For many of us, Samhain is a time of intense activity. There are often multiple rituals with circles and covens, mundane Halloween obligations, and moments of personal introspection and growth. The idea that the “veil is thin” is not just a poetic turn of phrase, for those of us that walk the path of the Witch, it’s a part of October. The thinning of the veil is as much a part of Autumn as the falling of the leaves and the shortening of daylight.
This year Samhain has kind of crept up on me. After several years with October rituals in the dozens I’ve been limited to just two this turn of the wheel. Some of that is personal choice (I have not been in the best of moods lately), and some of it was simply a matter of scheduling. It can be tough to gather the entire (second) coven together when everyone seems to be involved with public rituals too.
Though I’ve been rehearsing a public Samhain ritual since the end of September, it took until Friday for me to feel truly in tune with the season. After a morning spent fixing typos and garbled syntax in my next book (The Witch’s Book of Shadows, due out in February), I began writing my coven’s Samhain ritual. Nearly all of us were scheduled to be a part of other rites the following night, so I wasn’t sure what sort of tone the ritual should have. Often if the public ritual is going to be intense the following day we dial things back a notch, but most everyone seemed all in for a bigger Samhain ritual.
Sitting down at my writing desk four hours before the opening ritual bell I stared at my computer screen for about ten minutes listening to Loreena McKennitt before figuring out what I wanted to do. We needed to commemorate the Mighty Dead of our coven, and acknowledge those that should be added to it. There was also the matter of crossing the veil and bringing in the spirits of our Beloved Dead . . . . . I would have to do the heavy lifting in the ritual since my wife was on call and not feeling her best (and she’s the one with the presence and the power in our rites). I quickly plagiarized past rituals and in about twenty minutes had something all set up and ready to go.
An altar for our beloved dead required a rearrangement of things in our ritual room and this is when I finally felt the veil open up and the feeling of Samhain start to seep into my bones. Pictures of my very much missed grandparents went up on the altar, next to them my beloved cat Princess, and candles I only burn in October were taken out of their hiding places and placed beside them. Sometimes setting up a ritual is a rite unto itself.
Twenty minutes before the ritual started it looked like we’d be a coven at half strength, and then magickally everyone began to appear. Coveners we thought trapped at home were now in attendance and our house slowly began to fill up with the energy that only a real coven can have. “Perfect love and perfect trust” are not a goal, they can be a reality.
At 8:25 the five minute warning bell rings and a few minutes later we are all gathered in our temple space. On our altar for the Beloved Dead there are deities of death and ancestors, and much more candle light than is usual at one of our rituals. The ritual slowly builds: chants-the circle is cast-the Watchtowers are summoned-all are made welcome-and then the Goddess and God are called. My wife slowly begins to read The Charge of the Goddess of Death and the room starts to shift in subtle ways. All is not as it once was, and the Lord and Lady have truly shown up at our rite.
We then begin to acknowledge our Mighty Dead by saying their names aloud. The Mighty Dead are those that influenced our path and identified in this life as Witches or Pagans. Some we knew personally, some not, and all are welcome in our circle if they choose. We say their names . . . . Gerald Gardner . . . . bell . . . . Doreen Valiente . . . . bell . . . .Alison Harlow . . . . bell . . . . . Robert Cochrane . . (a slight giggle) . . . bell . . . Randy Jeffers . . . .bell . . . . . and on and on through the names of Isaac Bonewits, Alex Sanders, Rae Bone, Scott Cunningham, Cora Anderson, Victor Anderson, Leo Martello, Margot Adler, Morning Glory Zell . . . . We let the names wash over us and then it’s time to add new names to that list.
I pick up four pictures that have been nestled next to Bridgit on our coven shrine. Most in our circle have never read anything by Phoenix, but his contributions to American Witchcraft are legion and I pass his picture to one who has long respected and admired his work. She slowly takes his picture around the circle before placing it next to our other Mighty Dead. I then ask if anyone has ever read The Witch’s Bible and nearly everyone nods in the affirmative. Stewart Farrar is a name we should have acknowledged long ago. Keeping with British Traditional Wicca I say the name of Monique Wilson, the initiator of Raymond Buckland, and because of that partially responsible for bringing Witchcraft to the Americas.
And then I finally pick up a picture a little smaller than the others. This one cut-out from the GBG Year and a Day calendar and I say the name of Edith Woodford-Grimes. I’m met with a few unknowing glances and then I say “the initiator of Gerald Gardner” and then there gasps and heads nodding. I’ve debated for years whether or not to honor the woman Gardner called “Dafo” amongst our Mighty Dead, but the time felt right this year.
Our Mighty Dead honored I hear my wife whisper the name “Dread Lord of Shadows” and we begin drawing down the God of Death and the Underworld. He’s a figure I’ve had many experiences with, but each time it’s different. As my wife enacts the five-fold-kiss I feel a hand on my right shoulder, it’s the place I usually first feel his touch. In my mind’s eye I can see him, existing in an “other space” a portal behind him in which I can see the spirits of the dead stirring.
I always feel very detached from this world when drawing down the God. Memories of what “we” did in the circle are always incomplete and fuzzy. Sometimes the connection is strong, sometimes less so, and this time I felt as if his instructions were coming to me through some sort of obstruction. He was there, but it was taking a long time for his thoughts to wash over me and enact his wishes.
The coveners all come up one by one, I know that he whispers to some of them, and others he does not. He’s generally a pretty quiet fellow so this is not surprising. I know he called one individual “Bird” and wanted to make sure that everyone knew that he likes to visit the Chalice Well in Glastonbury. And then my wife kisses me upon the lips and we are done.
The next morning while walking past our ritual room I can feel a little bit of “presence.” This is not out of the ordinary, but it’s his cloak and not that of our Lady.
Twenty-two hours later I’m in another circle, or soon will be. My coven’s sword is in my hand and I’m casting the circle for a local open group. The ritual’s words are mostly mine, but the people involved with the ritual are not all from my coven. It’s a strange mixing of energy, but everything is absolutely beautiful and over 100 candles twinkle in the darkness. We are then between the worlds and eat of pomegranate seeds and throw dry ice into cauldrons at each of the quarters to summon the souls of the dead.
It’s all rather impressive looking and most of the lines I’ve written aren’t garbled up too badly. A little more exposition is needed at one point and I walk forward to give everyone in our large circle some extra instruction. I grab a pinecone from an altar and walk over to the cauldron in the North, a portal for spirits of “home and hearth.” I realize I’ve not said the names of my grandparents yet this weekend and I whisper “Mick” and “Marie” and then “Grandma” and “Gramps.” A few tears trickle down my cheeks. Before the rite is over I do the same in the South honoring my beloved Princess.
Everything then unwinds and I release the circle. The words “Merry Meet and Merry Part, and Merry Meet Again” are recited by everyone present in the ritual space and then I end the ritual by saying “And may the gods preserve the Craft!” Samhain has been celebrated. The dead have been honored and have honored us with their presence.
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