Halloween is a magical time. I’ve always enjoyed it immensely. Perhaps it calls to my pagan Celtic roots from my European ancestry. Celebrations of Samhain, the pagan new year. Or perhaps it reminds me of the cultural celebrations of my hometown, Los Angeles and the alters of marigolds and sugar skulls on this evening of Dia de Los Muertos. Or maybe – it’s the children in costumes and jack o lanterns that spark my creative fire.
On Halloween we carve jack o lanterns to scare away the evil spirit of unconsciousness. In the afternoon we prepare cider, set the table with marigolds and sunflowers, light candles and make candied apples, popcorn and spiced cider. As evening, approaches we enjoy a hearty vegetable soup and dust off our witch hats. When the sun sets we go out into the night dressed as fairies and witches, pirates and foxes. We seek treats and enjoy the night air. Following the trail of lantern lights put out by our neighbors.
After the children have eaten a warm soup, collected a bountiful basket of chocolates and delighted in warm cider and many sweets – I like to go back out and sit in the garden. As the streets quiet down and the energies of the evening start to settle – I like to feel into the space between here and Tir na nOg. That place that the celts knew well. The place where our souls connect to all the other souls – even those in other dimensions and who are not yet or no longer incarnated. The place I can step into through the opening in the veil when I stop looking with my physical eyes and sense it all around me. I like to sit there and feel that magical place that is both familiar and distant.
Just for one night – I can visit that land of unity, together with my mermaid friends, my ancestors and the grand children yet to be born. That place where fairies go about their busy lives without noticing me sitting there in the garden. That place that is a whole universe inside my heart. Tír na nÓg
My sleep life on Halloween is full. I have so many friends to see and be with. It’s such a grand party that only my soul is invited and my body – those boring physical parts of my being – they must lye in bed unconscious like a heap of laundry while my soul slips out to a grand gathering in her gossamer cloak and deep knowing. If only I could remember how grand a party it was upon awaking. I can still feel it. as the children awaken from their sleep, I can tell that there souls snuck out to the party to. The dreaminess in their eyes gives them away. They don’t remember either but a mother knows.
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