Samhain's Shift

A Festival Riding the Cusp of Life & Death

The Veil is Thin Here – Artwork by the Author

Autumn feels like the perfect time for the festival of Samhain – a time of the year that was believed to be particularly magical – when the realms overlapped and the living could reach out to the dead.

Governed by the immediacy of nature, the agrarian societies that peopled ancient Europe were very much in touch with the natural world. They were bound to the cycles of the seasons that organised the course of their year. From spring’s yield of fresh green shoots, or August’s harvest festival of Lughnasa, to the Midwinter Solstice in deep December. Yet autumn is the moment when the thriving energy of nature yields to the sway of the earth’s axis as it makes its galactic orbit. Nature falters – as though catching its breath – and the leaves will fall from the trees, the grasses will wilt, the bracken topple. Yet Nature doesn’t let go without a beautiful flourish. Autumn is like the last blaze of summer’s finery. And what a display! Life yields to death with leafy pennants of copper, russet and gold, as colour ignites the forests of the northern hemisphere. It’s the perfect time for Samhain.

It was at this time of the year, known as Calan Greaf (the Calends of Winter) in old Welsh, that the faerie folk had their hand in the changing season. The Pwca would range far-and-wide, peeing on any fruit that stubbornly clung to bushes, turning them bitter and inedible. The Christians took shelter in their churches, or placed open bibles on their shelves and birch brooms above the entrances to ward off ill spirits. In Scotland, people gathered swedes and turnips and carved them into scary effigies – a custom that was carried with them to America, where they learned to fashion pumpkins instead.

As the Leaves Turn Gold – Artwork by the Author

This was Halloween, Hallows Eve, and the lingering refrains of pre-Christian Samhain were still apparent – although the emphasis had altered: fear reigned instead of awe.

Autumn is the liminal time and its choice for Samhain is perfect. To the Celts of Ireland, this was the time when the Dagda and the Morrígan lay in union, securing the year to come. Morrígan is the Great Queen, who can be identified with other goddesses of the Brythonic and Gallic Celtic spheres. The Dagda has much in common with Taranis and Gaulish Sucellos*. Many of the names of gods were poetic by-names, hinting at a certain function or aspect of each deity. True names were spoken with care, for they were believed to hold great power.

I’ve always felt a kinship with this time of the year. It’s as though, if we allow ourselves, we can sense the yielding life-force around us. The land lets go in glorious abandon.

The seasonal festivals that marked the progression of the seasons, honoured the rich dichotomy of life and death: the yearly round. These contradictory forces were mirrored in Celtic belief. Some held a view of reincarnation that was likened, by some writers, to Pythagorean beliefs. It’s said that the Celts also believed in an immortal soul, and that it would pass into other forms after death. Remnants of bardic poetry, such as the lines attributed to Taliesin, suggest such a concept.

And I was nearly nine months

In the womb of Ceridwen

I was formerly Gwion Bach

But now I am Taliesin

In the myth of how Taliesin obtained his bardic prowess, Gwion stole sips of Ceridwen’s potion of Awen, he was pursued and Ceridwen consumed him. He was reborn as the Bard. In other poems, such as Cad Goddeu, we find reflections on Form and Being:

I was in many shapes before I was released:

I was a slender, enchanted sword – I believe that it was done.

I was rain-drops in the air, I was a stars’ beam;

I was a word in letters, I was a book in origin;

I was lanterns of light for a year-and-a-half;

I was a bridge that stretched over sixty estuaries;

I was a path, I was an eagle, I was a coracle in seas…

Across the globe legends tell of different ages, of the rise of civilisations and their ultimate collapse. The Hindu kalpa, or aeon, is followed by a dissolution (pralaya) as everything is once again consumed. The material universe appears primed to constantly return to chaos. As myths relate. Nothing is eternally fixed. Even stone, the bedrock of our planet, is constantly (though incrementally) morphing on a timescale that might not resonate with us mortals. Where we do behold this change, especially in lifeforms similar to our own, this folding, dissolving, is named by us Death. To the ancient Celts, as with others, this death was not an end, but understood to involve change. Just as around them the seasons changed and the crops returned, so too the soul. And if the pattern of Nature is applied to those that are also part of this same Nature, then, at an intuitive level, the concept makes sense. From the youth of spring, to the death of winter – to be reborn again in spring. All is malleable, shifting energy, ceaseless flux without a constant,** for change becomes us.

Meanwhile the wind is gusting and the leaves are drifting onto the ground, to lie like ancient spearheads of bronze and gold upon the glistening road.

Notes:

*See my book: details below :>

**Unless it’s buried deep at the core, or like a scaffold upon which the world is built. But then, what if this constant core, or scaffold? A post for some other time perhaps?

References:

The Mabinogi & Other Medieval Welsh Tales – Translated by Patrick K. Ford

Gods & Goddesses of the Celtic Realms – Dave Stone

Yup, I cited one of my own books! And you can get your copy of this beautifully illustrated guide to the Deities of the ancient Celts but simply copying and pasting the title in your Google search or on Amazon. :>