Souls’
Reunion
We walk onto a
darkened patio dimly lit with flickering candles. A small incense jar burns by
the door, wafting the sweet citrus scent of copal. Ahead stands an altar
decorated with skulls, tiered crystal balls and a scattering of tea lights for
guests to light in remembrance of loved ones who have passed.
“Did you bring photos?” a woman asks, her
gorgeously wan body draped in clothes like dark cobwebs, her skin powered
ghostly white.
I brought a picture of my mother when she was
about my age. She was photographed from behind, walking on the ties of a
railroad track, her hands reaching out to the sides for balance. Just as the
picture was snapped, she had turned her head to smile at the photographer – my
father, I assumed. It was my favorite picture of her, and three years ago I had
placed it by her casket at the funeral.
We leave them on the altar, already crowded
with pictures. I study the faces in the photographs. The children hit me the
hardest. Sweet little lives cut short, memorialized on photo paper.
Faintly, in the background, a drum marks time
like a heartbeat.
A book in the center of the table is titled
“Ledger of the Dead,” and several names are already listed on the open page. I write
‘Nancy Campbell, beloved mother’ below the other names, surprised to
notice my hand is trembling. Is it
possible she will actually show up? And what does one say to a ghost? Should I
tell her what’s been going on in my life, or can she see me and my life through
the veil?
In the middle of the dark back yard is a
large circle of autumn leaves and cornstalks, punctuated by torches. We line up
outside the circle and two people walk down the line, one fanning smoke onto us
from a smoldering sage bundle, the other anointing our foreheads with scented
oil. I draw a deep breath of the
wonderful aromas, feeling the tense muscles in my shoulders unknot and release.
Quietly we step up to
the circle. A woman in a black dress and veil hands us each a silver dollar as
we enter.
The Priestess raises her dagger and points it
at each of the flames flanking the circle, making them pop and crackle. “Bless
this space and the spirits who come to visit.” The embers rise and orbit round us
like tiny moons, tumbling and floating, until we are all contained within a
cone of golden light.
“As above, so below!” The Priestess cries. “This
circle is sealed!” The embers drop to the ground with a final sizzle.
Inside the circle, it is so quiet I can hear
my own breathing. I immediately feel warmer. Is excitement raising my blood
pressure, or am I truly cocooned in protected space, a time outside of time? Every
sense seems more acute, yet at the same time stilled. I smell the pungent
incense, hear the tree leaves rustle, pick out every detail of the dozen or so
candlelit faces across the circle.
We listen to readings about the final harvest, the earth
going dormant. With my heightened awareness, I can actually sense the earth
drowsing beneath my feet, waiting for the warm spring sun to return. I have
never been so alive, or felt my own mortality so acutely. A chant begins.
“The Moon is bright, the Crone is old,
The body lifeless - the bones so cold.
We all live and pay our dues
To die in ones and threes and twos.”
Witches believe that at Samhain, or
Halloween, the veil between the worlds of the living and the spirits is at its
thinnest, and the dead can visit their living families. Communion is safest in
a magical circle, cast to both contain energy and to protect those within.
“Behold, the
Western Gate is now open, let us pass through!” calls our Priestess.
We join hands and
walk round and round, spiraling, descending to the Underworld, chanting as we
go:
“Come ye, good spirits of the dead!
Be ye spirit of plant or pet
Or human spirit that we have known,
Into this Circle you are let!
Speak to us of things unknown!
Lend your energies to this rite!
To speed your journey, we have joined
On this Sacred Samhain night!”
The spiral tightens and the chanting quickens, then gentles and goes
silent. The torches have been extinguished. Darkness surrounds us.
We have arrived. It’s time to pay
Charon the Boatman and be ferried across the River Styx to visit our ancestors.
We each hand a coin to the black-robed figure who traverses the circle in
silence.
Piling our hands on the black
leather-bound book in which we signed the names of our deceased, we speak their
names aloud—who they were to us, how they died. My father, a burst aneurysm,
Karen’s friend, cancer. Your mother, heart attack. Another mother, a sister,
best friend, uncle, track coach, favorite pet.
