Samhain...

Embracing the Liminal, Honouring the Ancestors, and Planting Seeds for Renewal

The cooler winds begin to blow as the sun slowly continues descending greeting the great turning of the Wheel, when the veil between worlds grows thin and the old year exhales its final breath.
In the ancient Celtic world, Samhain or Samhuinn (pronounced “Sow-en” or “Sah-win”) which is the Irish Gaelic word that marked the end of the harvest and the beginning of the dark half of the year, sitting halfway between the Autumn Equinox (Alban Elfed) and the Winter Solstice (Alban Arthan), falling around October 31st to November 2nd. However before the adoption of the fixed solar calendar,
the Celts followed a lunar reckoning of time, months began with the new moon. So Samhain would have originally been celebrated at the first new moon that rose closest to this midpoint between equinox and solstice. This means that Samhain was once a movable feast, shifting slightly each year depending on the moon’s rhythm. Its connection to the dark moon or the first frost also deepened its symbolism of descent, the death of light, the thinning veil, the retreat into the Otherworld.
It is a time of thresholds, mystery, and deep communion, when the living and the dead drew close, and the veil between the seen and unseen dissolved.

Samhain was celebrated by the Celtic peoples of Ireland, Scotland, Wales, Cornwall and the Isle of Man long before it was woven into later festivals like All Hallows’ Eve. When Christianity spread into the Celtic lands between the 7th and 9th centuries CE, the Church sought to reframe the native festivals within its own sacred calendar. In 835 CE, Pope Gregory IV established All Saints’ Day, also called All Hallows’ Day, on November 1st, a day dedicated to honouring all saints and martyrs.
The evening before, October 31st, became All Hallows’ Eve, which over time in Old English contracted into Hallowe’en. This reordering was meant to Christianise the ancient Samhain rites, transforming a night of ancestor veneration and spirit communion into one of remembrance for the holy souls of the faithful rather than the wandering spirits of pagan tradition.

Samhain makes the final harvest, when the fields are stripped bare and the livestock brought down from the summer pastures. It is both an ending and a beginning, the Celtic New Year - when the old sun dies and the seed of the new is hidden in darkness.
The Celts saw time as circular, not linear, and Samhain is the great hinge, where one year dissolved into the next. It is a liminal feast, belonging to neither this world nor the next, neither summer nor winter - a pause, a sacred in-breath of the cosmos.

The name Samhain itself may come from Samfuin, “summer’s end.” Across the Celtic lands, bonfires were lit on hilltops, not merely for warmth, but as ritual fires of purification and protection. These sacred flames were often kindled by the druids from a single communal fire, then carried home as a blessing for the hearth.
Divination was woven through the night, the Celts believed Samhain was a time when the boundaries between worlds blurred, making it easier to receive guidance from ancestors, spirits, and the gods. Apples, hazelnuts, and mirrors were tools of prophecy, while dreams and omens carried messages for the year to come.

Samhain was a night of reverence for the ancestors. Homes were prepared with extra seats at the table and food left out by the hearth for the spirits who walked once more upon the land. The Celts believed the dead returned not to frighten but to bless, guide, and remind the living of the eternal cycle of life, death, and renewal.
The Otherworld, known in Ireland as Tír na nÓg, was said to open wide, allowing fae, spirits, and deities to roam freely. It was a time of both power and caution: offerings of milk, honey, and bread were left at crossroads or wells to appease the unseen ones and invite their goodwill.

The Handover of the Seasons - Brighid and the Cailleach
When the year draws its long breath and the harvest’s gold gives way to shadow, a quiet stirring ripples through the Otherworld. The veil thins, and upon the threshold of Samhain, Brighid, Keeper of the Flame,  bends low to the earth, her fire dimming to a hidden glow. She gathers the last embers of summer in her palms and breathes her warmth into the waiting dark.
From the mountains and mist, the Cailleach rises, ancient and bone-wise, her cloak woven from storm-cloud and snow. She receives the ember with a nod, for she knows this is not an ending, but the turning of the great wheel. In her hands, the ember cools, crystallising into frost, becoming the seed of winter’s dreaming.
Through the dark months she reigns, her breath the north wind, her stride across the moors laying down the stillness of rest. She calls the trees to sleep and lulls the land into silence, guarding the hidden life that quickens beneath the soil. Though fierce, she is the protector of the seed, the grandmother who tends the long night so that life may return renewed.

