Joyful Aspen

I wrote the following poem to celebrate Samhain; a festival that coincides with All Hallows Eve or Halloween. A recording of my recitation is included at the end of this post. I called it:

Samhain Night

Jet black velvet draped the cedar table

Myrrh incense smoked and candles glowed

Before me a skull and raven of sable

I was waiting to see if the spirits showed.

My gaze set softly on an orb of crystal

A vision of falling leaves did appear

The smell of autumn and musk heavy yet distal

Breathing squarely, my expectations unclear.

Reality rifts and my spirit drifts

My horned hunter friend appears

A familiar smirk upon his face

Pulling from a peridot bowl, as he nears

A fine silver chain, a skeleton key at the base.

As a diviner’s pendulum, the key swings to and fro

My mentor, daring me with a knowing look

“To the Otherworld I can let you go.

But only tonight can this latch unhook.”

I nod, he smiles, it’s a familiar game

“Here, carry this onyx so you can return

Go boldly into the Otherworld’s unseen flame

Delve and explore to see what you can learn.”

He inserts the key, twisting, into an unseen lock

A veil of grey smoke forms then fades away

The sound of keening; a wail of lament, pure shock

My blood curdles but I steel myself and do not stray.

As the veil lifts, the scene shifts

Reality rifts and my spirit drifts

I am at a bridge made of a single hemlock tree

Ornately carved with spider adorned masks

At the end is a person unknown to me

We meet mid-way to hear what each asks.

“I can go no further, please follow me” —and I do

Walking, I mention the wonder of the bridge

“I carved this, I’m a carpenter skilled like so few

You don’t know me. My son will explain. He’s up on that ridge.”

As the veil lifts, the scene shifts

Reality rifts and my spirit drifts

I am up on a ridge with an unending view

My father smiles broadly; healthy and strong

“You finally met your grandfather, but he knew you

Sorry son, for you it’s been so long.”

“Dad, you were so weak and frail at the end

Now you’re tanned and fit and lean”

An iron nail in his hands he did bend

A feat of strength rarely ever seen.

We laughed, it was a trick from when I was small

“Remember with everything we went through

Strength may leave the body but spirit will not fall

The true and infinite source will always be in you.”

As the veil lifts, the scene shifts

Reality rifts and my spirit drifts

There’s a woman in a garden stretching on for a mile

Full of rosemary, orange pumpkins and marigolds

Turning, I see my mom’s warm loving smile

She walks towards me gathering her dresses’ folds.

She asks me kindly to help clean up a bit

I do and she praises a job well done

She wipes my brow and asks me to come sit

For hours, she tells me how much she loves her son.

“You must be hungry, let’s get something to eat”

Walking easily, we move to a house near a grove

“There’s just a few more people you need to meet”

I step inside the door into a pitch-black alcove.

As the veil lifts, the scene shifts

Reality rifts and my spirit drifts

As the dark abates, I see my brother

Standing at a wooden drafting table

Littered with pens and inks of one kind or another

I can see he’s illuminating some old fable.

I admire his work and note the style of the oaks

Our lessons unfinished to help my craft get better

He says, “Let me teach you a few last strokes”

And holds my hand as I make that last letter.

As the veil lifts, the scene shifts

Reality rifts and my spirit drifts

In walks my sister carrying a pile of books

On the covers are drawings and the names of herbs

Angelica and mugwort I see hanging in nooks

Setting them down, a book opens to Irish proverbs.

“The herb that can’t be got is the one that heals.”

“Never stop searching”, she says, “for that missing balm

Your curiosity of the unknowable is what appeals

Focusing your mind and intention will bring you calm.”

As the veil lifts, the scene shifts

Reality rifts and my spirit drifts

A rising surge, still clutching that black stone

My friend pulls me from a cauldron gasping

“The gate just locked,” he scolds in a sharp tone

Again, that smirk, my hand still clasping.

“Your otherworld visit did take a tole

But learning came through your defenses

Your ancestors make up your mind, body and soul”

As he and the mist fades, I return to my senses.

Five colorful Sugar Skulls now sat on my altar

Named Creative, Strong, Loving, Helpful and Bright

My memory of this Samhain night will not falter

Even in grief and loss there is wisdom and light.

A note about cultural appropriation.

I’ve lived in Arizona my entire adult life. Hispanic culture is deeply woven into our everyday experiences. The imagery and celebration of Día de los Muertos are part of being an Arizonan, regardless of your heritage. Samhuinn and The Day of the Dead occur roughly the same time of the year because they relate to the thinning veil between realms and connecting with our ancestors. Druids connect with the Spirit of Place; therefore, it’s not unreasonable that my visions of working with my ancestors would manifest in imagery and poetry with this theme, even though I am not Hispanic.