|
ovenbird
|
November 1. Samhain. We have arrived at the dark half of the year, marked by fire, brushing up against the otherworld, all borders permeable, allowing the spirits to pass through. In pre-Christian times the hill of Tlachtga in Celtic Ireland was the site of a huge fire festival that marked the transition from light to darkness. Our histories across a wide range of cultures are steeped in myths and stories that center around this dichotomy. The time from Samhain to Beltane, in the Celtic pagan wheel of the year, outlines the months when darkness rules and forces of the underworld are freer to roam the earth. I always wish that there was more time to observe these seasonal shifts and to sink into the metaphorical possibilities inherent in persistent symbols. An artist that I admire gathers flowers and wild grasses at the summer_solstice and makes a wreath which hangs on her front door drying until the winter_solstice, at which point she burns the wreath on a ceremonial fire. I love rich symbolic acts like that. I always imagined building a lot more ritual into my own life, but it turns out that the harried nature of my days rarely allows the luxury of such slow and measured attention. The only ritual I will observe today is enforced—moving the clocks back an hour to standard time. It’s certainly an act that invites darkness. Tomorrow the sun will set here at 4:51 pm. I do find that my behaviour shifts in the darker months. I read more since the rainy nights aren’t conducive to going outside. I find that there is more room for introspection. And so I welcome November, with its brief daylight, powerful winds, and driving rain. It offers opportunities for interiority, and that is something I’ve come to appreciate. I have a very large pile of books, and I expect to have no problem weathering the days until the sun returns.
|
251101
|
