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October Musings
by Ann Moura
The month of October has been magical to me for
as long as I can remember. Orange and black, dusky green,
russet and brown--these colors appeared out of nowhere it seemed, and
evoked a special sense of awe all by themselves. I knew
instinctively from the first day of the month that the season was
changing into a deeper autumn, the kind that gets cold and crisp just
before the first snow of grey November. As a child, I
associated colors with the months of the year: grey for November
(stormy skies), deep green and holly red for December (evergreens and
bright berries on barren shrubs for the winter birds), icy blue and
grey white for January (wintry skies and bone chilling cold), pure
white for February (a cleansing expectation of renewal), grey-toned
greens for March (cold windy rains begin washing away the snow),
spring greens, pale lavender, and yellows for April (budding trees
and new life peeping up through the soil as crocuses and hyacinths),
bright greens and brilliant colors for May (trees, shrubs, and flower
beds in full bloom), deep blues for June (humid skies and cool
lakes), pale blues and translucent greens for July (heat faded skies
and plants), golden and pale yellows for August (wheat and corn crops
harvested under full sun amid rising dust), deep maple reds, umber
browns, and bright yellow orange for September (leaves turning
colors), and then came Samhain with Indian corn, pumpkins, gourds,
ghosts and witches everywhere.
The colors, flavors, and sensations of autumn
have long influenced my decor, wardrobe, cooking and activities,
being the season with which I feel the greatest attunement.
There is an electric charge in the brisk air, invigorating and
anticipatory, that peaks in October after its faint beginning in
August and expansion through September. Languid summer gives
way to a renewed zest for life. This is not the same as the
renewal of life in March and April, however, for with Ostara there
also comes that dreamy laziness called Spring Fever, when lying in
the hammock inhaling the scent of flowers and fresh rain is the
height of ecstasy.
But autumn brings to the senses a full awareness
of life through the high contrast of impending death. The
energy of the God, entered into the Earth at Lughnassadh, becomes
palpable now, opening the way for the spirit to feel that there is
nothing that may not be accomplished in the cool, sweet days before
the shroud of winter covers all. The scent of the changing
leaves, the crisp clean air, the crackling of internal energies all
serve to stimulate activity aimed at preparing for the confinement of winter.
With all this animation it is no wonder that
football season starts in the autumn when the excitement of the
atmosphere can be spilled into outdoor competitions. I see
football as a release for the natural energizing of the body for the
hunting seasons of more primitive times.
Hunters today come into their element with
October, stalking deer, pheasant, and other wild game through
chilling woods and misting marshes, emulating the dark power of the
God, for the God of Light has waned totally, moving among us now as
the God of Shadow--the antlered, Horned Hunter.
Three Sabbats trine together beginning at
Lughnassadh feasted with multigrain round bread and blackberry pies
for the sacrifice of the God into the Goddess as Earth Mother;
followed by Mabon celebrated with fresh pears, apples, grapes, and
wine for the pregnant Goddess who walks alone upon the Earth and for
the resurrecting God held in promise; and ending at Samhain
commemorated with stuffed game hens, pumpkins, gourds, and squashes
for the Crone and Lord of Shadows reunited in the restful realm of Underworld.
But the moment of triumph for the autumn is not
at its humble incipience hinted in Lughnassadh, nor at its awakening
energies in Mabon, but at that moment of transformation found in
Samhain when all is Hallows.
