I have never been very fond of Halloween and all its ghoulishness. I’ve blamed it on the fact that I grew up in Brazil, where it is not celebrated. But perhaps, although I emphatically claim otherwise, I also suffer from our culture’s marked fear of aging, decay and death. On the other hand, I have also had a sense that the emphasis on scariness and evil somehow misses the mark in this celebration of the ancient Celtic festival of Samhain (pronounced sow-in).
Actually, Samhain was the Celtic New Year, celebrated on November 1, before Pope Boniface IV designated it All Saints Day, in honor of all saints and martyrs and called it All-hallows (or, actually, in Middle English, ‘Alholowmesse,’ meaning ‘All Hallowed = Holy = Saints’ Day’) in the seventh century. The night before it, the eve of Samhain, became All-hallows Eve and, eventually, Halloween.
To the Celts, however, Samhain marked the end of summer and harvest seasons, and the beginning of the dark, cold winter – a time of the year, it is true, also associated with death. In part this was because it was the time when herds were culled – farmers killed all the old, sick or weak animals which they didn’t think could make it through the harshness of winter. But it also marks the beginning of a time when the earth goes barren, when life is buried underground, dormant. Being therefore a celebration of both the bounty of life and of death, and a time “between” seasons or years, Samhain was considered a magical time during which the veil that appears to separate past, present and future is lifted and the boundaries between life and death, between living and dead, become blurred.
Samhain was one of the four major holy days of the Celtic/Druid calendar. It was a three day festival during which, in a society in which everyone knew their place, all social structure and organization was abolished: men dressed as women and vice-versa, tricks were played on farmers and children went knocking on neighbors doors asking for food and treats. But it was first and foremost a time during which the harvest was celebrated in thanksgiving with bonfires, and the dead honored and feasted as sources of inspiration and guidance, as the living spirits of loved ones and guardians of the root-wisdom of the community (rather than as sources of dread).
As I reflected on this aspect of Halloween, I happened upon a little blue zippered pouch tucked away in the back of a cabinet in my workroom. It contained a rubber-banded bundle of my mother’s crochet hooks. Most were rusty, unfortunately, but as I salvaged a few, I noticed the synchronicity of finding these at this particular time. I do not actually remember the time and place I learned how to crochet, but who else but my mother would have taught me? Perhaps she did so with one of the very hooks I just salvaged. I was oddly touched by this thought. My relationship with my mother was for the most part distant, and I know I still carry much baggage on that score – and I don’t just mean a bundle of crochet hooks I had forgotten I had.
It occurred to me then that the baggage we carry from our ancestors can be so heavy that we might not even notice that there are gifts all wrapped up within it. It was my mother, after all, who also taught me how to sew (I do remember that) and instilled in me a lack of fear of creativity, or perhaps, better said, a faith in my own ability to create that’s not hindered by judgements of whether what I’m making is ‘good’ or ‘bad’, but as a ‘flow’ to be enjoyed irrespective of outcome. And that is a gift for which not only am I most grateful, but one which blurs the boundaries between past, present and future, as it is a continuous source of joy in my life!
This Halloween I invite you to search your ancestral baggage for a forgotten gift or two stashed (and perhaps wrapped up in something else to protect it) therein. I hope that it becomes for you that small thing which, like the blue pouch with my mother’s crochet hooks, opens up to something quite ‘other’, changes boundaries or lifts a veil bringing you just that little bit more depth and connection in your life this All-hallow’s Eve.
“… the women learn weaving and certain feminine arts and are instructed in feminine adult behavior and love magic. In Greece there was a cult of the goddess Artemis of Brauron, who was a bear goddess. Young girls of good families were given to serve the goddess from their twelfth to sixteenth year. In the awkward time when girls are just as difficult to keep at home as boys, they were given into the service of the goddess. They behaved like tomboys — neither washed nor cared for themselves in any way, spoke roughly, and were called bear cubs. Thus the bear cub societies of the mother goddess served to reinforce the feminine under the veil of protection. In this way, the feminine personality could develop unharmed by the problem of sexuality and go into life with a certain amount of maturity, gained in security under the bearskin. Otherwise, often only half-developed girls would fall into sexual life and at thirty would be old and worn out…”
As I prepare for a retreat this coming week — a retreat at which my practice will be to cook for the group - I find myself caught up in - and by - the myriad details that go into both the planning and the executing of each moment’s big and little tasks. Must remember the thyme, the milk, the oats, the soups, the teas — I will surely not forget the boxes and boxes of food sitting ready to go in the garage, of course. Oh, and what would I do without my menus, recipes and carefully organized cookbook?
You’ve probably noticed a ‘side-focus’ on color in our recent communications. This is because the system of applied color psychology on which the four Divine Women product colorways is based seems to have attracted a fair bit of attention.
Our visit to Lauzerte, that lovely village in southern France I’ve mentioned in previous entries, has been on my mind this week. One of the things this village is known for is the unusual three dimensional signs it has, such as this one of the monk over the rectory. But I’ve been remembering a much different sign, and its message…
Materials:
It always amazes me how much people will pay for the simplest earrings. And, to tell the truth, I’m a bit tired of making earrings, pretty and simple as they are, that basically consist of a few beads stacked one upon the other. They are great if you have a pretty rounded face, but not so flattering for those of us with narrow or long-ish faces.
I wanted to make a necklace for Julieann - she was, you will recall, one of the terrific - and brave - models for Divine Women Creative Studio at the last two Knit & Crochet Shows held in Portland, OR. However, despite the many, many beading supplies that we have in our inventory here at DWCS, I actually could not find a bail that did the job as I would like it in Julieann’s Firelight colors.
There is a delightful magazine in Ireland called 
The qualities of the materials featured in this bracelet are:
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