Sabbat of Samhain, November 1   

The first celebration in the Celtic Wheel of the Year was Samhain.  It marked the beginning of a new year in the agrarian world. Days were growing shorter and cooler, a little more darkness, a little less light daily. Work had to be completed to survive the coming winter. Crops were harvested and stored. Livestock provided for or slaughtered, their usable parts preserved. Humans sought shelter from the elements, entering a time of rest and introspection. 

This celebration has evolved over the centuries, reimagined and renamed. All Souls/All Saints, Halloween, All Hallows Eve, Day of the Dead. I’m sure there are many more examples from around the globe. We all live on the same revolving planet, daily visiting the moon and the sun. We all have summers and winters. We all have ancestors. We all need food and shelter. We have much in common but also vast differences. 

Sabbat Novels

The characters in my novels are contemporary people who are mindful of the wheel of the year. They are loosely connected to the Greek pantheon and archetypal myths, for these energies are timeless and present in the psyches of all human beings. Archetypes connect us to the past and to the future. 

Each of my characters has a bit of myself, my life experiences, and my sense of humor. I like puns and sly literary references. I steal from my own family and friends. PZ is a lot like my little brother with a bit of Tom Sawyer thrown in. Chrys is a bit of my sister, a dab of Hermione, and a dollop of myself at that age. As Mr. Twain would say, “I tell the truth, mainly. There are things I stretch, but mainly I tell the truth.” Unless I don’t want to, which is the joy of writing fiction. As a depth psychologist, I try to stick to the truth. As a novelist, I can stretch it or make it up as I go along… because it is fun. 

Once Upon the Time on the Morning of Samhain, November 1

“I’ll get you, My Pretty,” I mutter to myself as I scan the shelves. I’m looking for a witch atop her broom, silhouetted against a full moon, her cloak billowing, hair trailing. There she is!  Hibernating for a year at the the back of the cabinet–my witch mug. She was a gift from a friend who has flown but friend and mug are still treasured. My witch appears to be a woman on a mission, as am I. 

This is the first day of the month I was born, the month I became a wife, the month I became a mother. Now I am a solitary old woman flying straight into another year of a wheel of changes. Alone on my metaphysical broom, armed with clarity of intention and resilience born of experience, I will face whatever the future brings. I am confident that I can navigate even when I encounter turbulence, for that has always been my experience. 

I begin Samhain with a coffee ritual. Like the spider, I live on a large web that sustains me. I grind beans that I did not grow, pick, or roast. I put them in a filter, pour clean water into a little well, press a button and voila! I brew an elixir that awakens my tastebuds. I think about all the years of labor that have gone into the manifestation of this witchy potion. Planters, pickers, roasters, packagers, transporters, grocers, many others. I have at my fingertips energies that chill, energies that warm. I have light, when and wherever I wish (which my Celtic ancestors did not have). A dollop of cream, a pat of butter, a wedge of cheddar. Rarely do I think about how much went into bringing these necessities into my life. I don’t milk, churn, or herd. Everything that has gone into getting this cup of coffee into my November morning is a gift.  Color, smell, taste, I consider the enormity of the contributions from people I have never met, living in places I will never go. The web of existence is humbling and, to my mind, Magick.  

November marks the entry into the dark days, a time for introspection, contemplation, self-assessment. The pressing questions for those Celts must have been, “Have I done enough? Have I made the right choices? When will the land begin to provide once again? Have I been a good steward? Will I make it, along with those I love?”

These are good questions. How does this apply to me, in my warm, well-lighted kitchen? At this point in my life, it is unlikely that I will face starvation. Thankfully, the animals that provide my meat are in the care of others. Vegetables miraculously appear on the grocers’ shelves. I tap my magic wand at the checkout counter and take what I need home. What questions must I be asking myself on Samhain? Mine are different, but the same. “Have I done enough? Have I lived in alignment with my purpose? Have I stewarded my resources wisely? Have I lived mindfully? Have I done harm, intentionally or unintentionally? Is this planet even slightly improved by my ephemeral presence? Have I learned anything? How have I contributed to the evolution of consciousness?”

Life is a gift, made possible by those who came before and sustained by the whole. Now there is a thought worthy of contemplation on a dark November morning.

When the Veil Grows Thin

The Celtic Sabbat of Samhain acknowledged the contributions of the ancestors.  Perhaps the metaphor of the “Veil” refers to the focus of our consciousness. The rest of the year we are focused on living and all that it entails. For the Celts, sunrise to sunset, the work was hard. When November arrived, the work had to be complete. If not, the consequences were severe. For those living in the twenty-first century, we are generally focused on the present and the business of living. November offers an opportunity to avail ourselves of the energy of Samhain, take a momentary pause from all our hunting and gathering to go deeper. When the harvests are complete, when “all is safely gathered in,” we can turn our minds and hearts to circumspection. The “veil grows thin” when we give it our attention and look deeper. Far from being evil, it is respectful, worshipful, grateful. We allow an awareness of the Divine to enter our consciousness. We silence the mind chatter and open ourselves to Grace.

Samhain energy is the mindful acknowledgement of all that has come before and all that lies ahead. It reaches beyond the biological family tree, much broader than humanity or even sentient beings—everything that comprises the whole of our world and perhaps beyond. That is the eternal wheel of each year. 

I have been anointed with existence for this brief appearance, which brings me to the additional tasks of November: Gratitude and Mindfulness. I am a small filament on the ephemeral web of existence. I am playing my part and will disappear into something else. This is my moment to contribute to the evolution of consciousness.

“All the world’s a stage, And all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and their entrances.”

William Shakespeare.  As You Like It (Act II, Scene VII). 

Shadows on Samhain: The Novel Born in a Snowstorm

I wrote my first novel the first winter I was living in Colorado. The “storm of the century” left me snowed in for seventeen days. I never lost power or water. I had a bit of food, but before it was over I was down to leftover Christmas candy. I had no wifi, no television, no unread books, no companions. I wrote a novel called Shadows on Samhain. I used Greek archetypes as characters because I have a Ph.D. in mythology and depth psychology. I created a family that I’m still living with. I try to make them clever and occasionally witty. (I do admire Martha Grimes.) I published it on Amazon because I could. If you are the sort of person who would know why a Wiccan lawyer would drive a black Jaguar in Colorado, you will like Shadows on Samhain.