Samhain is the culmination of the three Sabbats;
the ending and beginning for the Wheel of the Year. Now is when
the Lord of Shadows enters into the tomb of the Crone in preparation
for his emergence from the womb of the Mother at Yule. This
moment in Samhain is one of life triumphant for which Yule is the
manifestation. In honor of the sacred time, all worlds open to
one another in a period of holiness called All Hallows
Eve--Hallow’ een, or Halloween. The veil between the
worlds is thinnest now, lifting at midnight. Spirits rush back
and forth as if in eager announcement of the reality of
immortality. They seem to tell us to fear not the things that
go bump in the night, for it is only they saying hello. That
which today people identify as scary was in olden times called
canny--meaning the sensation that strikes the immortal spirit within
the mortal body when encountering unembodied spirits. The
sharply sweet sensation is keenly anticipated, thrilled to in its
presence, and missed with painful nostalgia when it passes--it is
because of these wondrous feelings that speak to the spirit that
people deliberately seek to generate such communion through the
closest means possible with created haunted houses, scary costumes,
and a night of roaming the neighborhood, ringing the doorbells of
stranger’s houses, demanding treats to go away, all in the hope
of attracting wandering spirits closer. The candy bag that is
filled is symbolic of the tomb of the Crone being filled with the
energy of the God, and when full, her tomb instantly turns into a
life-giving womb as she changes into the Mother. This
transformation of death into life enacted between the God and the
Goddess is the sacred mystery of the Old Religion at the holiest time
of the year for Witches and Pagans.
Carving a jack-o-lantern was always a family
project when I was growing up. With my own children, there had
to be a pumpkin for each to attack with knife and spoon atop a pile
of opened newspaper with competition ensuing for the best, weirdest,
funniest creation. The seeds would be squeezed from the
slippery pulp, some for planting next season, the rest for roasting
and later snacking. There has never been a year that I have not had a
carved pumpkin, whether as a child, in college, single, wed, or with
a growing family of my own--the jack-o-lantern always symbolized the
season in one succinct image: the light shining from within. To
light the carved pumpkin, we make a spirit candle. This is a
white candle anointed with patchouli oil at the Samhain altar during
the Sabbat ritual, which we hold early in the evening in order to
accommodate the doorbell ringers. To make one for yourself, as
the candle is anointed, say: “With this candle, by its light, we
welcome spirits this Samhain night.” It is lit during the
ritual, then placed inside the jack-o-lantern and set out by the
front door. The pumpkin may be part of the ritual, blessed
and consecrated at the altar in honor and memory of spirits
passed and passing.
Also on the altar is an apple or a pomegranate
which is blessed during the ritual as food for wandering
spirits. After the ceremony, it is buried out back in the
garden to remind the spirits of the promise of the Goddess as they
consume the essence and refresh themselves during the night, for the
pentagram lies at the core of the apple, while rest and
revitalization in Underworld is found in the seeds of the pomegranate.
We end up, then, with a welcoming light at the
front door and a meal at the back. This allows spirits to pass
through, not to stay, for while we may form a tempting residence for
spirits, we want to encourage them to continue with the journey of
their destiny. For some it will be a period of recuperation in
Underworld, for others it will be rebirth. But for family
members who have passed on, for ancestors and the mothers of whose
lineage we are the heirs, there is what is called the Dumb
Supper. In my family, we light black candles and set a place at
the supper table for the departed person. The meal itself for
the spirit has varied over the years.
Usually, we place a chunk of whole grain bread on
the plate with salt on it, and include a glass of beer, but
sometimes, when it feels appropriate, we serve to the spirit the same
meal as we are having.
During the supper, we speak of the deceased
relative or ancestor, reminiscing about our times together, the
person’s favorite things, or how important the ancestors are to
us. In honoring the ancestors, we speak of the sacrifices and
hardships endured by past generations, the warmth and love expressed
in prior families leading up to our own, and our gratitude for their
perseverance in hard times and for their contributions to who we are
today. We invoke their blessings, and offer them ours. I
know there are many who say this meal should be commenced backwards,
setting the places widdershins, serving dessert first, going through
the courses backwards, while eating in total silence. I feel
this method is more likely to be used when you are invoking unknown
spirits to partake of the supper as part of the simple feast of the
Samhain Sabbat ritual, possibly including divinations and meditations
in the process. But we celebrate the Sabbat using a loaf of
dark bread and a dark wine or Opal Nera liqueur for Cakes and Wine,
end the ritual, then have supper with spirits of the family and
ancestors who are called upon at the start of the meal and farewelled
at the end of the meal just as you would do for any living guest.
