Meeting the Dead at Samhain

One bright, cold afternoon, late in January of 2021, Susan and I were standing on the porch talking when a small bird flew onto the porch, circled Susan’s head a few times and flew off toward the back of the house. We were surprised to see this little creature at that time of day, at that time of year. Here in the mountains of East TN, when you see any smaller birds in the dead of winter, they usually look pretty thin and ragged. This particular little bird, a wren we think, seemed well fed if a little wobbly in its flight. “Sort of reminds me of Grammy” Susan said, remembering her grandmother who died a few years before. I did a little quick calculation in my head and realized that it had, in fact, been 4 years to the day, almost to the hour, since Susan let go of her grandmother’s hand in a Florida nursing home and said goodbye for the last time.

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“The dead are with us when we think of them”. This simple but profound statement, which I first heard from spiritualist and pod caster Connor Habib, is close to the heart of our particular brand of ancestor veneration here on the mountain. The popular image of communication with the dead is usually dramatic with séance, mediums, glowing figures who reveal the answers to long held family secrets or the profound mysteries of existence. At the same time, when someone says that one of their beloved dead was with them through some crisis, it may strike us as sentimental, perhaps quaint. The dead are not particularly well integrated into the lives of most modern people. But this has not always been the case.

I grew up in south Philadelphia in the 1970s. Many of my neighbors there were older Roman Catholics. It was not at all unusual to hear people speak of the dead in the present tense. I knew My Mother, God rest her soul, was watching over me that day”, was the sort of thing you might overhear at the deli. My family were Lutherans but our celebration of All Souls Day on the first of November gave me a context for understanding my neighbors’ belief that their beloved dead were still very much with them. Later, when I became interested in “eastern” philosophy, I came to understand how much the dead were integrated into spiritual culture throughout Asia. I was especially surprised to learn, in a course in Chinese religion and philosophy, that some Taoist sects believed that you could release ancestors from punishment in the afterlife through intercessory prayer. This is quite like the Catholic belief that we can gain release from purgatory for our beloved dead through prayer. The idea that we can influence the world of the dead as much as they can the world of the living was to become formative in my own veneration practice once I had one.

The practice of ancestor veneration shows up in so many cultures throughout history and around the world because it answers so many of our needs. It eases grief to think that the death of those we love is not final. It gives us hope that conflicts left unresolved may still be reconciled. In provides a vital link to the past of our families and peoples, bringing a sense of social cohesion to the living. At the same time, the dead can intercede for us in the Spirit World (if they remain well disposed to us).. Although scientific materialism seems to make such ideas seem archaic and laughable, our fascination with the dead, our desire to draw them near – or push them away, is still a palpable impulse, especially as we approach Samhain.

Samhain is the cross quarter sabot that falls between the Autumn Equinox and The Winter Solstice. Most people celebrate on October 31 – November 1. Some recon it according to the full moon that falls closest to this day. Others think of the cross quarter as 15 degrees of Scorpio. Everyone agrees that the veil between worlds is “thinnest” at this seasons. Throughout the cultural landscape we see people acting to invite or banish the dead. It is a time of joy and of foreboding. Beneath the spooky décor and solemn words there are real people. Our ancestors, whether we know their names or not, whether they are remembered fondly, resentfully, or not at all, are the prerequisite for our own existence. We simply would not be here if it weren’t for everyone who has gone before us. What, if anything do we owe them? What do they have to offer us? How do we begin to form a relationship?

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Every night, before we eat our evening meal, we say prayers of gratitude and concern. Sometimes these are long, with lots of people and things to be remembered. Sometimes we are hungry and tired and the prayers are short and sweet. We always give thanks to, and for our ancestors, grand parents and parents, children and grand children and all of our decedents. We hope that our decedents will know us better than we know our ancestors. One of the most important things we have learned from our ancestors is that we are the ancestors of our decedents.

Our ancestors teach us things, mostly without words. Very often, it is the act of reaching out to them, the challenge of who they were, and who we are, the joy when we feel we have reached them or they us, where the lesson is found. If you did not grow up in a culture where ancestor veneration is a long established practice with traditions and norms, the first and most difficult step is building a relationship. If you make the first halting steps to open up a dialogue with your beloved (or even problematic) dead, they will appreciate your effort and respond. Just be prepared to see their gestures in unexpected places and moments – like a fat little dead-of-winter wren that brought so much joy by bringing a beloved grandmother to mind. I’m not necessarily saying that the little bird was Susan’s grandmother, but she carried enough of her spirit to reach us.

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Most of my experience with the dead has come in the form of synchronicity. When you traffic in the spirit world, whether through prayer, divination, or “speaking” with the dead, always keep in mind that while we are firmly planted in the material world, most or all of what exists of the entities we call spirits, does not reside here with us. This, I think, is the major barrier to communication with the spirit world for most people. Spirits, whether Gods, Saints, Angels, Demons, “Land Spirits” or people who used to be embodied, are somewhat limited in their channels of communication. If you want to say something to someone, you just make some sounds with your mouth or write something down with your hands. The dead must rely on a fragile web of “chance” events and our belief in the possibility of making contact to say anything to us.