The names multiply and tumble over
each other until they are swirling around us like tendrils of memory fog. One
woman cremated her father three days before. Tears pour down her face, and we
drape our arms on each other’s shoulders in a communal embrace. We share family
news with our loved ones, love and laugh, and say words we may not have had the
time or the heart to say while they were alive.
Our twenty minutes pass too quickly.
It’s time to say farewell.
While the Priestess finishes our
memorial, I close my eyes, blinking away tears. Of all the unusual things I have
done since choosing the Witch’s Path, communing with my mother’s spirit this
evening is the easiest. I dropped my guard, suspended any last vestiges of former beliefs, and was simply comforted
by her presence. Why did I ever question if she would show up? Love guided her
back to me, as it will on this night every year.
We stop at the ancestor’s table to pick up
our mementos, but leave the candles to burn out in their own time.
I kiss my fingertips and caress each skull. Blessed be all, I whisper to those
souls. The candles flicker for a moment.
Silently, we file past the table, back into
the world of the living.
GIVEAWAY
ONE ECOPY, ONE SIGNED PRINT
COPY of Sandy Wright’s SONG OF THE ANCIENTS!!! Because
THIS IS a print copy, winners are limited to U.S. and Canada! BUT
WAIT!!!! There’s one more prize and it is a PERSONAL
TAROT READING!!! How
the heck cool is that?!!!!
To
win: go to the Official FB Event Page; find the post announcing today’s
giveaway; and comment on what you want to win! If you wouldn’t mind
winning all three and are eligible for all three, just put, “I WANT
TO WIN EVERYTHING” in that post and you just might!!!
AUTHOR BIO
Sandy Wright moved to Arizona 17 years ago
and fell in love with the southwest desert, including its Native American
influences. After a trip to Sedona, the germ of a novel was born.
“I love to take ordinary characters and put
them in extraordinary situations that change their view of the world.”
Her first novel, Song of the Ancients,
introduces witchcraft and shamanism seen through the eyes of an ordinary
woman. Readers interested in
witchcraft—or just a dark, eerie tale—will enjoy this paranormal suspense,
written by a real-life Wiccan High Priestess.
Winner of the Pacific Northwest (fantasy), On
the Far Side (paranormal) and Orange Rose (paranormal romance) contests, Song
of the Ancients was published in May 2015, and is available in both print and
ebook.
SONG OF THE ANCIENTS
What would you die for?
Samantha Danroe doesn't
believe in magic. Her ex-husband cured her of happily-ever-after when he
cheated on her three days after saying I-do.
She doesn't believe in
ghosts. Until her mother's ghost rises from a Halloween bonfire with a warning
of death from beyond the grave.
And she certainly doesn't
believe in witchcraft. Until she becomes the prey in an ancient war waged
between good and evil. A war whose rules she must scramble to learn to stay
alive.
In need of protection,
Samantha turns to the mysterious Nicholas Orenda, a sixth-generation witch on
the trail of a creature who is systematically killing off his family. According
to his family's prophecy, three will be sacrificed to the dark. His mother and
grandmother are already dead, and Nicholas doesn't have time to play by the
rules.
Samantha finds herself in
the center of a deadly hunt for a mysterious foe. Can she find the strength to
defeat a supernatural killer and prevent the third sacrifice? Or will she be
the catalyst that opens the gates to the Underworld?
Song of the Ancients is the
debut book in the Ancient Magic series.
Readers interested in
witchcraft, shamanism--or just the dark side of the supernatural world around
us--will enjoy this paranormal suspense, written by a real-life Wiccan High
Priestess. Look for information on the next book in the Ancient Magic series in
2016.
“Ms. Wright has been authentic to Witchcraft, blending in real
spells and rituals throughout her tale. The landscape and its traditions are
strong characters."
~ Lady Caria Dawn, High
Priestess, Circle of the Moon, Fairfax, VA
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