Not for the Magically-Challenged

I like Halloween.  That's not such an unusual statement coming from an earth-worshipping, Goddess-loving, pagan writer and storyteller.  Or so it seems, because being all that could also mean that I don't like Halloween as it is celebrated these days.  But I appreciate the fact it's celebrated increasingly more every year, and by more people.  Of course there are a lot of adults (not so many children, I'm glad to say) who scoff and complain about the rampant consumerism and comidification of Halloween.  Most of the people who complain, however, have never seriously observed it at all and know nothing about its ancient pagan, sacred origins.  So it shouldn't really bother them that Halloween has become a cash cow for candy and costume retailers.  What holiday hasn't?  Christmas, of course, is the best example of that, because its serious religious significance is obvious to anyone of any faith, or lack thereof.

Halloween is a contraction for the words All Hallow's Eve, which is the Christianised name for Samhain Eve, the eve of the new year for the ancient Celts.  Therefore November 1st is Samhain proper, or New Year's Day, which was renamed All Saints Day by the church.
Halloween, for the vast majority of people who observe it, is a secular occasion.  (I hesitate to say holiday, because the word holiday, as in holy day, originally referred to days marking a religious event.  So the expression "secular holiday" is actually an oxymoron.)  Suffice it to say, very few people know or care about the historic, religious and cultural origins of Halloween, and yet more people than ever, of diverse religions and backgrounds, celebrate it every year.
When I was a child growing up in WASPy, newly-formed, open suburbs (it was a long time ago when there was some space between houses) nothing indicated that Halloween was happening until the very night, with a simple jack o' lantern placed on the porch to show that trick-or-treaters were welcome.  Nowadays the decorations are often quite elaborate, and are put up weeks before the special night.  I think that's okay.  After all, what's wrong with erecting a pseudo-graveyard on the front lawn?  Sure, it's silly, but it's fun, and could be construed as creative.  Though it may be tacky, it's still someone expressing themselves.  I don't see that as a problem.  The same goes for all the costumes.  I've observed people I usually consider dull and unimaginative don a mask or disguise of some sort and get into  the spirit of things for just one giddy, raucous night of make-believe.
It doesn't matter that they don't know that the costumes they wear were originally worn to conceal their human form.  It was a way of protecting mortals from the myriad spirits that crossed between the worlds on that most magical of nights.
Samhain Eve, and its spring counterpart, May Eve (April 30), were the two nights of the Celtic calendar when the veil between the worlds was at its finest, allowing for spirits to pass freely between this world and the Otherworld.  Hence the ghosts and goblins of Halloween, when the nights grow longer and colder.  By contrast, May Eve is a time when spirits of a lighter, more benign nature roam around, although they are still capable of great mischief and mayhem.  Spirits, whether light or dark, can trick or treat better than any mortal.  It's this rich and magical folklore I see when I watch the secularized Samhain celebrations on city streets.  Call me weird, but I much prefer large groups of people pretending to be scary and fierce to angry hordes engaged in street fights and riots.  Halloween is a unifying occasion for the many cultures and faiths represented in large, multicultural cities.  If it were seriously considered to be a religious holiday there wouldn't be the great numbers of revellers of diverse backgrounds dressing up and partying down.
Halloween is largely a North American festival, derived from the Samhain celebrations brought over by the early Irish and Scottish settlers.  The carving of pumpkins to make jack o' lanterns is one of the most

 ubiquitous and well-known of North American features of Halloween.  And it's another way that regular folk can be creative and express themselves. So what if Halloween is a diluted, popularized vestige of its former, Old World self?  That's what happens with time and adapting to a new land.  It's called change, and it's a part of life.
Halloween is a festival where people spend creative energy in "pretending" and leaving their ordinary, everyday selves behind.  For at least one night of the year they feel free to live in their imagination, and play like kids again.  So let the nay-sayers scoff all they want; they're missing out on all the fun. 
There are, however, and thanks be to Goddess, those who celebrate Halloween more seriously, by honouring the ancient, earth-based traditions of Samhain Eve.  They are the folk who follow the Old Ways, and conjure Magic all year 'round.  But present day Halloween is for everyone.  It has become a night when even Muggles* can make Magic.  And from what I've seen, they do, and have a blast doing it.   
So mote it be.
-G.P.
* non-witches and wizards, and other magically-challenged folk - from Harry Potter and Co.

