2017 has been a heavy year. Some good things have happened this year, but they’ve all been hard changes, painful changes. So Samhain this year feels a lot heavier than it usually does.
Every year I host a dumb supper for my college Pagan group and Interfaith group. Last year the supper felt like a party. The dead in the room were socializing with each other and even if the living were contemplative, the room felt light. This year it was heavy. Two-thirds of us, myself included, had lost a grandparent between last year’s celebration and this one. I was especially resistant to talking to my ancestors this year. I was afraid I would get a message like last year, that one of my grandfathers was going to pass. I was painfully awaiting the moment I would see him now sitting across from me, which I did. My conversations were brief and part of me feels guilty for it. I just stared at my plate of food. I wrote an apology for time not spent with them while they were alive in our ancestor book.
It was a heavy ritual. But that has just how this entire year has been.
I don’t know if I am going to do anything Pagan or ancestor related today. I still feel the weight of last night. I’m deeply upset at the people who promised to show up to ritual but didn’t, both because of the wasted food and huge disrespect to their ancestors. I apologized to all those dead and might try to do something for them tonight.
I am just waiting for the weight of this year to end. It is in times like these that we need our ancestors; we need that wisdom and reassurance.
Hail to our ancestors of blood and of water. Hail to you on this blessed Samhain.