Samhain is a time of growing darkness. The days become short and evenings fade quickly into night. The last leaves fall, to rustle underfoot and dance in the first strong winds that herald the winter. Our ancestors believed that the day, the year and indeed all life begins with darkness and stillness. As the evenings draw in and the dark half of the year begins to have its influence in our daily lives, it is natural to begin a period of introspection, honouring all that has passed in the world over the previous year, in order to create a new beginning. Samhain (‘summer’s end’), the festival celebrated on 31 October (northern hemisphere) and on 1 May (southern hemisphere), is commonly considered to be Celtic New Year.
Key Themes
Cross quarter
death
surrender
stillness
Celebrating and honouring
darkness
the shadow
going within
endings and beginnings
crossing the veil
the spirit world
remembrance
grieving
ancestors
introspection
the unconscious
The indigenous spiritual traditions of this land always honoured the dead and all ancestral presences, not as beings to fear but as respected allies and councillors. As representatives of their people in the spirit realm, they act as go-betweens transmitting knowledge to and from the mortal world and back to the realm of spirit. At Samhain all fires were extinguished except for the bonfire (or ‘bone-fire’) built of the remains of livestock slaughtered in preparation for winter. Each family would take a torch from this fire to relight their home fires. Thus Samhain is a time of renewal when life retreats within the earth, within doors and within the psyche, to find completion and contemplation. It is the blank page upon which the coming year will be written.
This powerful turning point is when the old becomes young again. It is a time of ancestral connection, where those that have walked the mortal roads before us gather at the edges of perception, whispering in our ear to be remembered, testifying that the bonds of human relations stretch far from this world into the next. It is a time when all things lost may be found again, all things hidden become uncovered and all things clinging to life beyond their time finally surrender to the great cycles of creation, trusting that in death there is life anew. To our ancestors, endings merged into beginnings, and the first moments of life were also marked by silence, stillness and nourishing darkness within the womb. And so it is with Samhain; at the death of the year we find inception and the beginning of a new journey.
Since the emergence of Christianity in the British Isles, the festival of Samhain has become overlaid by the Christian festival of Halloween, or All Hallows Eve, also on 31 October, followed by All Saints Day on 1 November. Instead of a festival honouring the slaughter of livestock and the presence of the spirit world touching our own at this time, All Hallows Eve is concerned with demons and the unquiet dead rising to torment the living. This has some elements in common with Samhain, as both are seen as a special ‘spirit night’, but rather than guiding the dead on to the next world, the emphasis here is on chaos and negative energies having free reign before they are hounded back to hell by the saints on the following day. There is also no sense of final harvest or of the cull, the slaughter of livestock fattened over the summer months, then prepared, preserved and stored to provide for the winter ahead, just as we can metaphorically cull or preserve things in our own lives at this time to restore our balance and to provide for our path ahead.
Halloween has become increasingly popular in the modern imagination, especially in the United States, the development of a positive spin on the ghosts and spirits of the night drawing on Samhain tradition more than many realize. While Samhain was a night feared by the Celts, it was also a time held in deep honour, with a reverence toward the spirits and the ancestral presences walking abroad at this time, even if relations with them were handled with great care.
Spirit nights in the Celtic world
In Wales, Samhain is known as Nos Calan Gaeaf. It is a spirit night, or Ysbridnos (see page 112). One of its many traditions is of a terrifying spirit in the form of a great, tail-less, black sow, known as Yr Hwrch Ddu Gwta, who wandered abroad seizing solitary travellers. Traditional Welsh divination at this time was to place stones inscribed with the names of each family member into the fire, and if one of the names was gone in the morning then that person was likely to die over the coming year.
In Ireland, Samhain night, or Oiche Shamna, was especially important, although the Neolithic passage tomb known as ‘The Mound of the Hostages’ in County Meath is aligned to the Samhain sunrise. Such ancient tombs were considered to be homes to the Sidhe, or the faeries, as well as to the spirits of the dead, which are said to roam freely at Samhain. Offerings are still made to the dead and the spirits of the land at this time so that they protect both the people and their livestock over the winter.
In Celtic lands the winter months are under the rulership of the Cailleach, the old woman (or hag) of winter (see page 193). She is often described as herding deer, a sacred animal in the Celtic tradition, symbolizing nobility and pride, and providing sustenance over the winter. The deer is a symbol of the old hunter gods, guardians of the Celtic underworld, and also harks back to the ancient deer goddess, who went by many names and was once worshipped by Celtic tribes in Britain, Ireland and parts of Europe.
In Scotland the Cailleach is also known as the Cailleach Bheur, or the blue hag, and as the Cailleach Bheira (Vera, or the spiky one), the queen of winter, whose throne is the mountain Ben Nevis. On the west coast of Scotland, she is said to bring in the winter by washing her plaid (a kind of cloak) in the Gulf of Corryvreckan (in Gaelic Coire Bhreacain means ‘the Cauldron of the Plaid’). Washing her plaid takes three days and nights, during which time a great storm roars across the land, and when she is done, the plaid is pure white and all the land is covered with snow. She also carries a great staff that she can strike upon the earth to bring frost and crack rocks. The Cailleach is associated with many places all over Scotland: in Argyll and Bute, for example, she is connected to the mountain Ben Cruachan, and is known as Cailleach nan Cruachan, meaning ‘the witch of Cruachan’; and on Skye the mountain Beinn na Caillich is also named after her.
