Well, it’s the big day itself. End of the witch-year.

See, the ancient Celts only recognised two seasons, Summer and Winter. Winter begins at sundown on October 31st. Summer begins at sundown on April 30th. This is why Hallowe’en – or Samhain – is a big thing in Pagan paths associated in any way with British tradition. (The other festival is Beltaine, or May Day, and it’s the other really big one – Maypoles, flowers, up before dawn, all that kind of thing. Samhain’s about death; Beltaine’s about life. Two essential sides of the coin. Enough about Belatine, we’ll talk about that in six months.)

As I have done previously, here’s my article on what Samhain’s all about. (I’m a writer and an educator, of coutrse I have articles on these things.) I meant to post the articles for each Sabbat – there’s eight in all – as the days arrived, but with one thing and another, well, life gets in the way. Samhain’s about clearing out the deadwood in your life and letting old things go, so maybe after this weekend I’ll be a little more focused. Who knows?

Anywhats. Article ho!

Samhain, also called Hallowe’en, All Soul’s Day, and Saveen, is celebrated on October 31, although the precise date varies year to year; in actuality Samhian arrives when the Sun reaches 15 degrees into Scorpio, which this year lands on November 8th. This festival is the end of what is called the modern Wheel of the Year. As the seasonal year is a circular cycle, this festival is also the beginning, as all ends hold within them the promise of a new birth.

Samhain is a festival which honours the dead. There is great emphasis placed on history and tradition in modern Paganism, and the ritual recognition of ancestors at Samhain is of great importance. As at Beltaine on the first of May, the veils between the worlds thin, which is to say that the otherworld or spirit realm seems much closer to us, allowing us to communicate with those beyond the veil, by offering them heartfelt good wishes and love.

However, Samhain is not a time to fool around with spirit boards, or to go roaming through cemeteries. Rather, it is a festival which allows us to examine our lives and say goodbye to those projects and people who are no longer with us for whatever reason, allowing them (and ourselves) to truly move on as we relinquish whatever grip we held upon them for various reasons – out of love, fear, or anger, for example. In the mythological cycle surrounding the Wheel of the Year, this is the time when the God descends to the Underworld, having been sacrificed along with the grain of the crops. The Goddess is in her Crone aspect, the Veiled Lady who gathers the dead to her bosom, She who holds the scythe and the knife.

Seasonally, this festival marked the beginning of Winter for the ancient Celts, who recognised only two seasons (Summer, of course, begins on Beltane). It is the third and final harvest festival, and marks the time of quiet and reflection that will occupy our minds and hearts until Yule, or Midwinter, when the God will once again be reborn, the Sun will begin to strengthen once more, and we will begin to plan our coming seasons.

Samhain is a festival that our modern society has truly grasped and brought into the mainstream. Dressing up in costume echoes folk practice of disguising children so that malicious spirits will be fooled into thinking they too are abroad to create mischief among men. Carving jack o’lanterns descends from either the practice of keeping a lantern in the window to guide the spirits of ancestors back to the bosom of their family for the night, or the practice of creating glowing maleficent faces to convince the evil spirits that the house had already been targeted by one of their brethren.

As this Sabbat revolves around ancestors, it is a festival that usually involves much storytelling. Some families perform a Dumb Supper: they lay a place at the table for those who have passed over, and serve them a portion of their meal. The meal is eaten in silence, allowing each family member to receive whatever impressions or message from the other side that the ancestors wish to communicate.

Main Samhain Concepts: the final harvest; altar decorations of apples; cauldron used as symbol of rebirth and transformation; honouring ancestors; night of divination; recognition of the essential presence of death within the life cycle.

A blessed Samhain from everyone at the Owlyblog!

Well! Time alone and then a salmon filet with a huge bowl of mussels while watching the last third of Shakespeare in Love can do wonders for the soul.

Today is the live performance of The True Story of Dracula at a Kingston TV studio. The thought of a three-hour drive there, a five-hour work day, then another three-hour drive back makes me want to wince in pain and weariness right now. It will be fun while we’re actually doing the show, between eight and nine o’clock, but everything else will be waiting, waiting, waiting, quick production meeting, waiting, a camera test, waiting, a run-through that will take fifteen minutes, waiting, waiting, waiting….

We were up early this morning, so we went out to pick up the paint for the kitchen. We’ve been talking about painting the lower half of the walls ever since we moved in, and now we finally have the paint: Tree Garden, a lovely sage green-ish colour. Knowing my husband, he’ll want to do a wall or two before we go. He claims painting is relaxing.

We also picked up a rag roller and chose a couple of paint chips in warm creamy colours (Starlet and Country Cream – they’re so darned close that we’re still trying to make a final-final choice) for the bedroom, which has been sterile and cold landlord-white for the past eighteen months. I’m fascinated by different finishes, and the ragging finish intrigues me with its subtle marbled effect. We’ll buy the paint in another two weeks or so.

See? Fall hits and we go all nesty. Since we can’t move any more furniture around, or acquire more kittens or baby creatures of any kind, we end up painting the walls.

