Meet My Ancestors

Tonight is Samhain. It is All Hallows Eve. It is a night where the walls between this world and the next are thin. This is the night where the dead bleed through and if you wish to connect with them, you can listen to them, you can sense when they're present, and you can entice them to come. You can also make simple offerings to honor their place and presence in your life.

Because They Were...You Are.

I pour water in the glass cup on my Ancestor Altar. I light a candle in the fossil candle holder. It is the lighthouse guiding their way to me. I light more candles for specific prayers. I take in a breath and as I exhale I open my heart. I open myself to spirit world. I am not the lighthouse.

I am the light.  

I open to my Grandparents:  

Richard James Riddle & Donna MacDonald, my beloved dead
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Mark Dutcher Eaton, my beloved dead, & Ruth Emma Ruston
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Patricia Ann Art
~*~
~*~

I open to my Great-Grandparents:

Harold Riddle & Elsie Elizabeth Durant, my beloved dead
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Robert Joseph Art & Margaret Loretta Burke
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Frank William Ruston & Minnie Estelle Wicker
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Royal Levant Eaton & Hattie Eva Smith
~*~
~*~

I open to my Great-Great-Grandparents:

Frances & Lafayette are in the center, front.

Lafayette Riddle & Frances Ann Gillette
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George Frances Durant & Emma Louise Burnah
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George Art & Katherine Pils
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Frank Burke & Eliza Conners
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Ruth & Charles are in the center back.

Charles Evan Ruston & Ruth Ireland [both from England]
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Hiram & Emma are the center couple.

Hiram King Wicker & Emma Angeline Whitcher 
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Bennett Eaton & Theresa Cordelia Tenney
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Silas Parker Smith & Hattie Eva Dutcher
~*~
~*~

I open to my Great-Great-Great-Grandparents:

Marquise DeLafayette Riddle & Sarah Clickner
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Levi & Jane are seated in the second row.

Levi Gillette & Jane Berry
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Albert Durant & Rosella LaValley [both from Quebec]
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Samuel Burnah [from Quebec] & Mary Fortin
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Adam Art & Catherine Blume [both from Germany]
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John Pils & Mary Burzee [both from Germany]
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Thomas Burke & Ellen
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David Conners & Mary Dowd [both from Ireland]
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Richard Ruston & Anna Richardson [both from England]
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William Ireland & Phoebe Lenton [both from England]
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Thaddeus Rice Wicker & Cynthia Lusk
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Bailey Harrison Whitcher & Ordelia de Lozier
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Solomon Gould Eaton & Hannah Ann Treadwell
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Philetus Tenny & Malvina H. Targee
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Ammi Smith & Sophia Sears
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Reuben Feagles Dutcher & Eliza Marsh Bird
~*~
~*~
I open to my Great-Great-Great-Great-Grandparents:

Joshua Eaton & Lucy Gould
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Solomon P. Treadwell & Fermicy Peters
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Hiram Tenney & Esther Sally Tillotson
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Thomas Targee & Eleanor Smith
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David Smith & Betsey
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Heman Sears & Clarissa Dubois
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Martin Dutcher & Cynthia Ann Feagles
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Manly Bird & Irene Pond Marsh
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Edward Ruston & Jane Brooks
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Thomas Richardson & wife
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John Ireland & wife
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John Lenton & Mary Wilson
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Pliny Wicker & Chloe Morgan
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Elizur Lusk & Mary A.
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Simeon Whitcher & Dorcas Kittredge
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Peter de Lozier P.O.W. & Lucy Raymond
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Freeborn Moulton Riddle & Abigail Chaffee
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Wilhemus C. Clickner & Anna Maria Hayner
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Ezra Wheeler Gillette & Mary Ann Boots
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Francis Berry & Elizabeth Ann Hill
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George Durant & Safrona (from PQ)
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Francois Xavier Paquet Lavallee & Rosella LaRoche (from PQ)
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George Arth & Wilhemina Wernersbach (both from Germany)
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Heinrich Blum & Margaretha Hesse (both from Germany)
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John Burke & Ann Scott (from Ireland)
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Barney Dowd (from Ireland)

I open to my ancestors, known and unknown. I open the front door. The air is cold and tinged with winter. I invite all who wish us no ill to enter and celebrate the night.

I ask my Ancestors to welcome in the spirits of the Recent Dead, of my beloved college friend Dave Bova. I ask them to watch over our community friends Sue Curewitz Arthen, James Johnson, Lorna Tibbetts, and Janet Rae McKee Banks. And may her family welcome my great-aunt Donna Riddle Mauri back into their embrace.

Leave offerings of food and liquor, of earthly things that smell strong and potent, of tobacco and candies. Leave them fresh, filtered water. Listen to the whisperings of the shadows. Feel peace fill your heart.

Let the candles burn low. Pay attention to your dreamings. The dead have things they wish to say.

Blessed Samhain. Happy Halloween.

Preparing the Way for Spirit to Come Through

Autumn has New York State in her grasp, even though my morning glories are still trying to grow new tendrils. We turn towards All Hallow’s Eve and it feels as though winter will not be far behind. Indoors, I make preparations to honor my Ancestral Dead and welcome them into my home and hearth. I do this every day but at this time of year I do it more formally and intently on a night when the lines between the living and the dead blur.

I see movements out of the corner of my eye, things tucking behind chairs and bookshelves that aren’t there when I look for them straight-on. I feel people entering the room behind me but no matter how certain my body is that I am not alone I cannot see anyone with my naked eye. And my scalp prickles as if a hand has gently touched me. It warms beneath another palm. I no longer reach up to check because I know it is not a physical presence.