In Ireland, the Cailleach is also associated with mountains and rocky outcrops, and with the positioning of standing stones and cairns upon the landscape. Several places are named after her, such as Ceann Caillí, meaning ‘the hag’s head’, on the southern tip of the Cliffs of Moher in County Clare; and the megalithic tombs of Loughcrew, in County Meath, are positioned atop Slieve na Calliagh, meaning ‘the hag’s mountain’. There is also a kerbstone at Loughcrew called ‘the hag’s chair’.
The Cailleach, queen of winter
The Cailleach can be called upon as an ancient ancestral mother, or as a powerful and wise goddess of the winter, to support you whenever you face hard times, feel lost or experience sadness or grief, as well as to honour and bless those who have passed over. She may sometimes be seen as the Celtic embodiment of death, but as such she needn’t be a figure to be feared, rather a wise grandmother who guides the departed on their way when their time is come. To call upon her for aid, its best to use your own words, as these will be more powerful and heartfelt, but you could try these to get you started:
‘I call upon the Cailleach, the old veiled one, into whose arms we will always return. Come to me as the wheel turns and reveal some of your wisdom. Let my ancestors know they are remembered. Bless me and those who have gone before. Let me feel your presence and wisdom. Blessed be!'
Samhain, considered the beginning of winter, is also a time associated with the Celtic hunter gods, the European Cernunnos, as well as the English Herne the Hunter and the Welsh Gwyn ap Nudd. Hunter gods are another form of the ‘wild man’ (see page 200), a recurring figure in Celtic myth associated with wild animals as well as male fertility and prowess, from an era when the ability to hunt was essential for our winter survival. These gods also featured as tribal and territorial guardians of the Iron Age Celts, partners to the earth goddess in her various forms. In agricultural terms these deities oversee the cull or yearly slaughter of livestock in preparation for winter, with its corresponding magical and spiritual associations, and so they represent our courage to surrender to the nadir of our lives, our metaphorical, spiritual winters, spurring us into letting go of what no longer serves us, and to descend willingly into the underworld for dissolution and renewal. As territorial guardians and partners to the goddesses of the land, they oversee a period of testing in which the seeker must become worthy before they can descend into greater communion with the earth goddess and, like the seekers on the quest for the Holy Grail, come into a closer relationship with their own souls.
This can especially be seen with the Welsh hunter god and psychopomp Gwyn ap Nudd, who is tasked with being the guardian of the Welsh underworld, Annwn, meaning ‘the deep place’. As leader of the spectral Wild Hunt at this time, he guides the dead to the underworld, and forces demons and all unquiet spirits away from the land of the living. He also competes with his summer counterpart Gwythr ap Greidawl for the hand of the sovereignty goddess Creiddylad, as part of an eternal love triangle between the land and the kings of summer and winter (see page 90).
At this time the ghostly Wild Hunt is said to ride out, led across the Somerset levels and Wales by Gwyn ap Nudd. As well as being a guide to Annwn, he is also king of the Twylwth Teg, the faeries who are said to live beneath the lakes in the Welsh Black Mountains as well as under Glastonbury Tor in Somerset. Gwyn means white, bright or blessed and, luminescent, he leads the way through the darkness of the underworld, of the winter and the night. The son of Nudd, or Nodens, both versions of the Irish lunar god Nuada, Gwyn can be equated with the stellar figure of Orion the hunter who dominates the sky at this time of year and begins to rise above the Tor as Samhain approaches.
On the Wild Hunt, Gwyn is accompanied by ancestral spirits and the faerie hosts, to gather the spirits of the dead and lead them into the underworld. Riding his white horse, with the faerie hounds, the Cwn Annwn, yapping and howling across the skies, the Hunt brings with it storms, magic and sudden change – from life to death, and from death to life; it heralds the time when the wheel turns, fate is changed and the old year dies, falling with the leaves on the trees. While fierce and terrible, the Wild Hunt is a mercy to those that have lost their way between the worlds, or who are stuck in patterns that have outgrown them; aiding both the living and dead to move forward when all else has failed. Its primal energy touches the soul like a lightning storm, ripping away illusions and stagnation. The dead, met by the ancestors, ride with Gwyn and the Wild Hunt, taking one last look at the mortal world before travelling with him to the underworld, Annwn, where they rest and become renewed by the earth goddess once again.
The Wild Hunt
The Wild Hunt thus provides comfort in the knowledge that after death your soul will not get lost on its way to the lands beyond, and that the underworld will regenerate you in the womb of the goddess. In other parts of the Celtic diaspora, the Wild Hunt is led by other gods – Herne, Cernunnos, Odin, Woden, Hyrla – and even by the historical figure Sir Francis Drake.
You may call to Gwyn at any time of the year, but it is especially relevant to do so at Samhain. Pray to him in your own words to ask for blessings upon all those who have passed over the previous year, as well as for any spirits you think may not be at peace at this time. Gwyn can also be called upon to help you understand your own journeys, either in preparation for death, or with regard to knowing your own heart and hidden, inner truths and wilder nature. Considering your subconscious needs and issues can be very healing, as can taking the time to really connect with your deeper feelings and instincts.
As already discussed Gwyn ap Nudd is also king of the Tylwyth Teg, or fair folk. Gwyn and the faeries are often seen in woodlands and deep forests, as well as at the water’s edge. This traditional prayer to him was recorded in the Middle Ages, and can be used or adapted to call upon him when going into wild places or as a precursor to any requests for help with healing or self-knowledge:
‘To the king of spirits and his queen. Gwyn ap Nudd, you who are yonder in the forest, for the love of your mate, permit me to enter your dwelling.’
