October
is that moment in the Great Round when the harvest is finishing up and much of
what remains is dropping seed and leaf, preparing for the dark turn ahead. The
Fall is in full display and at its finest. It is my favorite month. Halloween,
that eve when traditionally the veil between the worlds is most thin and we can
feel the presence of the ancestors, will come to our home. Though I was raised
in the Roman Catholic tradition and my wife in the Episcopal, neither of us
have found them very satisfying in addressing our interests, needs, and
concerns. We have over the years created a variety of rituals in our family to
bring a sense of the religious to our lives.
Halloween
is a “cross quarter” day, midway between the Autumnal Equinox and the Winter
Solstice. In astrological thinking, the midpoint of any phase of a cycle
discloses the meaning of that cycle, in this case, the necessary dying of
individual life to the larger Life. On Halloween, we always prepare a dinner
for the dead, those family members and friends who have preceded us back to the
source. We set a place at the head of the table to honor those who cannot be
physically present. There is red wine for the adults and grape juice for the
kids, the legacy of a grape season, the fruit of death. Glass and plate filled
for the deceased. We do some readings and poetry on themes of dying and autumn.
We tell stories about the lives of our honored guests and play appropriate
music. It is one way in which we try to deepen our lives by recalling those
upon whose failures, accomplishments, and shoulders we stand offering homage.
Halloween
affords me the opportunity to reflect upon death, especially my own. For many
years I have had the fantasy of when I’m old and gray of going up on a hill
overlooking a pastoral setting on a beautiful October day and just sitting
under a tree and expiring. This I have come to believe is an imaginal place, my
psychological dying space. It brings great comfort. The image, of course, is
death as a completion of life rather than death as an interruption as it is so
often experienced. How many of us would wish for an easy death, not too much
pain, disability, or lingering but the final punctuation sweetly ending our
life’s sentence.
Personally,
I’m saddened at the prospect of leaving this life and find it extremely disheartening.
It’s very difficult for me to let go of family, friends, animals, sunny days,
storms, snowfall, and fog. I have no wish to fight death’s appearance or pray
that it never occurs. I recognize its necessity. It’s just that it’s so final.
When my turn is finished I need to give up my seat to another who is just
getting on this wild ride and hope that they have as rich and meaningful an experience as I have had.
I
am put off by talk of an afterlife, I find it terribly distracting from this
life. There is so much occurring here that I don’t want to miss any of it
through inattention. If there is no afterlife for all beings that have died,
then I certainly wish none for myself. How am I more valuable than the eagle,
worm or possum? These creatures are filled with the same life that pulses
through my being.
My comfort surrounding death is in believing
that I return to the generous womb of the earth which first conspired with my
parents to bring me here. As Alan Watts once said, “we do not come into the
world but out of it.” I trust that I am able to go graciously back to the
source and contribute to the wellbeing of those who follow.
Perhaps
my favorite thoughts on death come from Walt Whitman in “Song of Myself,” and I
hope that they will be read upon the occasion of my demise.
I
depart as air, I shake my white locks at the runaway sun,
I
effuse my flesh in eddies, and drift it in lacy jags.
I
bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love,
If
you want me again look for me under your bootsoles.
You
will hardly know who I am or what I mean,
But
I shall be good health to you nevertheless,
And
filter and fibre your blood.
Failing
to fetch me at first keep encouraged,
Missing
me one place search another,
I
stop somewhere waiting for you.
Visit me at AstroCare.net
Thank you Brad, for reminding me of the soulful dark nature of this month. The anniversary of the long-time passing of my dad (who shares your birthday) comes later in October. Nearly a quarter-century later I still find myself shaken with disbelief, though your gentle rituals suggest ways I might soften that. I love your Walt Whitman poem. Here is another one-line poem he wrote To Old Age: 'I see in you the estuary that enlarges and spreads itself grandly as it pours into the great sea.' Again, we simply sink back into the source from which we came. Wishing you a grand Halloween.
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ReplyDeleteHello Brad!
ReplyDeleteI've been catching up on reading your blogs -- just excellent. I would like to report that just this morning I was fortunate to observe the Zodiacal Light; explanatory link below. I have only seen it three times; once this morning, once on the rim in Canyonlands N.P. and once during a very dark sky boat ride to our destination safari camp on an island in Lake Kariba in Zimbabwe. Seems due to a scheduling snafu, we and the boat were late; hence the beautiful dark-sky, unlit ride across the wilderness lake. Normally it is ill-advised to just roam around at night in southern Africa. I wonder why that is?!
This further reminds me of a time in Alaska observing the northern lights. We heard some very loud splashing in a nearby creek where the salmon were running. I wonder what that splashing could be? Ha!
http://www.skyandtelescope.com/community/skyblog/observingblog/The-Quest-for-Zodiacal-Light-226329611.html
Cheers, Bradley!