The veil is thinning. Samhain is upon us and there are signs of it everywhere. I see it in the changing color of the leaves, crimson, orange and gold against the blue sky as they float on the air in their final descent to the ground. It is in the rich scent of decay in the soil and the heart-warming aroma of burning firewood that are carried on the Autumn breezes. I hear it in the crunching of leaves beneath my feet and in the honking geese taking flight overhead. In my garden, the purple coneflowers have withered and gone to seed, on which the goldfinches feast each day. The bees and butterflies have all disappeared and, slowly, my plants are realizing this, their leaves and flowers drooping in sadness.
Yes, the veil is thinning. I feel it in my very bones and can almost see it each night as I gaze at the darkening sky and find myself remembering what once was, thinking about what is, and imagining what may be. Yet, I have been close to the opening of the veil for the past year, walking to the end of a life with someone dear to me, bringing me so close to the veil that my own body at times felt heavy and weary, that my spirit felt the tug of that other world, and that, when the journey was over, my mind and soul continues to wander back for a while.
It began last October 31st. We were all still reeling from the aftermath of Hurricane Sandy and I hastily threw together a Halloween celebration. At the end of the night, I trudged up the stairs to soak my weary self in a hot bath, to just relax and reflect upon the events of the past few days, to meditate on Samhain and its meaning to me, to just be. As I soaked in the scalding hot bath, scented with herbs from the garden, I closed my eyes, slowed my racing mind, and slipped into what I can only call a space between the worlds. The sun was shining brightly over rolling green hills dotted with trees and, right in front of me, a large group of people had gathered. I knew each and every one of them, all family who had passed away over the years, some I had not even known over the course of my life but only saw in pictures and heard about in stories. And not just my own family but my husband's as well.
From beneath a tall tree, my mother walked forward, coming towards me. She smiled but it was a smile steeped in sadness. She told me that I had to listen to her, that she had something very important to tell me, that I must understand what she would tell me. She told me that my father would not be here by the Summer, that he would pass very quickly and very peacefully. "You need to understand this," she said, her eyes locking on mine. I reached out for her but she backed away. As she did, I saw my husband's uncle, who had passed away very suddenly a few years back. He called out a message for me to give to his nephew, all with a beaming smile on his face.
My eyes snapped open and there I was in the tub. I raced to get out of the tub and into the bedroom where the hubby was watching television. I relayed his uncle's message first and then launched into all I had seen, all I had been told. Every few sentences, I blurted out, "It was not a dream." In the days that followed, the doubt set in. Maybe it was a dream. Maybe I just dozed off and experienced a vivid dream. Maybe this, maybe that. I worked every angle that I could, trying to convince myself that it could not have been real. Then, mid-November, my father was diagnosed with cancer. I won't go into the long story of the months following the diagnosis but I will say that he faced it with such strength, such hope, such courage, that he truly surprised me. He was not the type of man to go to doctors, to undergo medical procedures. But there he was, going through rounds of tests, getting chemo and radiation, and even eventually undergoing brain surgery. He threw everything he could at it and, even in July, when the doctors explained to him that his cancer was explosive at that point, he wanted to continue fighting.
On August 26th, we moved my Dad to a hospice facility. After a month at home on hospice care, he took a very sudden turn for the worst and we had no choice but to move him. It was the last time that I would see my Dad awake and somewhat alert That night, as my son - who, Goddess bless him, chose to stay at the hospice facility with me - slept on a sofa in one of the family rooms, I stood at the huge window there, staring out at the sprawling sparkling city of Philadelphia and, beyond the lights, out in the velvet darkness of the sky, I saw a shimmering purple. The veil was parting to allow my father through to the other side. I knew then it would not be long.
The next night, after a long-time family friend and former student of my father's rushed across town to serenade my Dad with a little Bob Dylan and The Band (something for which I am eternally grateful and moved beyond words), and my husband and middle sister headed reluctantly home for the night, my youngest sister and I sat there with Dad, a Van Morrison CD playing, one of us on either side of him, each holding a hand, each whispering comfort, peace and love to him. Just as the clock round to midnight, after I dozed in my chair for a few minutes, there was a sudden change in my Dad and a palpable change in the room. The atmosphere became thicker, heavier, yet the small room felt cavernous, like it was gaping open somewhere. I became very cold, near shivering, and I felt like the words were coming out of my mouth faster, almost with desperation. The slower my Dad's breathing got, the faster the words came, as they do when raising power. I could feel him slipping away, feel his spirit pulling away from us, feel it pulling out of his body and towards the opening veil. I remember hearing "go, go, go" in my head. And then, silence. Utter silence. All went still. Daddy was gone.