If we look high in the south in the night sky of the northern hemisphere, we can find the constellation of Orion, the hunter god. In the Celtic tradition, the gods Cernunnos, Gwyn ap Nudd and Arawn are all associated with Orion, as is Herne the Hunter. To the Celts, these gods were lords of the underworld as well as of wild animals. They are also understood as being gods of masculine energy, encompassing the male spiritual journey.
Orion is a far larger constellation than Ursa Major and Minor in the north, and as the night progresses and winter turns to spring he can be seen increasingly lying along the horizon. He is easy to find by looking first for his belt, three bright stars, almost but not quite in a line. Orion’s Belt is also notable to archaeo-astronomers for being the pattern of the Great Pyramids at Giza. Two stars in Orion are especially bright. The first is the orange-red Betelgeuse on the upper left of the quadrilateral, effectively upon his shoulder. The other is Rigel, which means ‘giant’s leg’, upon his foot, which is especially bright white. Upon Orion’s other (right) shoulder is the star Bellatrix, the female warrior. Just below Orion’s Belt is his sword, and part of that sword is a misty patch, the famous Orion Nebula, a cloud of dust and gas that forms a stellar nursery deep in the heart of space.
Follow the line of Orion’s Belt down and you come to Sirius, the Dog Star, by far the brightest star in the sky. Sirius is the lead star of Canis Major, the Great Dog or hunter’s hound. In the Celtic tradition the hound is of special importance, as partner and guide to the hunter gods, as well as to many goddesses with underworld associations, and also refers to the Wild Hunt. His favourite hound, Dormach of the ruddy nose, always accompanies Gwyn ap Nudd in Welsh myth, and here we see his stellar counterpart. Higher up you will see Canis Minor, the hunter’s second dog.
In this meditation you can honour the growing darkness and the underworld, within your own psyche as well as in the world around you, helping you to cope better with the seasonal change and the challenges of the long winter nights ahead.
Sitting comfortably, close your eyes and take three deep breaths. Let your eyes relax gently behind your closed lids and allow your imagination to sink into the darkness. Let your breathing deepen and slow naturally, then expand your awareness to imagine that you are walking along a pale shimmering path through the dusk. Behind you the last rays of sunset still glimmer upon the horizon, but ahead of you the sky and the world all around grows darker and darker. All you see is the pale path beneath your feet.
With every step the darkness grows, the dusky landscape all around becoming dimmer and dimmer. Ahead the path dips downhill, while a vast hillside rises above and ahead of you, like a wall of shadows, merging with the night sky. The path ahead leads to the mouth of a huge cave. You stand for a moment at the entrance, and take three deep breaths. In front of you the darkness is as thick as velvet, complete without any sense of depth or distance. You look down and can just see your feet on the path, its glimmering path now dimmed and fading into nothingness ahead of you.
When you are ready step forward, trusting in the path beneath your feet. A cold winter wind blows into your face as you go, billowing around you, but there are no other sounds, other than the beating of your heart in your ears. You walk on slowly, into the darkness, until you begin to hear a very faint chime, like silver bells, and you notice faint glimmers of light ahead of you, growing stronger with every step. Slowly but surely the sounds grow, and your eyes focus more clearly – you see that far in the distance the stars are coming out, and you realize that what you hear is their silver song, chiming out across the night.
As you go further through the darkness, punctured now by faroff points of silver light, a sudden flare of light appears to your left, illuminating all around. A starry giant made of silver fire rises up from beneath the horizon, a huge hound of silver by his side. At the man’s approach it is as if the darkness all around begins to shrivel and fade. He steps forward, oblivious to you, raises his arms and shoots a great fiery arrow out across the night. Luminescent he strides out, and at his heels comes the mighty hound. The darkness retreats as they approach, and you see that now that it is just the night sky, lit with stars.
You follow in the giant’s wake, and as you look around you see there are many others, like you, shapes in the night, all being led through the darkness and the cold winds of winter. And what seemed once so utterly black, a great void, is altered now in his silver light. You see the land stretching out below you dusted with silver and glittering frost, beautiful and terrible, but an earthly place, a human place, with nothing to fear there. With every step the giant and his dog light up the night sky, leading you onward, the land stretching out beneath you. You know that he will be your guide through the winter, through the darkness. For a moment he turns and looks at you, and you see the light in his eyes, impossibly bright, and you know that the darkness can never be absolute. He will be here, striding across the blackest of skies, through the darkest of winters, through the darkest of nights. There will always be his light to guide you home.
After a while, you feel it is time to return back to your body, and you see where you live below you. Easily as breathing, you drift down to your home, every breath you exhale helping you descend lower and lower, until you sense your body, quiet and comfortable. Breathe slowly and easily, and turn your attention to the breath in your lungs, the gentle expansion of your chest and belly, and feel your heart beating within you. Give thanks to Orion and his dog, for their care and protection.
Hold for a moment the memory of what you have seen and felt, and know it is yours, always, before taking your time, wriggling your fingers and toes, and opening your eyes as you return to the everyday world again.
You may need to earth yourself carefully after this exercise, by eating and drinking, and taking your time to feel yourself back in your body and the everyday world.
Honouring our ancestral lines, especially at Samhain, was once central to Celtic spiritual practice. So much is inherited from our ancestors, for good and for bad, and to honour them was a way of drawing power from our roots as people, as well as sending healing across time to minimize negative patterns, to heal past hurts and ensure that the souls of our ancestors were at rest.
