Samhain is coming

We're nearly there ...

Samhain is coming, after the stunning mast year of apples, acorns and anything that might overwhelm a not-so-great gardener. I am now in my ignoring phase of the garden, I’ve gathered everything I can; made crumbles and cinnamon poached apples and given fruit away to every person that I’ve seen in the last month.

My own personal pannage includes the gathering of nourishing memories in this glorious Autumn. The noisiness of the trees as they kick off their matured offspring, acorns hailing down in the woods with thuds, cracks and bangs. Trees shedding unwanted and outgrown leaves and fruit. The dogs burying their treats in the freshly turned soil of the garden. As if they might ever go without.

On my way home today, I made a promise to the grey pony that I would live like her. She is queen of her herd of goats, and ignores gates to crash through them or point, angrily, at the lock to try to persuade you to open them. If she doesn’t get what she wants she turns her ears back and the only view you get is of her bum.

My birthday lies on Samhain, and I love the parallels of re-birth, birth and even the overarching concept of going into darkness that Samhain hails. If my birthday means that I am more naturally inclined to the deep reflective work that winter demands of us, I will accept the serendipity of dates; but I like to think that I answer its call. The shorter days, the longer periods indoors, the quieter nights. Each element of the season brings us back towards ourselves, inwards and searching for meaning.

In the run up to the date, I make sure that I am spending as much time as possible in the light and outside. Yoga, sea swimming, a journey south provide nourishment.

Samhain is the Celtic New Year, and the beginning of the time of darkness in the calendar. Traditionally viewed as a period when life and death were at their closest, and the veil between this world and the next was stretched thin, now we celebrate 1 November as All Saints’ Day, when we visit our ancestors’ graves and pay attention to their lives. Hallowe’en is its more celebrated descendant and though shunned by modern Christianity, this pagan rite has many more fans than its devoted but dull sister, All Souls Day.

I’ve had some more medical stuff going on recently, and I find myself so bored of my constant ill health that I don’t even want to mention it. But kind friends and family have found the right words, and checked in with me.

My outrage at being unwell is because my Beltane has been so productive and fruitful; how can I be stopped in this wonderfully rich time of my life? I’ve learnt Spanish, I’m learning Irish, and have embarked on a new career. More poetry came to me, and I respected its arrival and wrote it down. My mind was open again, ready to receive the messages from the other side, where the veil is thin between unconscious creativity and conscious productivity, my own personal Samhain.

For now, I’ll take stock and take photos and hope the words flow as easily when I want to return to them.