This is how I live every October. The blurs are what I refer to as wayward spirits, harmless travelers drawn towards memories of being alive. The closer we get to Samhain the brighter my inner lighthouse gets. My room lurker is currently The German Guy who has made another appearance. He belongs to my maternal Grandma Art’s side. And the hand on my scalp is my Great-Grandma Elsie. Always. She is my spirit traffic guide. She is never far.

I leave her cups of tea and horribly salted chicken wings. She lived with us in the summers and was alive until I was seventeen. There is a space in my heart that was shaped by her, a part of me that remembers how she molded me. 

You can’t let the bullies stop you from living your life, she'd tell me.

That goes for spirit bullies, too. Sometimes, if you are sensitive to them, they can crowd the room and demand attention. So when I clean my Ancestor Altar and refresh it for the season I call in peaceful spirits here that do not wish us harm. I take a shot of some pungent liquor and make an offering at the edge of our property for those spirits seeking offerings with no regard for the living.

There is room for them all to be honored…just...out there. Not in my home.

On Samhain we feast a Dumb Supper with our ancestors, setting a place for special guests and one place for all the rest to come and join. Together, the collective of us living and dead will say a final farewell to those who have passed since last year and I will ask the Ancestors to safeguard those who may not yet be at peace and to watch over their families.

Some years the names of my Recent Dead are few. This year, the list is longer than I'd like, and the losses are heavy. A dear friend and community member. Several other community members... oh, my heart. My Great-Aunt. A beloved friend and college companion. The loss of him is still rippling out through our hearts. It will be felt for years.

I wish them peace even as I grieve the loss of them, the loss of their physical presence, of their wisdom, of all the time we’ll never have to repair or strengthen wounds and hearts. And I am left to figure out how to move on from unfinished work.

But not alone. Those Who Have Gone Before aid me in my grief. The Ancestral Dead, the centuries of others who have felt such loss, have been deceased long enough that they can hold space for my sorrow. When I am open to it, in my darkest moment, I do not feel alone.

For some people the thought of ghosts is isolating and frightening. We often feel such a way about things we cannot explain. I’ve always trusted what I am experiencing more than just my eyes. We do not see everything and we do not see everything the same way as everyone else. It makes our personal experiences valuable.

Open your heart to the thinning of the walls between this world and the next. Do not try to quantify or qualify. I will tell you that yes, your loved one is gone. And they are alive. And they are reincarnated. And they are with you. All of that is true, all at once, right now.

Now they are gone. Now they are everywhere.

How will you honor them this year?



(post updated from October 17, 2018)

Grief Poppets for Samhain

Without death, there would be no Ancestors to revere. With death comes grief. Ancestor practitioners spend so much time playing crossing guard and messenger that we need to have a tool box of ways to work through, accept, and integrate grief.

At Samhain, I tell people not to call on those who have not been gone for at least a year. That is partly so we do not hold onto spirits who were ready to move on. But it is largely an act of self-care. We humans need time to process our grief before being able to experience our friends as part of the slipstream of Ancestral Dead.

Some people need less than a year. Some people need more time. There’s no golden rule. It’s natural to fear and struggle with death. Humans cling to our science for answers to give us comfort. Death is perhaps the ultimate mystery for which there can never be any concrete veritas Truth. So we gather our personal truths and experiences with death in an attempt to flesh out the hidden image.

I have a simple but potent magic I use when I have a personal grief that sits heavy in my heart. I make a Grief Poppet.

They are not Voodoo dolls, although I consider Voodoo dolls to be a kind of poppet. Use of poppets in folk healing is old and crosses cultures. When I make a poppet for healing, I make the figure of it similar to the being it is meant for. They’re usually human silhouettes but I have also made cat-shaped dollies.

I always use cotton fabrics, something that can be burned or buried without further harming the Earth. I cut two shapes and put them wrong-side together, hand stitching them. While sewing, I focus my thoughts on happy memories of the one I grieve. I leave an opening in the head so I can fill it, then turn it inside out. This is poppet magic 101, for all poppet workings. Now I have a shell for the magic.

I use flaxseed as the base herb for grief poppets. It adds a weight to the fetish that feels good in my hand. I add lavender and rosemary internally for scent. I recommend investing in lavendin for grief purposes (not to be cooked with). It is a hybrid of two strains that produces more essential oil and has a potently soothing aroma to it. If my grief has sharp edges I add some nettle for protection.

The key piece of magic happens when I add the heart stone. I often use a piece of resin incense, sometimes a lotus seed, sometimes a small bean, or a small chip of a gemstone. The important part is that it is meaningful to the person I am crafting the poppet for.

Then I finish it off with an invisible stitch. I make it small enough to fit into a pocket but large enough to be weight in my palm. I carry it around with me for as long as I need. It is not a cure for grief. Grief is not a thing to be abolished or denied.

The depth of our grief is a reflection of the depth of the love we felt, lived, and lost.

Part of what makes the emotion difficult is the intangible quality of it. The poppet is something I can finger in my pocket. It’s less permanent than needing something to remind me of my lost loved one on a daily basis. It becomes a conduit for that grief. It becomes a container but it does not contain it. It takes in the excess but does not retain it. I use copal for grief poppet heart stones because it is a cleanser and purifier.

The nature of time is to lessen the hurt of grief. I will carry the poppet through my workings this Samhain, and burn or bury it at the next one (if I am ready), sending the remnants of that love back out into the world. Love is something death cannot take away.

Love is something death cannot take away.

When grief ebbs at your heart, feed it love.

Feed the world love that none will be hungry for it.

Honor the dead by caring for the living.
Be a good ancestor now.