Barrow mounds and other structures, such as stone circles, woodhenges and natural caves, were used as places of ancestral power in the British Isles from the Neolithic era well into the Iron Age. After death, a body went through a period of spiritual stasis. During that time the body was, in Orkney and other places, exposed to the elements or put in a high place to have the meat picked from the bones by eagles – animals of massive spiritual significance; at other times and places bodies were cremated or housed elsewhere. In the Neolithic and Bronze Age the bones of certain people were then laid in a barrow to join others, forming an impersonal ancestral council; while in the Iron Age the Celts revered the bones and skulls of their leaders and powerful enemies and kept them in their nemetons, or sacred groves. It is likely that people were chosen especially for these roles; the bones of men, women and children have been found in barrow mounds, as well as in the foundations of buildings and other structures, but the majority of dead bodies were not treated in this way.
It is thought that these bones represented the ancestors in an impersonal way, as guardians and guides rather than as individuals being remembered and consulted as themselves. These beings had transcended the human condition, to become the spirit representatives of the tribe, and perhaps of the human race itself, able to advise the living people on the land and also to intercede between them and other spiritual intelligences.
Once our relationship with the land of our birth was a close and intense one: we lived, ate and drank from its resources, the very earth in our locale was part of our chemical composition. Spirits of place would have been able to recognize us as native to that landscape, and would have known not only us, but also our ancestors, going back hundreds, perhaps thousands of years. We would have been kin. Sadly that is no longer the case for many of us, but those threads of connection do remain and can be cultivated through our ancestral lines, as well as through our links with the lands we live in today, even if we are newcomers or travel a lot.
We are each part of an endless continuum, from our ancestors in the distant past to our descendants in the far future, and no matter how far we travel, these threads remain in an endless chain of blessings as well as of constraints. By becoming conscious of this, we are empowered to overturn the negative patterns of the past and nurture what is positive, becoming beneficent ancestors ourselves in due course.
Cultures all across the globe use shrines of one sort or another to venerate their ancestors. An ancestral shrine can be an elaborate affair, or as simple as a candle or single flower in front of a photo. Sometimes, if a particular ancestor is thought to have had a troubled life or difficult death, they may be given a position of prominence, marked by a picture or possession of theirs, which can be a focal point for prayers or healing. At other times, ancestors who are thought to be especially supportive may be honoured. Gifts of food and drink, incense or flowers may be placed upon the shrine. At other times, ancestors may be given offerings of song or dance.
Sometimes the focus is on relatives who have passed on in the last 50 years or so, but it is often more effective to have a shrine dedicated to those further off, who have truly become ancestors in a non-personal way. These more remote ancestors can then be asked to support those newly passed, if necessary, and to help us in our day-to-day affairs as well as with deeper issues. Whatever difficulties we may encounter in our lives, there will be one ancestor if not many who have undergone and successfully negotiated the same difficulties, and they can assist us with strength and insight.
This Samhain you may like to make an ancestral shrine of some sort, whether it’s just a few pictures on a shelf or a huge creative project that lasts for some time (during which relations with your ancestors are healed and renewed) and then is simplified down into something more permanent at a later date. Objects or images relating to the place you grew up, or where your family originates, can also find a home on such a shrine. Powers of place may be honoured there as well, local gods, and images of your landscape and its traditions, to support you and represent you to the spirit world, especially if you are in a new location.
Arranging an ancestral shrine can sometimes be deeply emotional, and if this is the case remember to treat yourself gently and be aware that difficult emotions may arise in order to be consciously accepted and healed. When considering the lives of those who have crossed over, it is important to distinguish between the person and their actions and to aim for a compassionate approach wherever possible, toward you as well as them. Sometimes the pain of loss is very great when thinking of those recently passed on and, again, compassion and gentle care is the best medicine. It is also important to be clear with yourself, in distinguishing between the living and the dead, and remembering that while in spirit terms the connection is never lost, there is a clear and healthy barrier between the two realms, which needs to be respected for the good of all.
This meditation and visualization can be undertaken at any time, but is especially relevant at Samhain as a safe way to help you seek advice from, and communion with, your distant ancestors, and to help you draw wisdom from your past and the history of your family line.
You may choose to set up an ancestral shrine in the room or place photos of your ancestors on your altar, if you have one – although this is not essential. When you are ready, take some deep breaths and ask your ancestors to guide you, using your own words, or try these:
‘Blessed ancestors, I call upon you to guide me now, that I may seek your wisdom.’
Close your eyes and imagine you are standing in a wood on a pale stone path. Follow the path through the trees, and after a while you notice you are circling a large hill of some kind. Eventually, you see a cave and hear running water in the distance. As you enter the cave you see flickering firelight and hear drums and singing, indistinctly at first, getting clearer as you approach. Suddenly you enter a large cavern, full of people, all sitting around a large fire. One of them rises to greet you – this will be your guide and ally to help and advise you. You go with them and take your place at the fire for a while. Feel free to ask any questions, or to just see if any of these people have any words or other guidance to give you. Simple time sitting in togetherness is fine, and can actually be the most transcendent experience. One or two of these ancestors may have a gift for you, and you may have one for them, which will appear in your hand.
When you are ready, thank them all and return the way you came, following the path between the trees for a while before wriggling your toes and fingers and feeling yourself back in your body in the everyday world. Be sure to ground yourself well afterwards by eating and drinking, and perhaps writing about the experience in a journal.
