Samhain: mourning a different sort of death
N woke me up this morning because, on Fridays, I take A to music classes, so we have to have a more organized morning than usual. Reluctantly, after trying to do fuzzy time-math in my head to see if I could/should sleep in, I got up. Walked into the washroom, whereupon N wished me a Happy Halloween.
I suddenly felt the wind knocked out of me. I wanly wished him likewise, returned to the darkened bedroom and began to cry.
With N's greeting, I had realised that for the first time in 6 years, I have no Samhain ritual to attend. Samhain is the most significant pagan holiday out of the entire calendar year for me. It's when I gather with my nearest and dearest to share stories and commemorate any loved ones who've died in the past year. It's a time for assessing the goals I'd set the previous year, to shed unwanted habits and thought patterns and to cultivate new ones. It's a time of acknowledgment. A time of death and renewal.
Sure, I could probably find a ritual to attend, but it wouldn't be the one I wanted to go to. The one I want to participate in is no longer available to me, due to a series of unfortunate misunderstandings and lack of adequate communication. The one I want to participate in is the only one that has ever held any spiritual significance for me. The one I want to participate in is available to coven members and by invitation only... and I'm not invited. It's yet one more thing that I've discovered I've lost over the past several months and it's hit me like a punch in the stomach today.
I spent the morning keening off and on, remembering, as one does the life of a dearly departed loved one, the good times, the emotionally trying times, the poignant times of these Samhain rituals with my fellow coven members. Who knew that it was the beginning of the end when, two years ago, after ovulating and conceiving on All Souls Day, I felt the souls of my two babies enter my womb during the Samhain ritual two days later...
It was the pregnancy, birth, and subsequent heaviness of the new responsibility of parenthood that took its toll, directly and indirectly, on a couple of significant and coven-related relationships.
I've been reflecting on how everything is intertwined and connected as the day has progressed.
And with that reflection, the happenings of last year's ritual were suddenly clarified for me. I had brought my son to ritual with me, but as it progressed, he became increasingly agitated to the point where he began crying inconsolably. He'd never done that before, and with him being so little (3 months old) and me feeling so inexperienced as a mother, I was very shaken. I had to leave the circle and go to another room, effectively missing out on the one ritual a year I look forward to. I had little idea of what was happening to my baby or why. After many many long minutes, about twenty or so, of trying to calm him, he eventually settled enough to nurse to sleep. We all had theories about what he might have been experiencing, including the most likely answer at the time, but my realisation this morning pierced through all the muddle of that evening. He was saying goodbye to his twin.
He had enjoyed her company for a little over a year, after having been separated from her for a little over four years, and now it was time to say goodbye again. [This won't make sense if you don't know the details, which are too full of woo to share. Sorry!]
Realising this this morning brought on more keening: for his loss of his sister and for my own loss of both the daughter I never birthed and the spiritual family I no longer have. With this realisation, I have more respect for my son as an individual in his own right. He's had to weather more life experience than many babies in their first 15 months of life. He has been particularly clingy today, so I hold him closer, for as long as he needs. The Veil is thin now, and my thoughts drift, wondering whether his sister is visiting with him.
With this realisation, I have a more clarified awareness that, as with all things, separation, too, is impermanent. It is the time between separation and reunification, though, that can be difficult to weather.
I'm grateful to believe in reincarnation. Perhaps, my daughter, my son's companion, will return to me. Perhaps with time and effort, old wounds will be cleansed and healed, misunderstandings and miscommunication cleared up, and friendships renewed and rebirthed.
As I've been going through the motions of the day, tearing up and letting go, having realisation upon realisation dawn on me, I've had an oddly appropriate Pink Floyd refrain singing itself to me, over and over: The Show Must Go On...
And so, tonight, after the planned, low-key festivities, N and I (and A, if he is still awake), will have our own ritual to commemorate the passing of the year and all it held, and to welcome the new year with all its potential.
As scary and unfamiliar as it is for me, the show must go on.
I suddenly felt the wind knocked out of me. I wanly wished him likewise, returned to the darkened bedroom and began to cry.
With N's greeting, I had realised that for the first time in 6 years, I have no Samhain ritual to attend. Samhain is the most significant pagan holiday out of the entire calendar year for me. It's when I gather with my nearest and dearest to share stories and commemorate any loved ones who've died in the past year. It's a time for assessing the goals I'd set the previous year, to shed unwanted habits and thought patterns and to cultivate new ones. It's a time of acknowledgment. A time of death and renewal.
Sure, I could probably find a ritual to attend, but it wouldn't be the one I wanted to go to. The one I want to participate in is no longer available to me, due to a series of unfortunate misunderstandings and lack of adequate communication. The one I want to participate in is the only one that has ever held any spiritual significance for me. The one I want to participate in is available to coven members and by invitation only... and I'm not invited. It's yet one more thing that I've discovered I've lost over the past several months and it's hit me like a punch in the stomach today.
I spent the morning keening off and on, remembering, as one does the life of a dearly departed loved one, the good times, the emotionally trying times, the poignant times of these Samhain rituals with my fellow coven members. Who knew that it was the beginning of the end when, two years ago, after ovulating and conceiving on All Souls Day, I felt the souls of my two babies enter my womb during the Samhain ritual two days later...
It was the pregnancy, birth, and subsequent heaviness of the new responsibility of parenthood that took its toll, directly and indirectly, on a couple of significant and coven-related relationships.
I've been reflecting on how everything is intertwined and connected as the day has progressed.
And with that reflection, the happenings of last year's ritual were suddenly clarified for me. I had brought my son to ritual with me, but as it progressed, he became increasingly agitated to the point where he began crying inconsolably. He'd never done that before, and with him being so little (3 months old) and me feeling so inexperienced as a mother, I was very shaken. I had to leave the circle and go to another room, effectively missing out on the one ritual a year I look forward to. I had little idea of what was happening to my baby or why. After many many long minutes, about twenty or so, of trying to calm him, he eventually settled enough to nurse to sleep. We all had theories about what he might have been experiencing, including the most likely answer at the time, but my realisation this morning pierced through all the muddle of that evening. He was saying goodbye to his twin.
He had enjoyed her company for a little over a year, after having been separated from her for a little over four years, and now it was time to say goodbye again. [This won't make sense if you don't know the details, which are too full of woo to share. Sorry!]
Realising this this morning brought on more keening: for his loss of his sister and for my own loss of both the daughter I never birthed and the spiritual family I no longer have. With this realisation, I have more respect for my son as an individual in his own right. He's had to weather more life experience than many babies in their first 15 months of life. He has been particularly clingy today, so I hold him closer, for as long as he needs. The Veil is thin now, and my thoughts drift, wondering whether his sister is visiting with him.
With this realisation, I have a more clarified awareness that, as with all things, separation, too, is impermanent. It is the time between separation and reunification, though, that can be difficult to weather.
I'm grateful to believe in reincarnation. Perhaps, my daughter, my son's companion, will return to me. Perhaps with time and effort, old wounds will be cleansed and healed, misunderstandings and miscommunication cleared up, and friendships renewed and rebirthed.
As I've been going through the motions of the day, tearing up and letting go, having realisation upon realisation dawn on me, I've had an oddly appropriate Pink Floyd refrain singing itself to me, over and over: The Show Must Go On...
And so, tonight, after the planned, low-key festivities, N and I (and A, if he is still awake), will have our own ritual to commemorate the passing of the year and all it held, and to welcome the new year with all its potential.
As scary and unfamiliar as it is for me, the show must go on.