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A Samhain Visualization
A statement by Raven Grimassi in The Wiccan Mysteries recently caught my
attention:
"Remember that you are the direct descendant of an ancient Pagan who
knew what you desire to know."
It is one thing to think that our forefathers must have been Pagans, but
to think that we are actually direct descendants of those ancient ones
brings it down to a more personal basis.
Yes, the blood that flows through my veins-and yours-has come to us in
an unbroken chain from those Pagans of old. In fact, I'm quite sure that
our lineage was Pagan for a far longer period of time than it was
Christian.
In respect for those ancestors of yours and mine on this Samhain
evening, I have prepared the following visualization.
Close your eyes, get comfortable and let's see if we can't get a little
closer to those who have walked this path so long before us . . .
You stand, waiting, in the darkness among the trees. You turn as you
hear soft footsteps approaching. It is cool tonight, the coolest night
yet since the time of the great heat and the deerskin cloak your partner
brings is welcome.
Throwing the soft skin around your shoulders, you join hands and lead
the way, although you both know the path well. The fresh night air is
slightly moist and filled with the scent of the trees that enclose you
as your bare feet pick out the well-worn trail under the soft carpet of
fallen leaves.
The sound of the drums grows stronger as you approach the clearing. The
drums have been beating all day but it is only now that you start to
feel their rhythm. Your pulse begins to echo the steady beat.
You should be tired, for you both have worked hard all day: the men,
gathering wood-not only for tonight's fire, but to last through the long
coldness that will soon be coming; the women preparing the great feast
that is still heavy in your bellies. But your partner's step is as light
as your own as you take your places in the circle and raise your voices
to join in the chant.
The clearing, which is so familiar, is different tonight. The Wise Woman
says that when you stand in the circle you stand in a place that is
neither in this world nor in the next and you can see that this is so.
Those you know so well, those who stand beside you and across from you,
are no longer the ones you know. They are nothing more than shapes in
the darkness. But on these special nights, the darkness is not complete.
Each time the Great Mother peeks from behind the clouds, her light is
crisp and as tinkling as the laughter of the one beside you when you
play in the woods and tease with peeks between the vines, never here,
but always somewhere else.
The Great Mother knows the game and plays it well. You squeeze your
partner's hand. This special night your thoughts are in tune. Your
partner is happy. So are you.
A sudden hush breaks the chant. Only one drum continues with the beat.
It is time . . . You hear the footsteps, heavy in the fallen leaves.
You hear the loud voice rise and call out, inviting the Great Ones to
join you. Tonight the others are also called forth. A torch flares, and
your breath catches-even your heart quits beating for a long moment.
Your blood turns cold and the icy breath of winter races up and down
your spine. For this is the night when the doors to the other world are
open and this night those who have gone before join you again.
You can feel the pressure growing behind you and you are afraid to turn
and look. You know not what you will see.
Your mind wanders, remembering your father and your mother and the old
one who came before them. You hardly notice as the other three torches
are lit. You are thankful for the darkness, so no one can see the tears
that have come to your eyes as you become a child again and they take
you in their arms and give you the love you have missed for so long.
You tell them about the one beside you and they approve. You heart fills
with joy and you squeeze your partner's hand, trying to share your
happiness. They tell you that your love will grow. And it will be
returned, until someday it will replace the love you have lost.
Shouts break your trance. The bonfire suddenly flares with heat and
life. The drums start and the chanting begins again. Your partner tugs
at your hand. The pelts fall away, no longer necessary as you begin to
dance.
Others join you, their shining flesh turned to gold by the light of the
fire. The ground is warm beneath your feet as they follow the circle, a
path worn smooth by generations of dancers long before you were even
born. You dance, you sing, you leap, you soar . . . as high as the great
bird that circles lazily in the air . . . so high you feel you'll never
come back down . . .
It is truly a night of magic-a night of gold and silver, a night of now
and then. And you are happy they are with you.
When the drums begin to die, you return to your spot where your pelts
lie on the ground. Your partner's fair skin is shiny with sweat and so
is yours. You are both breathing heavily, your faces flushed with joy
and peaceful happiness.
An awed hush comes over the circle. Everyone turns to see the Wise Woman
take her place. At that moment, the clouds part and you are all bathed
in the silvery light from above. The Wise Mother stretches her hands
upward and the years fall away; her feeble body becomes strong.
The silvery light floods her with beauty and her voice becomes as light
and as enchanting as that of a maiden.
A wondrous feeling comes over you. Tonight, you can see so clearly. You
are one with the Great Ones who guide you from the sky above, the living
ones who stand beside you and the old ones whose supporting pressure is
so strong behind you.
Too soon, the old ones have to depart. Too soon, the celebration is
over. In time, the bright light in the sky will fade, but it will always
return again. It always does-as do all things. Even you will fade in
time but you, too, will return-just as the old ones did tonight. You
don't know how or why. The Wise Mother says it is a mystery but it
always works.
You and your partner remain by the fire for a time. Some dance, but the
two of you just sit side-by-side, sharing a cloak and wrapped in the
enchantment from above. It is a night of magic . . .
by Keith Van Camp | | | |