Samhain

Now is the evening of Samhain, The last one of the dying fall, When the flushed woodlands Echo the setting sun and the red fires Which glow in homage to the dead. Samhaim! Samhaim! This time Recalls all who have gone before. The time when membranes Of our souls stretch out As thinly as the sea's skin, And osmosis of the spirit Lets us plunge below Into this other space Where space is meaningless To greet lost friends and ancestors. It may well be that, In our heightened states, The whispers that we hear, Are nothing but the soughing of the wind Sucking from the trees each falling leaf. But our belief, indeed our faith, remains That we shall meet the dead again. And for this reason now, We light the candles for the ritual. The first is red to represent the season, The next three candles, grouped together, Red and black and white in colour Recall all aspects of our Goddess Queen. The last one white to symbolise the hearth. And now the Mother, robed in red, Takes the bread and offers some to each Who form the circle, kneeling down before The inner circle and the altar. Says she: "Take this and have sufficiency In the coming Winter's days." And then the Maid, robed all on white, Will offer purifying salt To guard their victuals and their health. And then the Crone, robed all in black, Will offer wine to make their spirits strong, Through the long tracks of winter nights. Now everyone will rise and feast On roasted pork with apple sauce, And herbs and other food And raise a cup of wine to toast The spirits which surround them in the wood. Let all rejoice and blessed be.