Summer's End

The Celtic year is divided into two halves. One half is summer, the other is winter. Apparently one of the earlier etymologies of 'Samhain' is that it means 'summer's end'.

And for whatever reason, I love summer's end. The harvest, preserving it, the crisp air, the rich gold of the sun, the first snows. I love all of it. The change of the seasons. And to mark the change of the seasons, I gathered with the Spiric Pagans tonight to celebrate summer's end.

It seems to be the longest ritual of the year and I always find it to be the one that touches me most deeply. The focus of it is honouring the ancestors, remembering those who are gone, and celebrating the cycles of life and death and the ending of summer.

Particularly touching to me tonight was the remembering of those who are gone. These people mark this festival every year, and it is very comforting to me to know that if anything should ever happen to me - if I were to die - then these people would carry my memory on every year at this time. And it's not just because they know me - part of the rite includes honouring those we don't remember. So even after there was no one left who knew my name, because I was part of this group of people, and touched them and changed their lives, some part of me would still be carried on in that. I would not be alone - I would be remembered.

Sometimes spirituality can be a powerful thing. And whatever I carried away from the ritual tonight is still with me, not yet integrated. The thoughts are carried still within my mind, and it is too full for so much noise and conversation tonight.