Entering the Darkness
Samhain, Loss and the Wisdom of the Cailleach.
Samhain marks one of the two great doorways of the Celtic year that, for the Celts, divided the year into two seasons, the light and the dark – Beltane and Samhain.
Samhain was believed to mark the beginning of the new cycle of the seasons. The metaphorical seed was sown in the darkness of Winter at Samhain and emerged at Imbolg (in the belly), with the return of light and new life in the Spring.
Going through change and transformation in our lives is a metaphorical dark night. It is often a harrowing, bewildering time, not knowing if dawn will come. Every time we cross the threshold of change, an aspect of ourselves dies away, and a new part of ourselves is about to be reborn. An aspect of ourselves, often more aligned with our soul self, is revealed.
Liminal Spaces
The word liminal comes from the word limin, Latin for threshold. Threshold is the separating of one space from another. At Samhain, it is said that the veil between this world and the otherworld is at its thinnest.
We feel this deeply in our bodies. Grief and loss are integral aspects when we are in these liminal places in our development. We are letting go, like the leaves let go in Autumn, of what no longer serves us. Any transformation or changes in our lives, a change of job, a change of country, a loss of a loved one, a miscarriage, a relationship breaking up, children moving out and moving on in their lives, any change involves loss. Even the most welcomed changes require us to let something go. Grief and loss are inherent aspects of our growth and the human condition.
Threshold times in our lives are so difficult because we are encountering mystery. We don’t know the road ahead and are no longer where we were. We are in between. It is an uprooting, before, becoming. Being with uncertainty or mystery can be very frightening and challenging. We can feel a sense of great sadness and confusion; we feel anxious, overwhelmed, guilty, ashamed, and generally ‘not ourselves.’
We can also find dream images of wastelands, deserts, or dark forests at these threshold times of change. It can sometimes feel overwhelming, the sense of— where am I? It is infused with a sense of meaninglessness. It feels like we have no compass and no map.
If we understand these times as times of transformation and meet them with understanding, compassion, and open hearts in the darkness, then we can begin to trust that dawn will come. We will find our way through, and we can start to trust that in these threshold times of transformation, a new aspect of ourselves, a new aspect of our personality, is about to be revealed.
Change is an inherent and essential aspect of the human condition. Change, like the seasons, is intrinsic to life. Change urges us to learn how to deal with emotions like distress and anxiety and our resistance to change. It awakens us; it brings us into connection with aspects of ourselves that would not otherwise be found. Change produces so much anxiety and ambivalence. It is so profoundly, painfully uncomfortable. So, to engage with it and be supported in it, to try to make that support as conscious as possible, that is what we need to tend to navigate the crossroads of our lives.
Nature, Change, and the Celtic World
To be with the mystery, the uncertainty is to be human. Nature understands this place very well. Each Autumn season, we encounter this in the world around us.
Our ancient ancestors understood this, too, as they were very much attuned to nature and the living world. The final berry and nut have been gathered at Samhain, and the harvest of the earth’s fruit is complete. Vegetation sinks back into the earth and decays beneath the surface. It is a slow, letting go time.
The farmers brought their livestock down from the mountains and pastures and sheltered them from the cold for winter. Our ancestors marked this changing time with the power of ritual. To make meaning out of the darkness.
In the Celtic world, the wise old Crone of Winter -The Cailleach (pronounced Kay-y-ack) rules at this time. In translation, Cailleach means ‘old hag,’ ‘old crone,’ and ‘veiled one.’
She is the dark mother who presides over the Otherworld, the realm of receptivity and imagination. She nurtures the womb of the earth, for after a period of rest and regeneration, out of its darkness, the light will be reborn at Imbolg.
The Cailleach knows all about the darkness and the night. This is her time. The Winter Solstice, the space between Death/Samhain and Life/Imbolg, is the realm of the Cailleach. This is where the soul awaits rebirth, the interplay between darkness and light.
We are all now on the threshold of Cailleach’s time. We are entering the darkness.
What are we ready to leave behind? What do we need to let go of? What do we need to face within ourselves? What seeds do we need to sow in this darkness to be ready for the spring? What do we need to sit with? To allow incubation? To allow rest?
Let us meet and embrace Cailleach’s ancient wisdom at these times. She has been with us a long, long time. This is one of my favorite times of the year. The Cailleach both awed and fascinated me ever since I was a child. I heard many stories about her from my grandmother. I have always loved her deep in my bones.
We will explore more about her and her beautiful wisdom in this forum and in the emails I will send to subscribers in the coming few weeks. So please subscribe below if you wish to avail of those.
Here is a poem I wrote for her a few years ago.
Crone
Your name, no small grief.
Wild hawks and cool shocks of rain,
wing beats and lost cattle.
You brought winter with you,
Its own pleasures like
a tangerine between my teeth,
breeze billowing between my fingers.
Worn wet stones
spill from your lap
building cairns on mountain paths.
Cailleach.
You are as intimate to me
as a soft glove.
When daylight quietens
and the hanging apples ripen,
I hear you
rattle the far gables of this small house.
Your curled eyelash
glossy as a crow’s wing.
Published in Skylight 47 magazine 2018.
Wishing you all well as we go into this dark season.
May we go gently into it.
Grá agus beannacht,
Eileen
