Fall: Time of Recalling Death, Dissolution, and Loss
by Rose
In the cycling of the seasons, Autumn is the time of gratitude and the enjoyment of the fullness of harvest. It is as well a time of remembrance, and the dissolving of distinct boundaries between the world of the living and the spirit world.
For those of us of Celtic descent, the big Autumn festival is Samhain, marked by gathering, feasting, and the opening of ancient burial mounds, which turns awareness to the world beyond. The literal burial grounds were considered portals for communication with those who had died. During Samhain, people believed that spirits would come back to the world—often to make mischief—so they were offered hospitality, food, and drink in the hopes of appeasing them. Souls of departed kin would visit their former homes and people might even lay a plate for them at the table to welcome them home.
These are liminal times, boundaries between the worlds soften, as do seasonal modes. In the Chinese calendar, we turn toward the second half of the year and its Yin energy: the quieter, lunar energy, that faces inwards. As Fall comes upon us, after giving thanks for the fullness and harvest of summer, we begin to cool off. The warmth of the summer sun is now behind us. Winter is coming! We may approach this season with trepidation. The winter is colder, quieter, darker, stiller, and uncertain. When we no longer have the heightened activity of summer to distract us, we may turn to inner reflection. But what awaits us in the stillness and the dark?
Whatever is there in the dark, we can welcome it with loving acceptance. This is a meditative and contemplative time. Just as meditation may challenge us with the opportunity to deeply reflect on our own internal condition, the condition of our community, and that of our world, and we may be met with things we don’t want to see, the Fall can have a similar flavor. We may recall the dearly departed, we may recall our own broken hearts, places of loss or disappointment, or dreams that dissolved and never came to fruition. Can we open to all of that in a loving way?
One day this October, I found myself making an ancestor shrine for my mother’s lineage—my mother, her sister, and their parents. My mother had an ancestor shrine in our house when we were growing up. She and my older brothers had lived for many years in Thailand, where this is a common practice. Having an ancestral altar in the house roots ours space, imparting a sense of stability and grounding; there’s an acknowledgement of continuity. One shamanic teacher also told me that “It’s good to know where your ancestors are and give them a place, so they’re not just running wild!” I’m not sure what that means exactly, but I think many of us may have occasions where it feels like old ancestral patterns are running a little amok in our own beings or in our own lives!
And, I like having a place to offer a light to my mother and her line of ancestors. On Saturday mornings we would usually meet my Mum on Zoom, so on that day, and other days we would have celebrated together—the Winter solstice, my birthday, her birthday and so forth—we can light a candle for her and maybe even make her a cuppa.
When I was younger, I was very resistant to this time of year. I liked the excitement and fire of spring and the heat of summer. But now I have a much deeper appreciation for the fall and winter months. How wonderful that we have times when the distinctions between alive and dead, between summer and winter dissolve and we’re in a liminal time of great possibility. Duality’s hold softens at such times. Perhaps we will be visited by the dearly departed, in the liminal space of dreams.
I myself have often been dreaming of my mother at this time. I was also recalling being in Cornwall last April with my brother Ed when we were there to help clear out her house and arrange her memorial service after she passed away in February, while swimming in the sea in India.
Ed and I were walking in Cawsand, a tiny Cornish seaside village, close to where she lived and where we had spent a lot of time with her. As we walked out along the edge of the sea, there was a small partial rainbow near a lighthouse far out to sea. Ed said, “Oh, look, there’s Mum.” In our shellshocked state, this seemed totally reasonable. I was thinking, “Oh, she’s only small, maybe she’s having a hard time communicating to us. That’s a shame.” Something like that, it was not verbally formed, it was just a general feeling.
We continued our walk and then came back along the seafront again. Suddenly we noticed there was a huge double rainbow in the sky stretching from where we had just been all the way to the house we were staying in. It was there for the rest of our walk. We couldn’t even fit the whole image on one photograph. I felt so heartened. She did it! I felt like she’d just been playing with us earlier—just a quick “hi”—and now she was giving us the full communication!
Even in the darkness life is working its magic. May we all be well in this time of transition and change. And, may we all open our hearts to great possibilities beyond those that the conventional world offers us.
