Tuesday 29 May 2012

SAMHAIN:



In the USA it is Halloween where they celebrate with trick or treating & pumpkin smiles. In Catholic countries they take flowers to their graves & eat "Saints bones"- little marzipan sweets shaped as bones. In Mexico families gather at their dearly beloved´s graves & feast with the departed, sharing their morsels with those whom have gone. Witches gather in their covens around their cauldrons, boil & bubble, toil & trouble. The Hindus have their lights. The dead have their day & folk have their way of acknowledging them. But I have my way too & my journey is another one.
RITUAL:
I don my robe of white, close my front door & go on my way into the forest. It is a very special day today, for the Celts, of which I am one. The night is cold & clear, the stars, hard diamond chips tossed upon a black velvet mantle, the moon, but a slither, a slice of silver etched delicately between the scudding clouds which move stealthily across the sky, lending haunting shadows to the silent forest. The gnarled tree trunks grimace with age, owls hoot a greeting, bats flutter & bow before me as I pass beneath the canopy of this enchanted forest. I arrive at the sacred Grove, a clearing surrounded by ancient oaks. The Bards are dressed in their oratory robes of the inspiring blue sky, the Ovates in their sage- green herbed hoods, & the Druids whom have arrived at infinite wisdom, the Priests of nature are dressed in pristine, pure white. We all enter through the big stone portals, forming a circle, leaving our lanterns in the centre of the circle giving off a magical glow. We bless our circle & consecrate it with water from the sacred well, & with fire & with sword. The horn is blown; homage is paid to the four elements & the Gods & Goddesses who protect them. Chants are chanted, prayers are prayed, thanks are given to the Highest, Awens are said, & repeated three times. We partake of the broken bread & sip of the golden mead from the chalice of plenty. The dead are remembered on this night, & the gossamer veil is at its sheerest for us to feel the departed close by, & for them to see us unseen, but knowing we are thinking of them. The circle is undone, we exit through the portal & make our way to the crest of the hill beyond the forest, & dawn is awakening in the valleys & in ourselves. We sit on the rocks in silence as a beautiful Druidess hands us each a cup of liquorice tea & arrowroot biscuits. The sun rises on the distant horizon, the dew sparkles on the delicate spider webs on the surrounding shrubs, the dove coos, & I thank the Cosmos for how I feel. Blessings to everyone.

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