Today we woke to three inches of slushy snow. Overnight autumn gave way to winter (even though it’s still going to be officially autumn for quite a while, and this snow will probably melt away if the current ten day forecast holds true. But today: very much winter). Of course, this happens semi-regularly in Minnesota, that Halloween and snow share the date. Anyone my age who grew up in Minnesota remembers the great Halloween blizzard of 1991. I don’t, because my family was living in Indiana at the time, but even further east, that year we had a pretty stellar ice storm that knocked out power for three days. Our family of six camped out by the basement fireplace, and the trees looked like they were coated in crystal (of the very heavy sort, heavy enough to drop plenty of branches on cars and power lines). The local ski hill opened yesterday, and those who love the sport rejoice at the fresh ‘sky snow’ while the school bus drivers, commuters, and anyone who still had summery stuff sitting around outside curse the weather.
I think I’m somewhere in the middle–I enjoy winter, so I’m not madly shaking my fist at the sky, but we are still working on finishing up some outside projects, so a few more weeks of snow-free conditions would have been ideal. At any rate, it’s outside of our control, so we’ll make the best of it, like the ducks are: I can see them swimming about in the shallows, framed by wintery tree boughs.
Today, in addition to it being the modern holiday of Halloween1, is also known as Samhain to those who keep to ancient Celtic spiritual traditions. It’s a Gaelic festival day that marks the end of harvest season and the start of the Celtic new year. (Very fitting this year, with the snow…). It signals the start of the dark half of the year. In the Christian tradition, November 1 is known as All Saints Day, a day to remember all of those who have died, especially within the past year. And with origins in Mexico, Día de Muertos, or Day of the Dead, is celebrated by many with Mexican roots as a way to honor loved ones who have passed on, also on November 1 and 2. This time of year, it is thought that the veil between the world of the living, the realm that we can see, and the world of the dead, the realm of the spirit, is at its thinnest. It’s a liminal space, a time to lean into the unknown, to call on the ancestors for direction, and to embrace the dark. It can feel like an undoing.
Necessary undoing
(After Krissy Kludt)
Darkness, be my undoing.
Unravel threads that try too hard,
holding tight to brightness
where shadow is better suited
for stitching a path through the unknown.
Darkness, be my undoing.
Drape a cloak of velvety black
over the threshold between wrong
and right, allowing enough time
in liminal space to feel a way forward.
Darkness, be my undoing.
Welcome tentative steps
taken in faith through uncertainty
each one an act of courage
an undoing necessary to be whole.
It’s an undoing, but it’s also a remaking, a building of what will be using what was as a foundation. I like looking at the year as a great wheel turning, this time of transition marking the gathering of shadows and night, a necessary rotation in the seasonal cycles.
It’s worth noting that despite the necessity of marking each phase, for many folks, this is a hard season–it’s not easy to navigate through darkness, whether it’s the literal dark of night or the darkness of war touching everything.
What I try to do when it starts feeling like darkness is going to swallow me up is notice light where it lingers, because it does, even during dark days.2 I try to remember to forgive myself for finding hard things hard. And I dig into the tiny things that help me get through the day, like drinking a glass of water, choosing foods that make my physical body feel good, and moving in ways that do, too. And when all else fails, lighting a candle has the power, subtle as it is, to provide just enough light to cast the shadows needed to accompany me forward and remind me of our shared humanity.
Darkness can be an undoing, but it can also be a time of opportunity to do necessary stitching, the kind that weaves light into even the darkest of days. Liminal spaces, and times the veil is thin, can be fearsome. They can also be doorways into what else is possible even when it looks like there’s nothing but darkness up ahead.
It’s going to be a very snowy and cold trick or treating situation around here tonight. Alas, the plight of Minnesota children and coats covering up costumes.
I don’t know what it’s like to try to find light in an active war zone, while trapped and unable to get out, or in the direct aftermath of losing someone dear. I imagine that is much, much more difficult, and this is why war and gun violence needs to stop. Clearly, it’s not that simple, but what if everyone laid down their guns and bombs and peace came true?