Cat Treadwell — professional Druid and nature-mystic - gives us a perspective from the English countryside.
Entering the Darkness
Today is Samhain. Not yet the longest night of the year, but the time when we’re forced to face the reality of the darkness drawing in at dawn and dusk, with less daylight inbetween. Some breathe a sigh of relief, looking forward to the ‘hibernation’ period of quietness and introspection; others gird their loins against inner darkness, SAD and the loneliness of closing the curtains on another day.
I’ve talked about Samhain as a festival many times in the past – I’d rather not go over that again here. Rather, some personal thoughts about this time, this date, here in 2013.
(Image ©Tom Brown)
The last month has been crazy for me. Busy in preparation for the launch of my second book (and the associated travels and logistics thereof); also a considerable period of forced rest, as the household came under the sway of a particularly nasty and virulent cold. Yes, germs teach us lessons about patience and recuperation, but we’re not always good students…
I was looking forward to writing a few ‘travel blog’ pieces here as my journey moved around the country – a bit of fun, but some nice pictures and tales of the road. Still mad times, but worth remembering.
Then some bad news. Very bad. The night before we were due to set off.
The trip moved ahead as planned, of course. But my mood was dramatically different. Every hour has been either doing or moving, with rest periods being grabbed as best we could before moving on again.
I did my best for those who came to see me and have been awed all over again by their attention, love and voices. I’m always grateful, and so very honoured. New friends and old, I’m so glad to meet folk – whether they liked my words, or are just curious at the mad Druid lady explaining her ideas.
Now, back at home, there’s more chance of quiet, in familiar surroundings, with my wee ‘family’ united again. But it’s still hard to fully relax – waiting for the phone to ring, hoping that the news is good, but unable to avoid the worries and fears. And work continues, of course, with the full Inbox and diary. Life goes on.
I’ve been honoured to speak with so many over the past few days, in person and via email or internet message, but all brave enough to open up to me as a result of my own opening up in my books. A floodgate is unlocked, tacit permission is given. I listen to the stories shared with me. Hugs, smiles, nods, tears. Connection.
I hear of pain – mental and physical. Of overdoses, triggers, secrets hidden and worries shared. Individuals are brought together by crisis or daily need. Reminders are given, of those who can help within our spirituality: the simple therapy of a walk through woodland or quiet street, as the trees, birds and animals share their own voices with us without judgment or threat. Permission to just be who we are.
So we come to Samhain. Talk of the ‘veil is thin’ as this liminal time arrives, worlds merging, energy feeling different. Yes, it does. Today is always a unique time in the turning wheel of our lives.
This year, then, it’s not about those who’ve passed – although they will be remembered. It’s for those who remain, who fight their own battles every day. Those who’ve reminded me all over again during this dark period of what’s important, of how we can help each other, of how our very modern – and yet disjointed, fractured, uncertain – communities can come together in the dark nights, to provide warmth, comfort and nourishment to those in need.
Families in blood or spirit – it doesn’t matter. We hold each other. Tonight, at my fireside, I will give thanks.
Thank you, wonderful readers. May your flames of inspiration keep you warm through the cold nights ahead.
(Cross-posted from The Catbox)
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