Memories & Mysteries at Samhain
by Lesley-Caron Veater, Victoria/Australia
Social Work Field Education, Aged 46
Memories & Mysteries at Samhain
Lesley-Caron Veater 2002
Their passing leaves footsteps like bruises on my heart. The witches I have known. At Samhain I think of them and the imprints they have left behind. This time of darkening; of sap withdrawing from the land. Of veils drawn thin and otherworlds drawn near.
I see their faces, hear their voices, their laughter. Their words of wisdom. They touched me and left, their work complete. Those who knew and loved them savour their memory. Rich memories of intimate stories.
Sian on horseback, dark, wild welsh-woman, her deep voice and laughter ringing in my ears. Devoted mother, she cared for the homeless, the lost. Sian taught those about her to live life to the full, to give back to the community. Her down to earth forthright nature permitted those she touched to find the courage for honesty and integrity in their own lives.
Gilian, my teacher of old. Teacher, healer and wise woman indeed. Her love of humanity seeding new thought and growth in those about her. Gilian drew students like a lighthouse guides the ships. She was like a bridge, providing the means to reach awareness. Her tiny two-room cottage in the country often full with students, much to her surprise. Gilian's feet were firmly on this earth, her mind and heart were truly connected with the goddess. Her words reflected this wisdom. She taught us how to journey within ourselves, to travel the great web.
Sandy, hedgewitch. herbalist and healer, knew her passing was imminent and gave me her book to treasure. Her stories, charms and recipes, handwritten, remain, a legacy of her life and work. She brought the gift of laughter to the sick and terminally ill at her local hospital. The image of her wild cottage garden stays with me.
Tompkin, my sleek black beauty. Familiar. He revelled in the circle, adding his energy to the work. Trickster and thief he delighted in making off with pieces of my jewellery, the shoulda-been dragon.
Terry, boy-shaman with the heart of a young warrior. Sweet young son of my dear witch-sister. He lived and died dramatically. He was like a sponge for knowledge, now we understand his rush, his thirst. He gave as freely, sharing his heat, his passion for life with those he loved. Terry's aboriginal and celtic heritage shone through in his love of art and his culture. With such intensity he loved. He was gifted with a sword at his death, truly a spiritual warrior.
Helen, Trevor's dear 'Petal', who shared her garden, her art and her home made wines. Helen taught me I could paint. Committed to her community she worked endlessly planting trees and supporting others; witchy woman, cauldron cook of the first order, her deep vibrant laugh still rings in my ears.
Heather, my own daughter. My sweet, precious babe. Stunningly beautiful young woman. How do I speak of you? That loss beyond tears - the deepest pain. Like a whirlwind, a blaze of fire in my life, her energy so powerful she could never be ignored. She entered a room like a star, her face ablaze with love and light. Heather touched so many in her short young life. The stories are still unfolding for me. The friends she had quietly helped with her words of support and care; her bright, fun loving nature an inspiration for all of them. Luscious, wild young woman, her deep spirituality and love of the goddess made her truly shine. She dances in my heart always.
All have passed in these last, very few, years.
Just as those who have passed on before us have completed their growth and work here with us so we see mirrored, in the land about us at this time, the cycle of growth coming to it's natural completion. The old year passes. The sun wanes and the nights are longer.
Leaves rust upon the ground and the land rests. But those who have taken the journey to the underworld, through death and darkness, bring back the knowledge, the understanding, of the mysteries of life and death. The goddess is crone no longer, she is witch and knows the ancient mystery.
She opens the veil to the wild hunt allowing the spirits of the dead to follow the horned one. Soon she returns to the darkness with him, back into the very depths of the mystery where they join once more in love.
The seeds of tree and flower and crops have fallen and lie deep within the earth, the seeds of life, to return again with the spring. So Samhain also heralds the new year for the witches and reminds us of the return; of rebirth and the continual cycle of the great wheel.
We shall meet,
And know,
And love them again.
Copyright © Australian Museum, 2009