Sometimes at Samhain it feels appropriate to make a pilgrimage in honour of your ancestors. This might be to a burial ground or a churchyard where you know some of your family are buried, or even to their homeland. Or perhaps you may feel drawn to visit an ancient barrow mound with which you feel a particular connection. Research the possibilities and try to visit one of these sacred places and make simple prayers to your ancestral line, or just sit in silence for a while and contemplate the great spans of time your ancestors have lived through, right back to the beginning, to help you draw upon their wisdom, and honour all the diverse aspects of their lives that have brought you here.
Another way to honour the ancestors at Samhain is to pay respects to everything in your past that has led you to this place, physically and metaphorically, spiritually and emotionally. You might like to try this simple ritual.
Take a handful of dried leaves, or incense with charcoal bricks, along with a fireproof bowl (unless you have a hearth or wood burner) and some matches. Extinguish all the lights in your household and spend a few moments sitting in silence, in darkness. Open the windows to let in the night and feel the breath of the underworld around you, the raven wings of the goddess-as-crone, the Cailleach upon your cheek. Hold the leaves and using your imagination pour all the deaths you have felt over the year, all sorrow, pain, anything negative, into them. Face the darkness, not as something to fear, but as an ancient friend that you have met many times before. Then, when you are ready, light a single candle and feel the brightness that this brings. Throw the leaves or incense, into your bowl or onto the fire, and watch them burn. Relight every candle in your home from the flames.
In the Celtic calendar, Samhain is a season to acknowledge the spirit world and our loved ones and ancestors who have passed into the otherworld. Taking time to make crafts that honour our grief and losses, as well as honouring the fertile darkness within our own psyches, can be very liberating and healing.
Carved pumpkin or Jack-o’-lanterns, placed in the window, acknowledge the great migration of souls that occurs at Samhain. Their fearsome faces represent the elemental and faery beings that assist this process. These lanterns were once carved from turnips and lit in remembrance of the dead, using torches lit from the Samhain bonfire. Alternatively, a candle can be placed in a bowl or cauldron, to remind us of our return to the womb of the earth goddess, deep in Annwn, where we all will become renewed when our time comes.
You will need
• Pumpkin
• Ice cream scoop
• Spoon
• Pen
• Paper, tape and pin if making a template (optional)
• Sharp vegetable knife or small keyhole saw
• 1 tbsp ground cinnamon
• Candle
First thank the spirit of the pumpkin and ask it to bless and empower your work. Use your own words or try these: ‘Pumpkin spirit, I ask that you work with me to make this lantern, make it magical, and powerful, a thing to delight and guide at this sacred time.’ Keep speaking to the spirit as you work, asking it empower and bless your lantern.
Next, cut the cap or circular opening in the top using a knife or a small keyhole saw, cutting at an angle so the lid can rest on the sides and not fall through. Make the opening wide enough so that you can comfortably insert your hand, and scoop out the inner seeds and pith using a spoon and an ice cream scoop.
Draw on a grinning face design directly with a pen, or make a paper template. Tape the template to the pumpkin and mark out your design using a pin. Try not to leave thin strips of pumpkin in your design, as these can weaken and tear. Carve the face by carefully following the design outline.
To make it extra special sprinkle some cinnamon onto the inside of the lid so that when it’s heated it smells deliciously of pumpkin pie.
Light a fresh candle with thoughts of all who have passed from the world before us, and place it in the lantern, in this way connecting to your ancestors in a tradition of respect that stretches across millennia.
If carved carefully much of the pumpkin’s pulp can be used to make delicious pumpkin soup or pie afterwards.
You may like to begin compiling a seasonal scrapbook to record your celebrations and experiences of nature. Consider including photos and drawings, as well as collected items, such as leaves, flowers and seeds. You might like to write pieces of prose, poetry or songs to add, or copy down examples by others that inspire. You could also include notes on seasonal rituals and magic, or any visions or images you receive in meditation. This is an opportunity to indulge your inner child (see page 268), as well as creating a way of remembering and maintaining thankfulness for the earth’s gifts and your own spiritual journey. You might decide to make this a simple personal project, perhaps a detailed magical diary, or do it together with your family, as you choose.
The Romans recorded the Celts as making wicker man structures filled with human sacrifices, but the only evidence for this is a single source (the writer Posidonios), which was taken up enthusiastically by Julius Caesar for political ends back in Rome. In reality, wicker men were unlikely to have contained human or animal sacrifices due to practical issues: a wicker fire would not contain them or burn long enough. However, offerings and sacrifices were made by the Iron Age Celts, and we can do this today in a way that is relevant and practical to us, as well as morally comfortable in the modern era. For example, you may like to make a wicker man filled with herbs, petitions, prayers or spells to transform any negative feelings or circumstances and ask for the things you wish to come to you in the following year.
Many people make wicker structures filled with fruit, vegetables and grains to burn as an offering, and it is perfectly possible to make one out of twigs or straw, in any size you find practical.
You will need
• About 15 sticks or twigs, approximately 30cm (12in) in length
• Red cord or string
• Pen and paper
• Pieces of ribbon
• Herbs – juniper, mugwort, rosemary or sage
Take six sticks and form into a bundle. Use the cord or string to tie the bundle three-quarters of the way from the top to form the head and the body below it, and again quarter of the way up from the bottom, by wrapping the cord or string around and then tying in a tight knot.
Then tie together another bundle of three sticks and place it just below the head as a cross piece to form the arms. Lash onto the main stem.
Legs can then be added in the same way, by tying two bundles of three sticks each at their tops, and attaching them around the waist area.