When Imbolc dawns and the first thaw drips from the stones, Brighid returns, carrying the spark of rebirth. Some say the Cailleach, weary from her long watch, drinks from Brighid’s sacred well and grows young again, her winter self transmuted into the maiden’s light. Others tell that she lays down her staff and turns to stone, sleeping until the wheel turns once more.
And so the dance continues - the flame and the frost, the maiden and the crone,
each one a face of the same eternal mother. Together they weave the rhythm of creation:
life, death, and renewal - the breath of the Earth herself.

When Brighid lays down her fire,
the Cailleach takes up her staff of storms.
One tends the seed of life,
the other guards its dream.
Between them, the great wheel turns.

The Morrígan goddess of fate, battle, and transformation, who flies over the land in the form of a raven, watching as the old cycle gives way to the new, is also deeply connected to Samhain, she moves through the thinning veils as guardian of the dead and the battlefield, presiding over the turning of life into death. She is the raven on the edge of the field, the shape-shifting crow who calls souls home and offers prophetic vision.
At Samhain, when the year dies and the ancestors stir, the Morrígan teaches us to meet endings with fierce grace, to let the old self die so that the soul may rise renewed.
She is sovereignty itself: the power to stand in one’s truth amidst the dark. In the mythic cycles, the Dagda meets the Morrígan on Samhain’s eve, their sacred union ensuring the fertility and balance of the land through the coming winter.

“I am she who washes the blood of the old year from the land.
In my cauldron, decay becomes renewal.”

Samhain invites us to:

• Honour death as sacred, a natural part of the spiral of existence.
• Release what has completed its purpose, allowing space for renewal.
• Connect with the ancestors and unseen allies, seeking their wisdom.
• Listen in the quiet, to the earth, to dreams, to intuition, as the dark season begins.

Samhain is not merely a night of ghosts and shadows, it is a holy threshold, a descent into the fertile darkness of the soul.
It teaches us that all endings are beginnings, and that in surrendering to the dark, we are carried once more toward the light.

Samhain Ritual - Descent into the Dark, Communion with the Light

Honouring the ancestors, releasing the old cycle, and surrendering to the fertile dark.

Night of October 31st or within the three nights surrounding the dark moon nearest Samhain.

Prepare a quiet space indoors or outdoors.
Create a simple altar with:

• A black candle for the ancestors
• A white or gold candle for rebirth and light’s return
• A bowl of water (the well of memory)
• A small dish of soil or salt (the bones of the earth)
• Seasonal offerings: apples, hazelnuts, grains, herbs, or honey
• Photos or symbols of your ancestors, guides, or beloved dead

1. Opening and Grounding
Sit or stand before your altar.
Take a deep breath and feel your feet upon the earth.
Imagine roots descending into the dark soil, anchoring you in the womb of the Mother.
Say aloud or whisper:

“I root into the dark earth.
I breathe with the turning of the year.
The veil thins - I am between worlds,
present in body, open in soul.”

Feel the breath move through you - an ebb and flow between the seen and unseen.

2. Lighting the Fire
Light the black candle first, naming what you are ready to release - habits, stories, fears, or patterns that belong to the old year.
Let each exhale carry something away.
When you feel empty, light the white or gold candle, and whisper:

“As I release, I make space for renewal.
May light be reborn within me as wisdom.
May the flame of Awen burn bright through the dark.”

Visualise the two flames - dark and light - weaving together in your heart, the eternal dance of death and rebirth.

3. The Descent - Somatic Journey
Close your eyes and bring your awareness to your belly.
Imagine descending a spiral staircase deep into the earth - the Cailleach’s cave, the womb of the world.
With each breath, soften deeper into your body - your heartbeat echoes like the drum of the Mother.
Here in the darkness, ask:

“What must die so that I may live more fully?”

Notice sensations, images, or emotions that rise, allow them to move through you, as you might shed an old skin.
You may sway, hum, or whisper - let the body express release.

4. Honouring the Ancestors
Dip your fingers into the bowl of water - the well of memory - and sprinkle a few drops onto the earth or the altar.
Say:

“Beloved ancestors, kindred of spirit and blood,
I honour your journey and your wisdom.
Walk with me through this turning of time.
Guide me in the ways of courage, compassion, and truth.”

If you wish, name specific ancestors or teachers.
Leave offerings of food, drink, or herbs, inviting their presence.

5. Divination or Reflection
You may now gaze into the water bowl or the candle flame.
Ask a question for the dark half of the year:

“What wisdom seeks to be born from what I release?”

Notice shapes, thoughts, or feelings that arise. Trust what you sense.
If you prefer journaling, write whatever flows - even fragments hold meaning.

