Samhain

Although we Pagans and Witches celebrate many festivals throughout the year, Hallowe'en (which most of us call by its old Celtic name of Samhain) is the one that most people know about. Although of course, their concept of witches and what they get up to on Hallowe'en is pretty far removed from ours!

Whilst I enjoy seeing all the Hallowe'en trappings in the shops, carving pumpkin lanterns and handing out sweets to trick-or-treating children, all of that has about as much relevance to the true meaning of Samhain as Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer has to the true meaning of Christmas.

For me, Samhain is about acknowledging our entry into the 'dark' part of the year (don't be spooked, I mean literal darkness, i.e. shorter daylight hours!), a time for introspection and rest.

It is also the festival at which I remember and honour my ancestors and my Beloved Dead - in my tradition we tend to use the term 'ancestors' to mean those who have gone before us, and 'Beloved Dead' to mean those ancestors and loved ones we actually knew from this lifetime who have passed away into death.

Each Samhain I create an altar to my ancestors and Beloved Dead. As well as being decorated in autumn colours, with fallen leaves, probably a carved pumpkin or two and plenty of candles, the altar will have photos of my Beloved Dead; sadly, there are usually more of these each year, but I suppose that's part of life and growing older. I also put out trinkets and mementos I have of them: Grandpa's cuff link box, Granddad's bronze Buddha statuette, Gan's ring, Thomas the cat's collar and name tag. And some years I put out little offerings of their favourite foods for my Beloved Dead - ice cream for my Nanna, a cup of tea for cousin Enid, tuna for my cat Julie. Doing this is part of remembering them, who they were, what they enjoyed in life, the times we shared together. Sometimes there are no treats or mementos - for our son Peter, who was stillborn, I have only an ultrasound photo. Yet the love is still there and he is remembered each year with the others.

The altar becomes a focal point for my ritual, which is usually fairly simple and involves creating sacred space, honouring my ancestors and then inviting in any of my Beloved Dead who would like to be there. Pagans usually say 'the veil between the worlds [of life and death] is thin at Samhain' and so this is thought to be a good time to contact the spirits of the departed. I sit and talk to my loved ones, tell them what is going on, how I miss them, what memories I carry of our times together. This is usually an emotional time, but I find it really helps with the grief process.

I like remembering and honouring my ancestors and Beloved Dead at this time of year. We are, after all, stitches in a tapestry which stretches backwards and forwards through time. It is good to acknowledge our place in the warp and weft, the threads we are part of and those we interlink with, if only for a brief time. Glimpses of the grand over all pattern are simultaneously humbling and inspiring.

And I'll also carve pumpkins, buy sweets for the trick-or-treaters, tell ghost stories by the fire, wear fancy dress for your Hallowe'en party and buy cute little witch ornaments. Because I love Hallowe'en and all its funny-spooky trappings too.

That's who I am and some of the things I enjoy in this life. And if I'm lucky, one day I'll be someone's Beloved Dead, remembered with a place on their altar and an invitation to visit for chocolate and time together at Samhain.

Autumn Senses

Five autumn sights...

The frosted bracken turning the hillside to rust... Dew-highlighted spiderwebs... Drifts of leaves by the outhouses... A store cupboard filled with jam, jelly, chutney & preserves... A fur of frost on the gate in the morning...

Five autumn smells...

Woodsmoke on the breeze... A bowl of fragrant quinces... Jacket potatoes baking in the oven... The resinous odour of stacked firewood... The mustiness of decaying leaves...

Five autumn sounds...

The tawny owl quavering at dusk... The patter of falling leaves... The sounds of the valley muffled by fog... The staccato chopping of firewood... Distant fireworks on Guy Fawkes' Night...

Five autumn tastes...

Homemade apple and cinnamon pie... Porridge with golden syrup for breakfast... A warming bowl of leek & potato soup... Hot buttered toast & cocoa by the fire... The melancholy sweetness of the last autumn raspberries & blackberries...

Five autumn sensations...

The reassuring thickness of a favourite woollen jumper... The crisp juiciness of an apple straight from the tree... A chill in the breeze even on a sunny day... Scratched hands from picking sloes for sloe gin... The soft fur of a warm lap-cat...

Edinburgh Photos - and Latest News!

As promised, here are some of the photos I took during our recent trip to Edinburgh.

And, some exciting news! My Mum and Dad have decided they are moving to Wales. They have been talking about moving for some time now, but while they were housesitting for us last week they fell in love with a local property. They have made an offer which has been accepted, and all being well they hope to move in next spring. It's about 30 minutes' drive from us, a lot closer than the 4+ hours (plus negotiation of the dreaded M25) that currently separates us.

I'm very happy that they'll be closer. In my ideal world all my loved ones would live close by. Perhaps I can start a Welsh charm offensive to persuade everyone else that they should really be this side of the Severn...

Self Help

Last week T and I were in Edinburgh. It's a beautiful city (I'll probably post some of my many photos soon) and it was nice to have a bit of a break together - we haven't managed a holiday together this year and I think we're both feeling a bit worn down.

It was brought home to me just how worn down I am on a visit to the Scottish Museum. Normally I love museums, and usually have to be dragged out at closing time. On this day, however, I began to feel quite uncomfortable there after only an hour or so. The discomfort quite rapidly grew into full-blown claustrophobia, and in the end I left, telling myself I would go and get lunch somewhere and return afterwards.