Write spells or petitions on small pieces of paper. Insert these, with herbs, into the wicker man, also tying on pieces of ribbon, as offerings and prayers. Do this all with as much magical intent and care as you can, holding the wicker man in your arms and really putting as much energy into it as possible. This can then be burned upon a Samhain fire, or placed somewhere secret, preferably by the hearth.
Finally, thank the wicker man for his help, and, when you are ready, and it’s practical, burn him safely, seeing the smoke sending your magical intentions out into the spirit world.
This, the first of the winter festivals, honours the animal cull, the dead and the world of spirits, so decorations of stones, bones and interestingly shaped sticks and twigs are all suitable objects for your altar, as are the colours black, white, purple and green. Decorations of natural objects, such as pumpkins and gourds, dried seedheads, nuts, sloe berries and antlers, all give the right feel. You may decide to create a sombre-looking altar or space, or go for a wilder, underworld/faery feeling, with moss and ivy wreaths. It’s a matter of choice, so go with what really calls to you to honour this Samhain.
The Dumb Supper
A traditional practice at Samhain is the Dumb Supper, in which a meal is given to the dead. A place setting is laid at the head of the dinner table for one who has passed, and the living guests offer a plate of food to the departed, eating their own portion in silence and with great formal dignity in respect of the dead. An alternative to the Dumb Supper is to place a meal for the dead outside in a special place, such as on a garden table, an altar, a gravestone or at the foot of a tree, as an ancestral offering.
Samhain is a season for feasting, a great opportunity to delight our appetites and keep psychically grounded at a time when spirits abound. Venison is a really traditional food for autumn and winter seasonal celebrations, and venison steaks, sausages and burgers are all widely available. Other meats for the season are pork and boar.
A simple venison stew is easy to make and delicious but if you prefer the following recipe can be made using beef instead of venison. Alternatively, you might prefer to use pork or boar, in which case replace the red wine with cider or apple juice and the junipers with 1 teaspoon freshly peeled and chopped root ginger. A tasty vegetarian version can also be made using vegetable stock, mixed beans and wild mushrooms. Serves six.
You will need
• 1 tbsp butter or oil
• 2 onions, diced or thinly sliced
• 1 clove of garlic, peeled and chopped
• 1.5kg/3.5lb venison, cut into chunks
• 5–6 juniper berries, crushed
• About 500ml/17fl oz/2 cups beef stock
• 6 tbsp red wine (optional)
• 2 carrots, peeled and diced
• 2 sticks of celery, thinly sliced
• Sprig of fresh thyme
• Salt and pepper
Place the butter or oil in a large pan or stockpot on a medium heat until hot, then add the onions and garlic to the pan and sauté until soft and caramelized.
Add the venison and juniper berries and continue sautéing until the meat is browned.
Add just enough stock to cover , as well as the wine (if using), carrots, celery and thyme, and stir to combine. Partially cover with a lid, to allow steam to escape, and leave to cook for about 2 hours on a low-medium heat until the meat is very tender. Check periodically and add a little water if it looks too dry. Season with salt and pepper to taste.
Soul cakes have their roots in the offerings made to the spirits of the dead in pre-Christian times. By the 19th century, they were a form of alms offered to the poor and to children, who would pray for the dead or sing songs on All Souls Day on 1 November. This cake would be given to them in thanks.
You will need
• 375g/13oz/3 cups self-raising flour
• 155g/5½oz/¾ cup caster sugar
• 2 tsp ground nutmeg
• 2 tsp ground mixed spice
• ¼ tsp salt
• 185g/6½oz/¾ cup butter
• 125ml/4fl oz/½ cup milk
• 1 egg
• 90g/3oz/⅔ cup sultanas (golden raisins)
• 90g/3oz/⅔ cup currants
Sieve the flour, sugar, nutmeg, mixed spice and salt into a large bowl, then rub in the butter until the mixture looks like breadcrumbs.
Make a well in the centre and add the milk and egg, mixing well to combine. When you have a smooth batter, add the sultanas (golden raisins) and currants, and stir gently to combine.
Spoon out onto the baking sheet to make 12 scone-sized ‘cakes’ and bake in a preheated oven, 220°C/425°F/gas mark 7, for 10–15 minutes. They should have risen well and be a light golden colour when done.
Before eating them, you might like to share the following traditional soul cake song:
‘A soul, a soul, a soul cake
Please good missus a soul cake
An apple, a pear, a plum or a cherry,
Any good thing to make you merry.
Up with your kettles and down with your pans
Give us an answer and you’ll be gone
Little Jack sat on his gate
Crying for butter to butter his cake
One for St Peter, two for St Paul
Three for the man who made us all!’
Pumpkin soup has become a popular winter dish and is especially suitable for Samhain celebrations when the pumpkin represents the womb of the earth, and you may well have some leftovers from carving Jack-o’-lanterns (see page 241)! This recipe makes enough for 6–8 servings and can be frozen for up to two months so that you can make use of the pumpkins or squashes that are plentiful at this time of year.
You will need
• 4 tbsp olive oil or butter
• 2 onions, finely chopped
• 1kg/2¼lb pumpkin or squash, peeled, deseeded and chopped into small chunks
• 700ml/24fl oz/3 cups vegetable stock
• 140ml/4¾fl oz/½ cup double (heavy) cream
• Salt and pepper (to taste)
• Handful of dried pumpkin seeds and croutons, to garnish
Gently warm the olive oil in a large saucepan set over a medium heat, before adding the onions and sautéing until pale and tender. Add the pumpkin and cook for 10 minutes, stirring occasionally, until soft and golden.
