SPELL No. 31: Summon the Ancestors

October 27, 2021 Musings

Strike

a match

smudge

the room

clockwise

sage lifts  

smoke trails.

Draw a circle

invoke

protection.

Light

the black candle

feel

the dark moon’s stillness

sit

before the witch mirror

soften

your gaze

whisper

your incantation

louder

louder still

until

your third eye

blinks and

the broken clock

chimes.

Summon

the ancestors.

Neighbors moan

through

wine-induced sleep.

Cats congregate

at your

door.

Tails tucked,

whimpering dogs

slink

away.

Bones molder

gravestones quake

earth ruptures

mausoleums crack and crumble.

They are coming.

Dismayed

discordant

church bells

clang

wind shrieks.

The old house

shivers

and heaves

doors slam

floorboards creak

shutters bang

unhinged

they clatter to the street

the fanlight shatters

tinkle of glass

falling

scattering

settling.

Silence shimmers.   

Water rises

rushes

washes over

the pentagram you drew.

Seaweed clings

to doorknobs

the china cabinet

is all

but

submerged

the sugar bowl and creamer

bob

and drift

into the hall.

The tarot spread is swept

away.

Groaning branches

push

and

thrust

through  

William Morris

papered walls.

Dirt sifts in

spiders spin

their sticky webs.

Palmetto bugs

scratch and scurry

to their corners.

Rustle of bats

swooping

from room

to room

orbiting

orbiting

the chandelier’s starry prisms

in search of night sky.

They have arrived.

Fear not –-

your

family

delights

in a good entrance.

Where Stories Come From

November 5, 2019 Musings

We arrive on the Salisbury plain before sunrise. The atmosphere grows lighter, and my ability to view the scenery heightens. The land stretches into the distant horizon, a green blanket of grass, for slumbering sheep.

My mind hesitates, questioning my first groggy glimpse of the massive crown of standing stones known as Stonehenge.

Can it be real?

If the question seems foolish, it is only because the scene is so otherworldly. Before dawn, before motor carriages filled with tourists arrive, it is easy to imagine that we have wandered into faerie and are being granted a glimpse behind the veil.

The air is hushed and chilly. I walk beneath a colossal lintel into the center. I look out through the stones at a nearby flock of sheep, seemingly unaware they are sleeping beside one of the world’s ancient wonders. Birds perch on massive sarsen stones and bluestone, I watch as they flit and dart into crevices that have been there since prehistoric times. The wind picks up. It is cold, it is beautiful, and as I wait for sunrise, another pilgrim begins beating a shaman’s drum. My breath deepens and slows.

The air whispers stories to me and I listen.

Once I return home I will feel compelled to begin writing a novel.

Communing With the Dead

October 29, 2019 Musings

Later this week, on October 31, and November 1, Samhain, or, as so many of us call it, Halloween arrives. In my last post, I wrote about apples and their significance to the celebration.

But the pumpkin by your front door is a relative newcomer to the tradition. As I researched the pagan festival I learned that in Ireland, on the night when the veil is thinnest and spirits and faeries are among us, the Irish lit coals in turnips and gave them a name we still use today: jack-o-lanterns. When our Irish ancestors immigrated to America they began carving pumpkins native to this country.

As a child, when I dressed up in a costume, knocked on my neighbor’s door, and gleefully shouted, “Trick or treat?” I didn’t know the Celtic pagan roots of the activity. In Ireland, tricks were considered the purview of faeries. And y’all know faeries can be fearsome.

How long has Samhain been with us? Certainly aspects of it have developed over the centuries, for instance, the turnip jack-o-lantern dates back to the middle ages. But the practice of celebrating Samhain as the separation of the lightest time of the year to the darkest, the time associated with death and the harvest, has been estimated to date back 2,000 years.

On my recent pilgrimage to England, I visited Stonehenge, Avebury, Boscaswn-Un, and other stone sites where the earth, celestial observances, and seasons were exalted by my ancestors. There’s no stone circle in my Southern courtyard, and the tall downtown buildings of Savannah obscure most of the sky.