Once settled in a small cafe however, I realised that I didn't want to go back to the Museum. I didn't want to leave that warm and sunny cocoon of a cafe. So I stayed. I ate my sandwich, drank my latte (and then another - and then another), and wrote in my journal. And as I wrote, I realised what the problem was. I am exhausted, and I've been ignoring the exhaustion, not listening to the needs of either my body or soul. I didn't need a day filled with absorbing culture and taking in facts, figures, dates. I needed to sit and doodle with my coloured pens, watch the leaves fall one by one from the plane trees in the square, sip milky coffee. And listen, really listen, to what my body was telling me.

Last year, I underwent my Reclaiming-Feri initiation and also student taught at Avalon Witchcamp for the first time, both huge, intense events for me. This year, I pulled together the British Reclaiming Summer Gathering in about 6 weeks, a feat I still can't believe I managed, and probably one of the most stressful experiences of my life. All the while I have been carrying on as normal, being my usual smiley self and brightly saying, 'Yes, I'm fine!' if anyone has asked.
Now I have to admit: no, actually I'm not fine.

This is hard for me. I'm not good at admitting I can't cope, I'm not good at asking for help. I'm good at soldiering on, putting on a happy face and denying my needs.

That night - the night after the abortive Museum visit - I dreamed I was trying to help a woman who had been knocked down in a hit and run accident. She was almost submerged in mud and I was unsure whether she was in more danger of suffocating from the mud or being further injured if I tried to move her. In the end I went for help.

Now, in waking life, I am also going for help. I'm accepting offers of all kinds of help from friends and family ('Yes, I'd love you to cook dinner!', 'Yes a back-rub would be great!', 'Oh thank you for feeding the chickens for me!'). And I'm helping myself. Listening to what my body wants and providing it - naps, nourishing food, gentle walks, time amongst the trees - and meditating, journalling.

I have come down with a heavy cold, but at the same time I feel better than I have in months. I am helping myself out of the mud and finding that my injuries aren't life threatening after all. Not if I acknowledge they're there and deal with them.

Autumn Images

Confessions of a Fairy Goddessmother

One thing I always knew I wanted was to have children. Unfortunately, my body had other ideas and it wasn't to be. After 16 years of trying for a baby and now aged 44, barring a miracle it seems pretty unlikely that I will ever actually become a biological mother.

For many years my unfulfilled broodiness left me frustrated and depressed. Every menstruation brought a sense of failure and disappointment. I had my eyes so firmly set on the thing I wanted - a successful pregnancy - that it never occurred to me that there could be another outlet for my maternal instincts. Life, however, has a way of presenting new possibilities if you are only open to them.

I can't pinpoint exactly when my perspective changed - there wasn't a light bulb moment as such - but at some stage in the last 16 years, my childlessness became less of a source of pain to me. That fact is almost certainly due to our beloved friends, Kevin and Ann, who have generously allowed us to form a close bond with their three wonderful children. We have been around, babysitting and doing the aunt & uncle thing since their first daughter, Rachel, was born. When their second daughter, Charlotte, was a toddler, I had given up my stressful job (in an attempt to increase my chances of getting pregnant), so I spent a lot of time looking after her while Ann was at work. And then I did the same with their son, Michael.

We became extended family and spent virtually all our spare time together. I started using the term 'heart family' to describe our relationship to each other. We have watched with awe, pride, joy - and at times anxiety! - as Rachel, Charlotte & Michael have grown into amazing individuals. We have shared in the tears, the laughter, the scraped knees, the food fads, the treasure hunts, the birthday parties, the bad dreams, the endless questions (why?), the hilarity of water fights, the magic of Christmas, the walks to the park, the bedtime stories, the games of hide and seek, and of late, the teenage hormones, exam jitters, first romances, and initial steps into independence and adulthood.

Through all this we have been in the unique and privileged position of part-parent, part-friend, part-confidante... but it has been hard to define our relationship to the children using existing terminology. We aren't blood relations, so we aren't really an aunt and uncle. Kevin & Ann have asked us to be listed in their will as guardians of the children, in the event that something should happen to the two of them. But unless that should happen - and I pray that it won't - we aren't the children's guardians. We aren't Godparents, as we aren't Christians and have never been asked to fulfill that role. And yet we do and don't meet some of the criteria for each of the above categories. As there really doesn't seem to be a widely-used term for the nature of our relationship, I have started to describe myself as their Goddessmother. It kind of fits and I like it.

Although we now live miles apart, Rachel is currently at university nearby, and this weekend Ann brought her back to Wales to start her second year at Uni. It was so lovely to spend the weekend together, and we effortlessly slipped back into the easy friendship between us, even though we don't see each other so often these days.

Somehow, despite my inability to bear a child, I've been lucky enough to find a way to express my maternal instincts. I'm blessed to share in the lives of three wonderful young people, and I hope I can be there for them whenever they need me. Life has a way of presenting new possibilities indeed. I'm just glad I looked up from the path I was on long enough to notice. And I'm so lucky to have friends generous enough to open up those possibilities in the first place.

Cat, Napping

It's a grey and blustery Sunday in September, with the threat of rain in the air. So what should you do?

Snuggle up in a too-small bowl of pot pourri.

Of course. Silly me.