In the days since, there are times I must force myself to do normal things, like go to school, to work, to enjoy family and friends, even eat and sleep. When I don't do these everyday things, I feel that tug, that pull, that heaviness, and I wander into a gaping blank space. Sure, some of this is sadness, loss, grief, but it is also how very close I came to the opening of the veil, that place between, where the world ends and begins, where time stops and starts again, where life dies and is born anew. I feel it again now, as Samhain approaches. The veil is thinning. Perhaps as I move between the worlds during my Samhain ritual this year, I will be able to see that beautiful place again, see all those people one more time...plus one.
Samhain Blessings to you all!
Tuesday, October 29, 2013
Tuesday, August 13, 2013
The Last Days of Summer
Here we are in mid-August, not even done with Summer yet, and I find my mind wandering through the red, yellow and orange fallen leaves, through the rich scent of decay and heady aroma of cinnamon, nutmeg and ginger, through the crisp cool blue and gold days of Autumn. My head flips through the Mabon recipe index and the decoration checklist in my head nightly. I long to hear the chirp of crickets and rustling of leaf piles in the night instead of the constant hums of air conditioners and ceiling fans. These man-made intrusions close in around me and set my nerves on edge. I am very ready to bid Summer a fond farewell.
It has been a long, winding and rough road through the Summer so far. I found myself many times in the past two months at a crossroads, holding my hands out to the Universe and asking, "What now? What next?" The Universe always answered with a new challenge. There were times when I thought I could take no more, that I should just climb into my bed, pull the covers up over my head, and refuse to come out until everything went back to the way it was. But, of course, I could not do that. I kept moving to the next hurdle, and the next, and the next.
But the Universe has also given me some beautiful gifts through it all.
Summer began with the news that I had been accepted into the Penn State Extension's Master Gardeners Program in my county. I completed the application in mid-Spring after a long talk with myself and a little research. It only seemed like the right path to take! After a scheduled interview and an unexpected test (Yikes!), I received an acceptance e-mail. This good news has helped carry me through some of the darker days of this Summer.
During "The Vacation That Really Wasn't a Vacation" (don't ask!), my hubby and I took a midnight walk to the beach, to decompress and to be alone for just a few minutes, away from the other family members (15 in all) sharing the house. Once there, we just stood huddled together, gazing upwards, mouths agape at the celestial wonders overhead. Time stood still and our breath caught in our chests at the pure beauty. Countless stars blinked in the vast night sky and some seemed to be suspended in a trail of stardust. We made wishes on several shooting stars and I thanked the Goddess, thanked the Universe, for the one true wonderful and peaceful moment of that week.
Most recently, on a particularly crazy and hectic day, there was the discovery of hummingbirds in my garden. For the past three years, I tried each Summer to bring these little beauties to drink from feeders, honeysuckle, and bee balm. I called out silently to them at Beltane and Litha, sending them welcoming energy. But nothing. Until two showed up out of nowhere about two weeks ago. We watched in awe each time one came to the feeder or chased away other birds. My hubby scrambled to grab cameras to document their arrival. One evening after dinner, as I sat on the patio, one of the hummingbirds came within 3 feet of my face to check me out. He or she later did the same thing to my sister-in-law, but this time an even closer encounter, as she stood outside watching it. We haven't seen them in about five days but I am now hopeful that they know they are welcome here and will return again in the days and Summers to come.
And then there are the everyday gifts from the Universe, those that warm my heart and soul, uplift my spirit, and keep me walking my Path. The smile and laughter of my almost five-month old niece, the needed joy in my family's life right now. The growing maturity of my son which has transformed our mother-son relationship and made life just a little bit easier. The constant love of my hubby and the way he plays with my hair at night when I have trouble falling asleep. The supportive shoulders and ever-willing to listen ears of family and friends. And, as always, my garden, the place that brings me such peace, if it's only for a few minutes each day.
Dare I say that even the saddening and frustrating things that are happening hold gifts from the Universe? I think I dare say. Why? Simply because, in each separate issue, hurdle or event that presents itself, there is a lesson, a bit of wisdom to be gained, a path to transformation, a moment to create magic for myself or another.
Coming to this realization, perhaps I should savor the last bits of Summer while remaining vigilant for Autumn's approach, dance with the turning of the wheel instead of trying to leap forward a few weeks. Plant a late Summer batch of vegetables, herbs and flowers to harvest throughout the Autumn. Take another trip to the beach, even if for one day, to get one more day of sunbathing, wave watching, and floating in the cleansing salty sea. Have a little backyard party to swap Autumn recipes and ideas before the weather turns cold and bitter. Be present in each conversation with my Dad rather than having my mind race through all the what-if's of his remaining days.
