Samhain

It’s pronounced “sou-in” or “saw-in” - just getting that out of the way.

I think it might be my favorite word: Samhain.

It’s unassuming enough, save for its Gaelic influence, and it refers to the harvest festival that began the evening of October 31st and welcomed the new season beginning November 1st. In Gaelic and Manx cultures, this was known as the “season of darkness” and it was ushered in with bonfires, mumming, and costuming (and since this was what today is Ireland, Scotland, and Wales, I’m going to venture a guess some drinking took place as well). But those aren’t the reasons I’m drawn to it - I like that a Season of Darkness was welcomed with a party. I like that it persists to this day, in a sense, but Halloween embraces the occult more than darkness in my opinion and it’s beyond time darkness got its due.

Don’t get me wrong - I’m a sucker for natural light in every place I’ve ever lived and I’m the first to flood my rooms with light as soon as the sun descends. I feel no particular pull to the occult - I’ve never even owned a Ouija Board - and, incompatible with my complexion as it may be, even I can appreciate the sun shining on my face in the springtime. Darkness in the human experience, though, intrigues me. And so does everything we do to combat it, since it’s a big part of our journey from womb to tomb and everything before and thereafter.

First, there’s the darkness within us. I’ve got it, you’ve got it, Beyoncé’s got it - no one’s immune. It might not be the centerpiece of one’s being, but it’s there. It pops up in the corners of minds and it might look like shame, regret, or embarrassment. It lives in the memories we suppress, the personality traits we despise in ourselves and others, and in the dishonest parts of our histories. Most notably, it lives. We can push it off all we like and there are spells of time where we’ll think it vanquished and inanimate. It’s not. As long as we participate in this mortal experience we carry it with us, so what’s to be done? We can’t excuse it, surely, but we can inspect it. We can fight the urge to retreat when it springs forth from the shadows of our consciousness and meet it where it stands, light up the nights it surfaces with the fires of reunion and dance with it. Let it know, when the sun rises and it inevitably returns to its lair of perpetual night, that we know it’s there and we know what it looks like. Something seen and understood can be ugly and vile and can continue to haunt us, but it loses its ability to hunt us.

The second type of darkness we experience has been practically mainlined for all of 2020: the darkness of the world around us. Some of it can be traced to individuals or thought groups or natural occurrences, but that doesn’t make it any less terrifying. Like all metaphorical darkness, it’s easy to get lost in, to surrender to, and it’s solicitous of the of the worst in each of us. It blinds us to the goodness and humanity of others and obfuscates our own value systems. It makes us confront our lack of control in the many arenas of the world that affect our lives and makes us react in ways that are antithetical to our own growth. I’m not advocating that you open the doors of your home and invite all the darkness of the world inside when you feel it descended upon the doorstep of your soul, but lighting the fire in the hearth of your heart can help you see the gathering darkness for what it is. It’s the shadow cast by fallible individuals, comforted by the anonymity of large groups. It’s the shadow of corporations and institutions that appeal to our fear and dependence upon capitalism, greed, comparison, and all that doesn’t serve us as a community. The more that contribute, the darker the shadows grow and the longer the pall they’re able to cast. But as Samhain reminds us to welcome the season of darkness, it’d leave work incomplete to assume we don’t have shadows radiating from our own beings, experiences, and decisions. To be knowledgeable about how the darkness in this world we share is thrown about is to know where we inevitably diffuse our own shadows by action or inaction. It’s not seeking to destroy that which we can’t control since we can’t live our lives at high noon (and even then our shadows are hidden but never gone, they walk along the bottoms of our feet), but to bring mindfulness to how we and others others contribute to the weight of the world around us. In the light we can see things for what they are, but that knowledge is just the beginning of understanding. What we often can’t see is the dim, insidious trail of effects that follows us all, even as we’re staying true to what we believe.

The final kind of darkness I wanted to touch upon is true seasonal darkness. The clocks roll back, the air turns cold, and we hunker down to nurse holiday hangovers until the resurgence of Spring. Everything blooms new, feeble, full of hope at the vernal change of the season, so it’s easy to think everything before was barren or wasted until that point. Walk hard packed, dormant fields and you won’t notice the seeds protected by the Winter’s frost in dark of fertile earth. Look out over a body of water stilled by ice and your view of the dance of life bellow will be obscured. Poke the coals of a seemingly cold fire, though, and you’ll find heat coiled and defiant, waiting to become flame again. Maybe it’s longing for Summers long passed by, but we need laughter and light of our making in the Winter and we’re quicker to lean into it. Even in climates where Winter hardens the faces and traits of its dwellers, songs, literature, and art rise like heat. The pageantry of Autumn reminds us that we should celebrate while we can with all the splendor and fanfare we can muster, but also that what’s to come begins today. The next stage of development might be shrouded in darkness or ice or confusion, but it is happening now. We are never at a standstill, even when the grey of wintertime days bleed into one. We can turn our backs to it or we can welcome it with open arms, this season that obscures details and threatens to turn hearts cold.

I love it, I always have, but I can see why daisies and beach days appeal to the masses. It’s Seasons of Darkness, though, that teach us the most about ourselves, about our resilience, and about our capacity to irradiate the lives of others. That’s worth celebrating, in my opinion. Here’s hoping you greet any Season of Darkness you encounter as a beginning and not an end.