper in top hat and tails, his face is a skull. Another is half black, half white, his face hidden behind a Equinox mask. The third is a woman in long, full, black, skirts, she is hooded and cloaked. I choose her. I approach her, her face is hidden. She asks me if I am ready to find the truth and to see the face of my own salvation for the coming year. She extends a basket and tells me to select a card; the third of the evening. I come in closer, take the card and raise my head to look into her eyes. Her face is a mirror.

“Now you know.” she says.

~Angie Buchanan © 2014