Samhain - mundane to deep dreaming
As we walk, every gust of wind showers us with autumnal confetti from the trees. The sun weakens and we become attuned to the bright darkness. The moon waxes and wanes and the stellar giant Orion lifts high in the heavens by the Court of Don, the Great and Little Bear, Draco and the other giant guardians of our night skies.
Samhain is here – accompanied by the usual Hallowe’en consumer fest of tat and plastic! Now, tat, dressing up and seasonal games are all good fun, for Druids are celebratory… but let’s make do and mend, avoid the spend and definitely ditch the plastic!
At this magical time the pressures on parents particularly to go down the Halloween candy&cash route are enormous and as the Winter Solstice, time of key consumerism, rapidly approaches, it’s worth considering now. Maybe the hold of the consumer world is strongest at these two times, as we try to accommodate the expectations of our loved ones. We’re social beings, and so pulled by society into the way we live the seasons of our lives. But each time we notice this, it becomes an opportunity first to reaffirm our sense of our completeness, just as we are. Then we can look more deeply into why most of us toe the mundane world’s line. My conclusion is that the big business consumer-opportunity-wheel-of- the-year often keys into our deepest intuitive instincts. And how sneaky and powerful is that!
So, Samhain.
We may want to reject the piffling gore-fest & marketing opportunity that characterises Hallowe’en, but still part of us wants - even needs - to join in with our neighbours; to conform. Why? I think it’s to do with us all feeling vulnerable – a natural, survival-based reaction - as the light lessens. Relying on our eyes to anticipate danger is one of our deepest instincts, and the mysterious dark threatens that ability… what better way to contain an atavistic fear than ritualized games and actions? What better way of ‘putting it in its place’ than with laughter and the safety of community around us? And so we have bonfires to bring light to the dark. I’m not entirely sad that in the UK, many huge firework displays will not go ahead this year due to cost - surely the best safe experience of darkness we can give our children – and ourselves - is a bonfire in the back garden. In our own homes, we are not passive spectators and consumers, but active participants, shouting for our favourite firework, helping to put the next log on the fire. And we feel the breath, not of a hundred other onlookers, but of the cold breeze raising goosebumps on our necks, we hear rustlings that hint at the mysterious hidden nature of life. We look round and shiver, then laugh and light sparklers for the children to try to write their names in the air.
And around this mysterious cusp of time we hold the understanding of the ‘thinning of the veil’ between life and death, between the worlds and realms that make up our multidimensional existence. These old associations were not pulled out of the airy brain: they were deep rooted in seasonal practice and arise from observation of the natural world. Traditionally, around this time – the Bloodmonath of Anglo-Saxon times – animals were slaughtered for food and to conserve stocks of fodder until the next growing season. There was sorting, decision making, prioritizing and work to set all straight before winter. There would be rituals to attend the sacrifices. And then tribal peoples retreated into the warmth of their homes, farms & huts; and as our default setting is to make story, tales around the fire proliferated. From our earliest texts we know that Beltane was the particularly magical time when the Otherworlds could intrude upon our own. But each festival carries the resonance of that on the opposite side of the wheel, and we have transposed those associations to this season. Samhain’s mischief is well-attested, from the times the first farm lads carved grotesque turnip lanterns and threatened to upturn outhouses if they weren’t ‘treated’ in some way. From the times when farm labourers’ wages were almost literally at starvation level and work was scarce, these Halloween, Plough Monday and Wassailing revels were an essential support to the rural poor. ‘Trick or treating’ is a legacy of pragmatism and mischief, for from the ancient Irish Fianna to the youth of the Amish, society acknowledges that young people have always had to cut loose. Fortunately, they now have a myriad of opportunities to channel their excess energy and trick or treating has become a gentler celebration of the young child. Our outhouses are probably safe this year!
But what of our Inner Life?
Enough of wider society: what shall we do? As with every festival, we slow down, notice what is happening in the world of nature, and respond to it.We take our inner world seriously; it is our essential resource. And at this time, honouring the ancestors might lead us to deepen our experience of this liminal time by storytelling. Why not light a candle and read back through the old tales? Perhaps the ancient story of Pwyll entering Annwn; Angus mac Og finding his true love in the guise of a swan or Oisin riding to the Land of the Ever Young? Interestingly these are all love stories, for doesn’t the lover really cross dimensions to inhabit a more rarified world than the mundane? What messages do these stories give us, particularly when we are sensitized and the time is sensitized to us? How would it benefit us to read them just before sleep and drift into that hinterland that heroes can step into?
The tales tell us that these gentle, imaginal explorations benefit both us and the Other realms: our presence can aid them as we gain experiences to expand our lives. If we do one thing this season, let’s use our magical incubation time to contemplate parallel worlds which will feed our highest instincts and nurture our souls. For these are lands where the trees burgeon with buds, flowers and fruits on the same branch: where the inhabitants are long-lived and gracious, and where their gifts are given freely, for us to bring back to this world.