6. Closing and Integration
Thank the ancestors, the spirits, and the land.
Touch your heart and whisper:

“As the wheel turns, I turn with it.
As the year dies, I am reborn.”

Extinguish the candles, leaving a small offering outside - a piece of bread, honey, or fruit - for the unseen ones.
Finally, ground yourself - press your hands to the earth or your lower belly, feeling the warmth of your own body as the hearth-fire of life.

After the Ritual - Somatic Integration
The next morning, take a slow walk in nature.
Notice how the land rests - seeds buried, leaves decaying - and sense how your inner world mirrors this sacred pause.
You might place your hands on your heart and say:

“I honour the dark. I honour the light.
I am the bridge between worlds.”

Somatic Practice for Samhain: Descent into the Body

Releasing through the body, returning to the womb of the earth.

1. Preparing the Space
Find a quiet, dimly lit space.
If possible, sit upon the earth, or create an altar near you - with a candle, a bowl of water, and something that connects you to your ancestors (a photo, stone, or leaf).
Let the air be still. Let your breath be your first offering.

2. Breath of Descent
Close your eyes.
Begin to breathe in through the nose and exhale through the mouth with a soft sigh.
Let each exhale lengthen, descending you into your body.
With every breath, whisper inwardly:
“Down… down… into the roots of me.”
Sense your spine lengthen and soften.
Imagine your tailbone sinking deep into the soil, your breath flowing downward into the earth.
This is the descent into the cauldron - the place of stillness, the fertile dark where transformation begins.

3. The Womb of the Earth - The Somatic Release
Place one hand on your belly and one on your heart.
Begin to sway slowly, as though rocked by unseen waters.
Let the movement be organic - a remembering.
Ask your body silently:
“What am I ready to lay down?”
Perhaps a story, a pattern, a tension, an expectation.
As you breathe, imagine these old layers melting - dripping from your skin into the soil beneath you.
Let your exhales become sounds if they wish - sighs, hums, tones - allowing the voice to help empty what words cannot.
This is Ceridwen’s cauldron within you, where dissolution births wisdom.
The shaking, sighing, or stillness that follows is all sacred.

4. Rest in the Still Point
Pause.
Let yourself fall into stillness, heavy and supported.
Imagine you are the seed resting beneath the earth - cradled by darkness, not yet knowing what will come.
This is not emptiness, but gestation - the sacred pause before the next cycle begins.
Whisper softly:
“I am held in the womb of the Mother.
The darkness is my teacher.”
Stay here for several minutes, letting your breath slow until it feels like a tide - steady, eternal.

5. Reawakening - Breath of Return
When you feel ready, begin to deepen your breath.
Gently move your fingers and toes.
Draw your awareness back from the earth into your body - the living bridge between worlds.
Touch your heart and say:
“What I have released returns to the soil.
What I have learned becomes my light.”
Slowly open your eyes.
Let your gaze land on the candle or something beautiful nearby.
Notice the quiet clarity that lingers - a light reborn from within.

Integration Practice
Afterward, write or draw what you felt or saw during the descent.
You may also bury a small offering - a leaf, hair, or written word - symbolising what you’ve released to the earth.
End with a gentle walk outdoors, noticing the rhythm of death and renewal mirrored all around you.

Journaling Prompts

1. Honouring the Past:
   • Who or what in your life deserves remembrance this year?
   • What lessons from the past season do you carry with you into the dark half of the year?

1. Releasing & Letting Go:

1. • What habits, beliefs, or relationships no longer serve your growth?
   • What do you need to release in order to make space for renewal?

1. Connecting with Ancestors:

1. • Which ancestors, guides, or spiritual teachers would you like to commune with tonight?
   • What messages or wisdom might they offer you in this season of thinning veils?

1. Exploring Inner Shadows:

1. • What aspects of yourself have been hidden or neglected?
   • How can you honour these “shadow” parts without fear or judgment?

1. Vision for Renewal:

1. • What seeds do you wish to plant in the darkness of winter?
   • How can the stillness of this season support your growth and transformation?

1. Ritual & Symbol:

1. • If you were to light a candle in honour of endings and beginnings, what intention would you set?
   • Which element - fire, water, earth, or air - calls to you as a guide through this liminal time?

“I honour the cycles of life and death within me. I release what no longer serves, I embrace the wisdom of my ancestors, and I hold space for transformation. In darkness, I find clarity; in endings, I find the seeds of new beginnings.”