Pour over the vegetable stock and simmer for a further 10 minutes or until the pumpkin is soft and cooked through.
Finally, add the cream, stir through and then blend with a hand blender or liquidizer until the soup has a smooth, creamy consistency. Season with salt and pepper to taste and ladle into bowls, then garnish with a few pumpkin seeds and croutons. Serve with plenty of warm crusty bread and butter.
Life is so often about balance, walking a line between too much and too little, between the past and the future, between the living and the dead, between our physical and material concerns and the needs of our spirits. There are many places on earth where the veil between the realms of the physical and the spiritual, the living and the dead, can be felt, and these are often considered sacred landscapes. But the balance between all things, the micro and macrocosm, the self and other, the mortal and the divine, must also be maintained by each individual, if we are to live a spiritual, conscious and sacred life. This veil between the worlds can be touched in all our lives from time to time, no matter where or how we live. How we respond to its challenge has much to teach us.
Living consciously with spirit enlightens and inspires, but can also lead to delusion and inflation, as the currents of the underworld tug on our psyches, reducing them sometimes to mere flotsam and jetsam, afloat on the energetic to-and-fro of the life beyond our individual stories. The underworld raises our demons, our fears and our shadow selves, the detritus of our own subconscious as well as that of those who have gone before, and we must rise to such initiations or be broken by them. If we feel the touch of Spirit, it may leave us changed for ever. But what an opportunity to live a life of magic and wonder! What an opportunity to grow, to heal and to become whole, for ourselves and generations to come.
We must remember that we all live surrounded by spirits, everything in existence is as alive as we are, in its own way, and we are merely a few of their number. But if we are brave enough, we can chart our course through life by riding these otherworldly currents, and be infused with the breath of the gods. We do this through balance: of logic with intuition, of pride with humility, of ecstasy with groundedness, of our sense of the spirit world combined with our sense of the everyday, mortal life – and also by remembering we, too, are sparks of the divine. We, too, find our origins in the arms of the Mother. The world of the spirits needs to be respected, but not feared because we are part of it. We are as much star-stuff as mortal, and these elements are of equal worth, of equal blessing.
Use this exercise to feel the presence of the wild hunt and honour the passing of souls onto the next world, with the Cailleach as your guide.
See yourself standing between two tall trees beneath a night sky. There is a path leading ahead of you, down a lane lined with trees and overgrown hedges. The sky above is cloudy, with a full moon just visible from time to time between the scudding clouds. The air is still and your footfalls seem uncommonly loud upon the path, crunching on small stones underfoot. The silence around you seems to grow and gather, thickening in the darkness. Suddenly you hear the hoot of an owl and a cold north wind breaks the silence, shaking the last of the leaves from the branches and sending them dancing along the lane.
Ahead you see a small stone cottage, glimmering golden light peeping around thick curtains in the windows, tucked beneath a neat thatched roof. Its white stone walls shine beneath the dark sky. As you approach, the front door opens, and a small old woman steps out into her front garden. For a moment the lawn is flooded with golden light that vanishes as she closes the door behind her. She carries a lantern and waves to you, calling you over, and walking toward you as you approach.
In the flickering light of her lantern you see she has a kind, weatherworn face and twinkling dark eyes, and is wrapped in a large black shawl. Take a moment to greet her, and hear her wisdom. What does she say to you? Don’t worry about imagining it; her message is whatever comes to you first.
After a time you notice the wind is picking up and the night has got colder. ‘The Hunt will be coming soon,’ she says. ‘Would you like to see?’
Answer her honestly. If you choose you can return the way you came, back to the everyday world. If you choose to go on, she leads you around the side of her house, and through a long back garden lined with trees, which edges onto open fields. There is a white-painted wicker gate at the back of the garden. As you approach, the full moon breaks free of the clouds and all the world around you is bathed in silver light. You see you are at the top of a hill, looking out on a wide-open expanse. The moonlight makes strange twisted shapes of the trees below you, and the empty fields shimmer with mist that catches the moonlight as if you are staring out across a wintry sea.
You reach out to open the gate, your fingers touching the wood, but you feel a hand on your shoulder and you turn to see the old woman shaking her head. You may go this far and no further.
The wind whispers and hisses in the trees and grows stronger, roaring down the hillside. You hear distant voices and strange eerie calls like the yapping of hounds and the lonely cries of geese arcing overhead. The wind rises further still, tugging at your clothes, and in the strange silver grey light forms flicker across the sky, between light and shadow.
First come the hounds, streaking silver they speed ahead, clouds scattering at their approach, their eyes burning red and their teeth slavering as they yap and call. Following come the riders, men and women with flowing silver hair and robes made of starlight, serene moon-bright faces and fierce flashing eyes. In among them are others, they seem to walk slowly, tired and burdened with sacks and packs upon their backs, and bundles in their arms, yet they keep pace. Some of their faces are shadowed and sad, unseeing, while others look up and about them, an eerie light reflecting in their faces as they see the otherworld ahead of them, not the mortal life they leave behind.
Your heart beats tight in your chest, and for a moment you feel fear, and then the wind snatches this away too, dragging it after them and you realize that on this wild, fierce night, you see one of the wonders of creation, a great migration of souls as the wheel of the seasons turns to winter. There is grief here but with every step these travellers leave it further behind. And there is mercy also. No soul is abandoned, and while some leave the world in sorrow, others cross the veil with peace in their hearts, as pilgrims and adventurers.