But in my way, I observe Samhain. My father was born on October 31 and also died at this time of year. During his lifetime he was very clear; he always wanted a pumpkin pie instead of a birthday cake. Baking at the darkest time of year is very evocative for me, bringing memories of both my parents and grandmothers. My way of communing with the dead is to bake a pumpkin pie from scratch for my father on the 31. I imagine there will also be candlelight and mulled cider before the night is through. Memories of those who have passed through the veil will be abundant.

Do you do anything special to mark Samhain?

As the wheel of the year turns, may you be blessed with health and peace!

Samhain: The Feast of Apples

October 22, 2019 Musings

I drop a cinnamon stick into the bubbling brew.

Although my feet are solidly planted on the kitchen floor in Savannah, my heart keeps returning to my recent pilgrimage to England. It is the land of my mother, and as I climbed grassy hills, followed crystalline brooks, and meandered across pastures dotted with wooly sheep, I felt that strong pull, the one that says, this is where you’re from.

Here is a photograph of Glastonbury Tor. Perhaps you have read about the magical isle of Avalon, the isle of apples? Glastonbury, associated with the legend of King Arthur, is considered the geography for where Avalon once existed. Mythology tells us Avalon is buried in the mist, or, that we can only access it when the veil is thin. Late in October, as we approach Samhain, the veil grows thinner by the day.

Perhaps poet William Butler Yeats understood the veil best when he wrote:

Come fairies, take me out of this dull world, for I would ride with you upon the wind and dance upon the mountains like a flame!

I experienced the Tor on a misty morning. As my daughter, Hannah, and I climbed to the top, we joined a flock of sheep along the terraced hill in the apple orchard. Wind gusted as we took refuge beneath the apple trees and waited for the rain to stop.

Glastonbury Tor apple orchard

Apples were part of the harvest bounty of Samhain. The Celts believed apples were a sign of immortality, fertility, wisdom, wholeness, and paradise on earth. Apples have been used for divination for centuries. Sleep with an apple under your pillow on Samhain and you will dream of your lover. Pare an apple in one unbroken piece, throw the peel over your left shoulder, and discover the first letter of your future lover’s name. Bury apples to feed the dead.

My father was born on Samhain but here in the States, we grew up calling it Halloween. He recalled childhood birthday parties where he and his friends bobbed for apples and considered it nothing more than a children’s seasonal game. But hundreds of years ago, it was a practice used for courting and foretelling one’s love at Samhain. If a girl captured an apple marked with her lover’s name on the first try, their love was expected to grow, but, if it took several bites to capture the apple, affections dimmed, perhaps even soured, and love’s opportunity was lost.

This is an introspective time of year associated with the dead. Memories of those who have journeyed to the other side are particularly vivid. I slice several apples crosswise to reveal their 5-star pips – the sign of the Goddess — and toss them into the cider. I reduce the violet-blue flame and bring it to a simmer.

May your memories be sweet.

The Wheel of the Year is Turning…

October 16, 2019 Musings

My Celtic ancestors followed the wheel of the year, as did other ancient peoples. We’re still called to the mysteries of the earth and sky, and even if we’re urban dwellers, we feel it when the seasons change. Savannah’s still, humid heat is gone, and Dogwood leaves drift into the courtyard, while Spanish moss swings in a flurry of wind. It’s getting dark earlier. Mornings are cool and jackets have found their way onto our streets.

Neighbors carry home a fat orange pumpkin. Soup is on the stove. I crave all things cozy and turn once again to baking. Knitting awaits. It’s even why we may feel compelled to buy that pumpkin spice latte.

Soon Samhain will arrive. But Samhain is not only about the simple pleasures of hearth and home.

Pronounced Sow-wen, the pagan festival observed from October 31 to November 1 ushers in the ‘dark half’ of our year. When the Celts celebrated Samhain, they built bonfires to herald the end of harvest.

The veil is thin at this season and the dead are celebrated. I am reminded of how close we are to the other side, as I pick my way through the gravestones of Colonial Park Cemetery, just down the street from my house. And lest we forget, when the veil is thin, faeries are active, so watch your step!