Ordinary Miracles

The humble sparrow has been in my thoughts a lot lately.  No doubt that's because there has been a host of them in my backyard for a while.  I put up a bird feeder towards the end of last winter, and naturally it's attracted a lot of birds over the last several seasons.  A number of blue jays pay frequent visits, as do a pair of cardinals I've named Prince and Queenie.  I've also seen a couple of rose-breasted grosbeaks, a goldfinch or two, and even a Baltimore oriole drop by.  But the little brown jobs known as sparrows are certainly the most numerous.
The presence of so many sparrows gives me great joy.  I love watching all of them jockeying for one of the four perches on the feeder, or scratching about for seeds that have fallen to the ground.  Their constant chitter-chatter is soft, sweet music to my ears.  Recently they've become quite bold and hop about the patio directly adjacent to the feeder, perching and pooping all over the outdoor furniture.  I've also seen several fatally injured and dead sparrows on the streets in my neighbourhood of late.  On a more mundane, yet weirdly ironic level, a new upscale restaurant called Sparrow opened up in the 'hood early this past summer.  Unfortunately, it's not doing well at all, and looks as if it may be going the way of the aforementioned birds. 
The proliferation of sparrows in my life these days, real and symbolic, has left me wondering what it all means.  I need to know why and how they're connected to me.  Sparrows represent humility and the appreciation of the simple things in life.  Sparrow teaches us to accept ourselves as we are.  And the biggest lesson my new totem has taught me is that we all have our own special purpose, thanks to the joy I get from the ubiquity of sparrows that visit my backyard.  As I watch them through my study window it never occurs to me that they are the most common and ordinary of birds, because they make me smile.  What a gift.  If I feel that way about an unassuming little bird, I can surely feel that way about myself.

Although it saddens me to have seen dead and dying sparrows placed on my path of late, it's a reminder that these supposedly lowly creatures are very special to me now.  It reminds me that these small, seemingly insignificant birds truly matter, because they bring me precious moments of quiet joy.  I shall never underestimate the unique qualities of an ostensibly ordinary animal or person again - at least that's my hope.
Despite its diminutive size and plain colour, Sparrow has taught me an important lesson in humility.  I'm now able to see the abundance of small delights that fill my life, and for that I'm deeply grateful.
That's a lot of power for something so small.    
Blessed be.
- G.P. 

Now is a Good Time

The furnace in the house where I live was turned on today.  Autumn has truly arrived, both inside and out.

When people ask me how are you? I say very well, thank you.  And I am.  I still worry about our Earth, which is my true home, and I still shed tears thinking about the suffering and abuse of innocent animals.  (Not so much people, and don't bug me about it!)  I also feel guilty when I miss yoga practice, or don't give a needy street-person a small handout, or complain about one of the many things there are to complain about.  Sometimes I obsess about my aging, sagging body and skin-tone.  And I don't always keep abreast of the news, because it's usually more bad than good - really depressing in fact - which means I'm deliberately remaining ignorant of things well-informed, involved people are supposed to know.  But for all that, I'm really, truly well.  Better than I've been in a long time.  (I think that Grandma might have something to do with that - see previous blurb.  My yoga practice helps, too.)
The lingering feeling that I should be living an exciting, passionate, productive life doesn't bother me as much as it used to.  My life is pretty ordinary lately, and I'm okay with that, because currently I've got nothing to complain about compared to most of the people on the planet.
Old habits die hard, and replacing them with new ones - habits that benefit me rather than hurt me - is the most interesting thing happening in my life right now.  It takes up all my time, but doesn't interfere with whatever else I'm doing.  In fact, being fully present and aware makes everything I do easier.
I live in the present more than ever these days, and it's taken me almost 23,000 of them to get to this point.  But now that I'm getting the hang of it, whatever I'm going through - good, bad, or "formerly known as boring," doesn't seem so bad or boring at all, because I'm managing it in the moment.  Finally.

I am, by the standards I set for myself when I was young and stupid, living an "ordinary" life, and making an "ordinary" living.  But I'm learning to place the emphasis of that self-observation on living and life, rather than ordinary.  And being fully present endows a person with presence.  There's nothing ordinary about that.
The furnace in the house where I live was turned on today.  Autumn has truly arrived.  Observing that simple fact began this blurb.  A mundane bit of minutiae led me to muse on how rich and full an ordinary morning can be.  And right now, in this very moment, I feel the same way.
Blessed be.
- G. P.