You ponder this for a while, watching the wild procession pass overhead. Snatches of song accompany the yapping of the hounds, a slow soaring melody at the edge of hearing.
The old woman touches your shoulder and you realize it is time to go. She leaves the lantern at the gate, a sign of remembrance, to guide their journey through the night, and you follow her through the garden back to the lane.
In silence you wave goodbye, and return the way you came, along the pale stone path between the high hedges, which seem more normal, more earthly now, as if you were taking a night-time stroll. You cross over the threshold between the two trees back to your body and the everyday world. Take your time. Feel yourself back in the here and now, and wiggle your fingers and toes before moving about.
Remember to ground yourself well afterwards by eating and drinking and perhaps recording your experiences in a journal.
Samhain is such an evocative season. As the last of the leaves fall from the trees we know that winter is coming, and the world takes on a more contemplative feel as the evenings draw in. Whether celebrating as a group or alone, an important part of Samhain is to honour the spirit world and the ancestors, so take time to stop and remember those who came before you.
Celebrating with friends, family and/or the wider community
Find a place where you can light a Samhain fire and gather together to honour the spirits and your ancestors with costumes and tales of your family’s history. You might also want to decorate your space with a small wicker man (see page 243), candles and a special Samhain altar (see page 245).
Wicker man for a Samhain ceremony
Encourage everyone to prepare and read aloud their family tree, their lineage, or just spend a while describing those who have passed in their family, recounting stories to honour their lives and the grieving journey of those who remain. Remember to focus on their lives and loves rather than on the events of their passing, unless the circumstances are recent or in need of discussion among family and friends for everyone’s healing and resolution.
This can be a deeply joyous experience for some, while for others it can be very emotional and even painful, even if it brings healing and a sense of completion. Treat everyone with gentleness and compassion, including the spirits of those who have passed.
Finish your ceremony with a Samhain feast to create a sense of communion with those around you. Try local, seasonal dishes, such as venison stew and pumpkin soup (see pages 246 and 248). Enjoy with friends and remember to leave out a portion for the ancestors.
Celebrating alone
In advance of your celebration you might like to make a magical scrapbook or set up an ancestral shrine with photos and mementos of those who have passed on (see pages 238 and 243). You might also like to prepare a traditional Dumb Supper or leave a lantern and a plate of food out for any spirits passing by (see page 245).
Begin your ceremony by calling in the four directions and creating a sacred space (see page 14) before calling to any gods that you feel drawn to, such as Cernunnos, Herne or Gwyn ap Nudd (see page 230), so that you can give thanks for their support. Alternatively, you could call upon the Cailleach for her wisdom and help. Use your own heartfelt words to call upon these deities, as this is always more authentic and powerful, but you might adapt these:
‘Cernunnos, mighty horned one, lord of the hunt, lord of the cull and all wild things, the night of the year is upon us, grant me your hunter’s vision, that I may see clearly through the darkness, and find my way through the thicket. Come to us here, and bless us. So may it be.’
Here would be a good time to perform the stellar meditation or the Samhain visualization (see page 234 and 251), as well as the ritual of release (see page 241).
You may also want to light a Samhain bonfire to burn your wicker man (see page 245) or a special candle. When it is lit, take a moment to gaze into the flames in silence. In your mind’s eye, imagine it burning and transforming all that has passed, and see it as a beacon fire, guiding you into the future, as well as leading the newly dead into the otherworld. You could also perform divination of some description, especially seeking the wisdom of the dead.
Another way to honour the season is to list all the main events and good memories of the last year. Asking the ancestors to bless you and guide your footsteps ahead, using your own words or try these:
‘Blessed ancestors, those who have walked this road before us, we remember you and honour you always. May we receive your blessings and wisdom, and may we in turn be guided to care for those who come after us far into the future!’
You might like to read aloud a song or a poem that you have written in honour of your deceased loved ones, or to mourn lost loves or other regrets, before letting them pass. Try a silent meditation considering the theme of stillness and death, or what is most precious to you in your life, the fleeting nature of time and the need to seize the day. Consider your legacy. When you pass from this life, what will you leave behind? This needn’t be about a legal will – think more broadly. Will you leave fond memories in your loved ones, gifts of kindness and joy? Will you leave the earth a little better than you found it?
Whether you are celebrating with friends and family or alone, finally, take a moment to give thanks and gratitude to each direction and element, as well as to any gods or ancestors for their help in your ceremony and their presence in your life. Give thanks for all the blessings of every kind that have come to you over the last year. This makes us conscious of the bond we have with all creation, and the interconnectedness of all things, which helps us grow into greater harmony with life.
In celebrating Samhain we are undertaking the sometimes difficult task of honouring the past, and the forces of decline and decrease, as well as facing our sorrows and fears. Taking the time to feel the darkness in our hearts, in whatever form, can be very healing and transformative, but also calls for courage and compassion for ourselves and others. In feeling our grief, in looking back, we can allow a conscious space for endings and letting go, which in due course will give way to a new beginning. But for now, our psyches may well be in tune with the falling leaves and the gathering darkness of winter ahead. And within that is a promise: if we can just hold on through the journey, spring will come and deep beneath the cold soil the roots will grow ever deeper, drawing on decay and transforming it into new life. It is the same with us; by accepting loss and periodically allowing our own descent into the underworld, we grow deeper, and richer within. The Winter Solstice is not so far ahead, and while we may face the darkness now, the first glimmer of the reborn sun will be with us soon.
Blessed be!