After all, isn't that what August is all about? Beginning on August 1st, Lughnasadh, the first harvest, we begin reaping what we sow and preparing for the harvest to come at Mabon, while remaining here in the present to ensure a bountiful final harvest at Samhain. That does not only apply to the garden or crops but to our very spirits. So maybe I should not be so quick to bid a fond farewell to Summer and all of the wisdom and magic it holds but to be in it, be of it, until Autumn arrives.
It has been a long, winding and rough road through the Summer so far. I found myself many times in the past two months at a crossroads, holding my hands out to the Universe and asking, "What now? What next?" The Universe always answered with a new challenge. There were times when I thought I could take no more, that I should just climb into my bed, pull the covers up over my head, and refuse to come out until everything went back to the way it was. But, of course, I could not do that. I kept moving to the next hurdle, and the next, and the next.
But the Universe has also given me some beautiful gifts through it all.
Summer began with the news that I had been accepted into the Penn State Extension's Master Gardeners Program in my county. I completed the application in mid-Spring after a long talk with myself and a little research. It only seemed like the right path to take! After a scheduled interview and an unexpected test (Yikes!), I received an acceptance e-mail. This good news has helped carry me through some of the darker days of this Summer.
During "The Vacation That Really Wasn't a Vacation" (don't ask!), my hubby and I took a midnight walk to the beach, to decompress and to be alone for just a few minutes, away from the other family members (15 in all) sharing the house. Once there, we just stood huddled together, gazing upwards, mouths agape at the celestial wonders overhead. Time stood still and our breath caught in our chests at the pure beauty. Countless stars blinked in the vast night sky and some seemed to be suspended in a trail of stardust. We made wishes on several shooting stars and I thanked the Goddess, thanked the Universe, for the one true wonderful and peaceful moment of that week.
Most recently, on a particularly crazy and hectic day, there was the discovery of hummingbirds in my garden. For the past three years, I tried each Summer to bring these little beauties to drink from feeders, honeysuckle, and bee balm. I called out silently to them at Beltane and Litha, sending them welcoming energy. But nothing. Until two showed up out of nowhere about two weeks ago. We watched in awe each time one came to the feeder or chased away other birds. My hubby scrambled to grab cameras to document their arrival. One evening after dinner, as I sat on the patio, one of the hummingbirds came within 3 feet of my face to check me out. He or she later did the same thing to my sister-in-law, but this time an even closer encounter, as she stood outside watching it. We haven't seen them in about five days but I am now hopeful that they know they are welcome here and will return again in the days and Summers to come.
And then there are the everyday gifts from the Universe, those that warm my heart and soul, uplift my spirit, and keep me walking my Path. The smile and laughter of my almost five-month old niece, the needed joy in my family's life right now. The growing maturity of my son which has transformed our mother-son relationship and made life just a little bit easier. The constant love of my hubby and the way he plays with my hair at night when I have trouble falling asleep. The supportive shoulders and ever-willing to listen ears of family and friends. And, as always, my garden, the place that brings me such peace, if it's only for a few minutes each day.
Dare I say that even the saddening and frustrating things that are happening hold gifts from the Universe? I think I dare say. Why? Simply because, in each separate issue, hurdle or event that presents itself, there is a lesson, a bit of wisdom to be gained, a path to transformation, a moment to create magic for myself or another.
Coming to this realization, perhaps I should savor the last bits of Summer while remaining vigilant for Autumn's approach, dance with the turning of the wheel instead of trying to leap forward a few weeks. Plant a late Summer batch of vegetables, herbs and flowers to harvest throughout the Autumn. Take another trip to the beach, even if for one day, to get one more day of sunbathing, wave watching, and floating in the cleansing salty sea. Have a little backyard party to swap Autumn recipes and ideas before the weather turns cold and bitter. Be present in each conversation with my Dad rather than having my mind race through all the what-if's of his remaining days.
After all, isn't that what August is all about? Beginning on August 1st, Lughnasadh, the first harvest, we begin reaping what we sow and preparing for the harvest to come at Mabon, while remaining here in the present to ensure a bountiful final harvest at Samhain. That does not only apply to the garden or crops but to our very spirits. So maybe I should not be so quick to bid a fond farewell to Summer and all of the wisdom and magic it holds but to be in it, be of it, until Autumn arrives.
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