After the ritual and the supper, we always do
divinations for the coming year, using the tarot cards in a twelve
place spread (layout) for the year. Shuffle the deck until it
feels right (usually the same pattern repeating is the signal to stop
shuffling). On a large table top (we use the kitchen or dining
room table), cut the deck into three stacks (right, center, and
left), depositing the right from the bottom of the deck, the center
from the bottom of the remaining cards, and finally the left is
formed from the remainder of the deck. Reassemble into one
stack by picking up the center stack and sitting it on top of the
right stack, then setting this combined stack on top of the left
stack. Now cut the deck into two stacks, placing the bottom
half on the right and the remaining top half on the left.
Taking cards from the top of the right side stack, place one card for
each month of the year in a circle (not touching since there will be
another round of cards after this one), starting with November at the
top and ending with October of the following year to the left of the
starting card. Now take one card at a time from the top of the
left side stack, placing one on the left side of each of the cards
you previously set out for the months in the circle, starting again
at the top with November. You should now have a pair of cards
(face up--if not, turn them over) for each month of the coming
year. Read each month with the right card telling you the major
event of that month, and the left card telling you what is the source
influencing this event. By knowing what is in the air, as it
were, you can then be prepared, or take action to alter things as you desire.
Apple cider, warmed and spiced with cinnamon to
honor the dead, is served from a punchbowl throughout the night as we
greet trick-or-treaters who come to the door. We usually
consecrate caramel coated apples during the Samhain ritual, then
snack on these later in the evening. Sometimes during the
Sabbat ritual we write down resolutions, or things we want to banish
from our lives, and burn them in the candle flame. The candle
used in this case is buried at the end of the ritual, to either let
something grow into fruition or to let it pass away. Each
Samhain celebration is slightly different so that there is variety
with every turning of the Wheel, just as each year of our lives
differs in some way from the prior ones, yet the core of the Sabbat
remains the same, just as each year of our lives is a continuation of
the same life. The ethos of the night is such that you are open
to the powers as much as they are open to you, and I have used this
time for divinations, charms, spells, and automatic writing.
The words that flow in the writing tend to be in rhyme but not
always, with one of my favorites being the image of a lonely, round
topped wagon, lit by a nearby campfire, with a dark figure dancing
about it, and in the shadows, a watching wolf. Perhaps I was a
Gypsy in a past life, or I glimpsed an ancestress silhouetted in a
lively dance with skirts raised and legs leaping, on a vast hilly
plain at night in the wilds of Nature:
“Tatters and homespun, dancing rags of black
against firelight, arch of heavens, starry arboretum, fairy light and
back lit horizons. Walker; wagon dweller; black wolf, dark eyes
of the night staring forthright, unblinking. Lateen sailed
Moon-ship, an outsider peeking in, sees the black legged spider
becoming in dancing, the dance for the gods and the goddesses,
looking at beauty not to claim, absorb or preserve it, but to live
it, to be in life the art of living with joy and frolic, love,
harming none, wrapped in the cloak of night, warding harm by the
power of the stars and of life.” (Green
Witchcraft II: Balancing Light & Shadow, Ann Moura, Llewellyn, 1999)
Late at night, when the children are no longer
coming to the door, I like to return to my magic room, sit in the
light of a single black candle with mugwort incense smoldering, and
gaze into my black mirror. I have used this quiet time in
different ways over the years, sometimes to see my own past lives,
other times to call upon and honor the mothers of my ancestry, to
travel to Otherworld or to Underworld, or to seek visions of the
future. The power of Midnight, moment of transition for the God
and the Goddess, holds me in full awareness of the transitions on my
own life. My children are grown now, but they still enjoy the
season, making their own jack-o-lanterns, going out into the night
with friends, and following their own rituals. I have received
from my mother as she received from hers, and I have passed along
what I have received to my own children, as she did to me, and as I
know they will to theirs. I feel a timeless circle and serene
connection that spans the years and the generations, and there is
comfort in knowing that I, too, am a full participant in the process
of the life cycle, passing along what I can to others who will
develop, adjust, trim, and embellish those patterns in the continuing
creation of their own lives, as will those who follow them. The
mystery of Samhain is not death, but life in transition, immortal,
and unending.
©2001 Ann Moura and TWPT |
