We celebrated Samhain with a bang this year. We always do something, if we're not away, but this year we did a fairly planned ritual, and invited a bunch of good friends to join. We made poppets, and buried ourselves in effigy to "lay to rest" a part of ourselves that no longer served. My coven dressed in robes with eerie face paint to play spectres of death, silently joining us on a winding path into the woods and our spot there. We celebrated afterward with a feast of finger foods and snacks. All in all, it was a lovely night. I feel like my focus was more on "running" the ritual and keeping to my part, more so than participating in the intent of the ritual, but that's OK with me. I think of it as a worthy small sacrifice, that maybe this ritual was more for others than for myself. It was a ton of fun and looked awesome, and went off mostly hitch-free. Can't say fairer than that.
The clocks went back Sunday morning (we observe DST here). The change is an abrupt and jarring one, going from dusky in the morning when I leave for work, to sunny (for now) and it is now dark when I leave. This means I take the bus in the evening now rather than walk, which sadly robs me of a good chunk of my physical activity every day. (My walk takes me through a less than great neighbourhood. I won't travel it alone after dark.)
The change is a forced reminder that Samhain is the end of fall, that the darkness we celebrate is not just death, not just the memory of those who have gone before, but the coming months of dark with the turn of the seasons.
I have a love/hate relationship with winter.
I hate being cold, hate a runny nose and burning cheeks and everything hurting for 20 minutes after I've come inside as blood returns to chilled limbs. I hate dragging under the weight of boots and a heavy coat. I hate getting on the bus the morning to go to work on a day to supposed to storm, knowing I may get stranded, may not get home til 3 hours later than I should, knowing I should be home safe and warm. I hate Christmas, a new development. I hate commercial Christmas. Carols start playing here November 1, all the stores are already waving signs in my face reminding me that my love is quantified by how much I spend on my loved ones.
But I love the pure silence and dark of a night where snow is falling, glittering on the grass, under the streetlights. I love the crunch of hardened snow under my boots. The clean white clinging to trees like they've been glittered with diamonds. I love seeing new birds, birds from the north seeking refuge where it's warmer, but not too warm. I love feeling drawn in close to home and my chosen family, celebrating with food and drink, honouring our heritage, our ancestors, and our bonds with each other. I love being warm inside and watching the wind howl and snow swirl outside.
I love hearing the earth stir in her sleep.
When I was younger and my life was run by school time, the seasons seemed to have less meaning than they do now. Summer meant freedom, as did Christmas, winter meant the occasional snow day. Fall was the embodiment of evil, the unwelcome return to drudgery and boredom. I had no appreciation for the season itself and what it meant.
Maybe it's something I'm growing into with age, or as I get closer to my practice and spirituality. I feel the wheel turn, feel the earth in her cycles and know in my heart that every time has a purpose, snotty mittens and all.
No comments:
Post a Comment