Merrily met, and a Happy Samhain- or if you prefer, Feast of the Dead.
I have been unexpectedly detained this week; an answer to Fae Gems’ inactivity can be found in this; perhaps the absence is attributed to the ethereal- or the abnegation of the semblance of it. Splayed wide, as sale tenders in a parlor shop, I planned to blog about The Origins of Samhain, Samhain rituals, alters, chants, incalculable slews of tidbits & rehashed information on the Ancestral Sabbath in my Editorial Calendar (read about how easy it is to readjust your blogging schedule for unexpected lapses).
A regurgitation of echoing Samhain facts, uncertain histories, and recapitulated lore cheapens the Day of the Dead. Dutiful ritual, bereft spirit, purloins reality of its earned mysteries. Lore is important. Facts are paramount in understanding our roots, and history ebbs irrevocably through our veins- never to be forgotten, lest we traverse into the planes of the past, and falter again in the samenss of our missteps. But can we aspire to the heights beyond our mortal contemplation?
We can feel. Experience. Breathe life into the depths of ourselves inward, and abandon our wanton obsession with external influences.
Samson came to me in my dreams last night. He died, too soon & unjustly, in the fall of 2010. He was my guardian, my companion, a piece of my soul. Samson wasn’t a human- but calling him the “best dog” I’ve ever had riddles his memory in cheapened sentiment. He was an unsurpassed blessing.
I often wonder if I will meet his incarnation again in this lifetime; I pray for it. I am suspicious of every new animal companion, searching, always (in vain), to meet his likeness. Perhaps the futility in my search lies in the limits of scope, perception, the assuredness of the same- we are perennially bound in the confines of our (remembered) experience; how can I learn to search for him in roles I know him not to play?
I rescued two kittens this may, and I am now nursing a third, who was abandoned, in a barren cardboard tomb. Their souls are eons old, yet their bodies newly formed, and I cannot help but to hope that I have known them before, if not in this life, then perhaps lives before it. Yui (pictured left) came to me with Samson in my sleep. Could their togetherness be a sign of knowing?
He came to me on the Feast of the Dead. That is enough to prove he has some judgement for me. Perhaps passing acknowledgement, maybe a fancy of soul searching. But he is real to me, far from gone, amid a plane I cannot reach.
And so to you I say, fly from your soul. Do not experience Samhain from the confines of a page, of paper, on the web, seek inward to find the balm you seek of those souls loved and gone to grass. I do not know what lies ahead, but it seems that our journeys are far from over when we leave this plane of Earth. Beyond it, but not gone from here entirely.
Be it in the spirit of divination, the realm of dreams, or the passions of meditative dreamspeak, enliven those who you have loved and lost- and don’t allow Samhain to be the only time you remember their touch.
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