But we do not need to wait for some old tune to come on the radio at the exact moment we were thinking about Dad. We do not have to wait for a winter wren to drunkenly circle our head on a random Sunday afternoon. We can reach out with a song or a joke, we can invite them to sit with us as we do something they would have enjoyed. When we intentionally invite our ancestors into our life they are more likely to just drop by for a visit occasionally.

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My Grandfather, George Danial Smith, worked 42 years on the Pennsylvania Railroad. A lot of that time was spent as a sign painter. Grandpop was not a man of great learning, he could barely read a news paper (although he bought one and tried his best every day). He seemed to take pleasure in the simple process of getting the stencils to line up and look like it came off a machine. He was, in his own way, an artist. It wasn’t about what the letters said (usually they said things like Pa. 279), it was about the simple form of the composition. He wouldn’t have thought about it in that way. He was a craftsman. He used to tell me “Frankie, a rail road man needs a strong back and a weak mind”.

As a visually impaired kid I felt cherished and protected but never felt that I could earn his real respect. I always wanted him to teach me how to use tools. He was always too afraid I would hurt myself. One day I was drawing at the kitchen table. I had recently figured out how to make big block letters free hand. Grandpop looked over at what I was drawing and started excitedly raving about how he could never make letters like that without a stencil. It is difficult even now to express how proud I felt in that moment. Now, when I sit down to work on a sigil, as I bring out the drafting tools and begin making the pencil lines, I talk with my grandfather about what I am making and the tools I am using. I ask him to help me make it look beautiful.

Like many young men I had a falling out with the most influential man in my life, which never had the chance to heal before he left this world. My Grandfather wasn’t a great man or even always a good man, but he knew what his responsibilities were and tried to dispatch them honorably. Like my father, my grandfather had a pretty rough upbringing and a fair amount of trauma. Like many traumatized people, they passed a lot of that on to their children and grandchildren. It has become nearly axiomatic that hurt people, hurt people. For me, a big part of ending that cycle involves offering my more problematic ancestors the sympathy and compassion that they should have had in life. Had they had it, their life would have been sweeter. Hed their life been sweeter, mine would have been. I have found that in healing my relationships with them them, I feel a sense of healing in myself.

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For most of my adult life I have been pretty agnostic about any kind of afterlife. Even after decades of experience with divination and other numinous experiences, I found it difficult to believe that anything of us could survive the demise of the body. Much of my doubt centered around having no compelling theory of ghosts, but most of it, I suspect, had to do with the implications of life beyond the material plane.

My “conversion” into a believer in the afterlife came in stages. One of the most important ones was stumbling across this quote:

“Men passionately desire to live after death, but they often pass away without noticing the fact that the memory of a really good person always lives. It is impressed upon the next generation, and is transmitted again to the children. Is that not an immortality worth striving for? ”
― Peter Kropotkin, Memoirs of a Revolutionist

I do not know what Kropotkin’s thoughts about the possibility of life after death might have been. I suspect that he would have doubted the idea. Never the less, the idea that we survive in the minds of those who knew us, and that, through them, future generations might also come to know us, was an important turning point for me. I thought about the extent to which we already exist largely in the minds of others. We never know anyone or anything apart from the impression they make upon us. No one knows us any better. I recognize that this might seem problematic in an age when self actualization is of utmost importance to so many. For many valid reasons, most modern people do not wish to have others define them. To deconstruct the complex relationship between what one feels them self to be and what others say of them would get us deep into the weeds. Suffice it to say that wanting to be SEEN bares witness to our need to be completed in the eyes and kind regard of others. It is no different for the dead.

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In a few weeks, Susan and I will make a traditional Thanks Giving dinner. We will set a table with tiny place cards with the names of family and friends who have left this world. We will lay this table with offerings of things our beloved dead enjoyed in life - cigarettes and liquor, candy and nice cheese and other treats. We will play the music they loved, a crazy play list of hymns and 1960s era psychedelia, bubblegum pop and World War II era crooners. We will light a candle for each person we invite to this dinner party. We will sit and tell stories. We will probably laugh, we will probably cry. We will not be surprised if a few folks we didn’t remember show up. We will beg their pardon and make a place for them at the table.

If you would like to cultivate a relationship with your ancestors, consider spending a little time thinking about at least one who you had a good relationship with. Do something they liked to do or make a little offering. Think about how they live in you. Do you look like them? Did they introduce you to something you love, music, books, cooking, fishing? Thank them and invite them to visit on occasion. Simple as that. Try it out and see what happens.

One more thing. When you open doors into the spirit world, things can slip through. When you have completed your “visit” don’t forget to close the door by banishing anything that slipped in while you weren’t looking.