Dark. Dark early.

Must hibernate.

Strange how the world can juxtapose beauty and anger.

I spent Sunday night and Monday with a close friend whose life self-destructed when her significant other walked out on her, out of the blue. And yesterday, I couldn�t help but appreciate the beauty of the world around me, and in other people. I drove my husband to work for seven-thirty in the morning and I took the river road all the way home from the West Island, and it was glorious. I really don�t think it was relief that my problems paled in comparison to hers. Something was alight in my heart, though, and I loved everything and everyone I saw. Even spending time in traffic was enjoyable, somehow. It was good to be alive.

I love my circle of friends for their united support, their immediate defence of the wronged soul. You can almost see the ranks closing around her, bristling with righteous anger, keeping the world at bay until she has recovered her equilibrium. We may find it difficult to get together to kick back and relax, but in a crisis, see how priorities are rescheduled, how friends rise to the top. We drop everything to help one another. It�s been a while since something like this has happened (which is a good thing, I suppose), and I�ve almost forgotten how fierce we can be.

I�ve touched base today with a couple of people, including our wounded comrade, who is shaky but slowly rooting herself in reality once again. We�re all going out on limbs, taking leaps of faith, knowing that we�re a support group, a web of encouragement and love and laughter and shoulders to cry on. I woke up this morning and thought about how much I was looking forward to writing again. I played with my kitten. I�ve curled up in the sun and read half a book.

Today, too, it is good to be alive.

Someone has created a string quartet tribute to Sarah McLachlan.

Two of my favourite things, like chocolate and peanut butter. Who’d have ever thought?

Oh look – there’s one for Tori Amos, too…

And The Royal Philharmonic Orchestra has recorded a disc of REM tunes. I absolutely have to hear “What’s the Frequency Kenneth?” done by full orchestra. And “The One I Love”. And an expansion of the string work in “Nightswimming”.

Argh!

I walked into the office this morning, and our little black kitten was nowhere to be found. I searched everywhere – behind desks, in drawers, under radiators…

Finally there was a tiny sneeze from the corner of the room. I walked over to the altar and peeped behind it. We have a triangular plant stand in that corner, behind the angled table that serves as our altar, and it has a tiny shelf about five inches off the floor that’s nigh-impossible to see and is never used.

Nix was all curled up on that shelf, perfectly content. Nice, safe, quiet spot.

Adorable. Break, my heart.

Well, that was�

I�ve talked about how parties aren�t my thing before, and how sometimes I�m in an anti-social mood but feel obliged to attend a party because I�ve put so much work into a costume. Last night was not one of those nights. Instead, I got there, and� well� the energy at the party was� odd. A bit� stagnant, actually.

I think everyone was slightly off. It certainly won�t stand out in my memory as one of the greatest parties I was ever at. Ceri looked fantastic, and our husbands looked fantastic, and there were a couple of really, really amazing costumes there (pictures forthcoming). Our hosts were in a terrific mood. It just didn�t feel very social; there was no real pull to circulate. My costume was comfortable, and received one or two compliments, but all in all, I don�t think I�ve chalked up enough enjoyment to pay off the hours put into it just yet. Thank goodness there�s another party next week. Yes, yes, I know I�ve stated that the reward of the time and energy invested is in the satisfaction of the final creation� I�d just like to enjoy the time spent wearing that creation to the best of my ability, as well.

Interesting fact: I received more compliments on a Star Trek TOS uniform I made and wore about seven years ago at last night’s party than compliments for the costume I was actually wearing. These retroactive compliments were inspired by a whole contingent of Trek-uniformed persons walking in (including my ex-finac�s current fianc�e, in the exact same costume I had made lo these many years ago… and I can say with all confidence that I looked much, much better.) It was highly ironic. (Yes, yes, I have on my list of things to do the creation of a costume gallery page; we actually found the scanner last night.)

There was some stimulating conversation at last night�s party, though:

Ceri: I married Destiny.

Autumn: That�s a horrible concept, to be married to Fate itself!

Ceri: Okay, I married my Destiny.

Autumn: Well, that�s all right then.

Ceri: You, on the other hand, married an ARCHETYPE!

Guilty as charged. My husband is Santa Claus, Destruction (of Neil Gaiman�s the Endless), Herne, and a bunch of other abstract-like entities. All in one.

I met a couple of other NaNoWriMo participants, and it has been generally decided that we should meet regularly down at the pub to discuss our progress throughout November, which makes us Drinkers With a Writing Problem. I woke up this morning and realised that in five days, my life belongs to November and a novel. Maybe it was chatting with Dez last night about plot and divine inspiration, but when I opened my eyes this morning all of a sudden I knew that a road trip was part of my story, It certainly wasn�t beforehand. My plot has now undergone mutation twice, both unintentional, and no matter how hard I try to force it back to the original nice safe tame storyline, it doesn�t work. (Warning: when going toe to toe with a Muse, the Muse will usually be triumphant, and you a bloody pulp on the floor.) I have no idea how I�m supposed to work a road trip into the general outline; it does not fit. At all. But there has to be one.