Glimmer-Realms and Echoes

Halloween, or rather All Hallows Eve is the gateway into the other side. The place we cannot go until it’s our time to pass, and then can never return––except by shadow-visit or brief haunting glimpse. That chill whisper down a windy tunnel as you wait for a night train. The white shape floating at the edge of your vision. Hints and hunches. The cold warning tingle running down your back. All are echoes and glimmers of that other place that waits outside of time.

Every culture has its Halloween. Where there is death there has to be questions. Hope. Belief that something waits, hovers close outside the comfy confines of our noisy waking day. The ancient Celts revered this time of year––the ending where all things fade, much as fallen leaves dry to crusty brown and then crackle at first frost, vanishing, mulched to powder under the firm tread of heavy boots, lost but not forgotten. For nothing is ever forgotten.

The Washer Woman At The Ford By Roger Garland

Samhain was/is one of the four great festivals of the Celtic year. It’s joyful sister Beltane heralds the return of life, light, and the promise of a new beginning. The wheel turns. Samhain is closure, reflection––time to ease back, gaze down at that shadowy water, or else accept the aging face gazing back at us in the mirror of our waning years. A time to remember those who have passed, their church candles flickering, sweet memories and echoes lost to time’s relentless questing toll, but recalled also in every child’s laugh, or the storm surge of ocean, or a warm welcome breeze through creak-swaying trees. A feeling, Deja Vu? Maybe just a tingle. But something … Hinting that we are not alone. The owl’s soft silent flight beneath silvery moon. Those cold unblinking eyes – they miss nothing.

Samhain runs for three days and nights––modern day Halloween is but the start. The Feast of the Dead, when the spirits walk free – ranges through early November. It’s at this time that the World-Fabric frays spindle-thin, a frail veneer shedding brief light (or shade) on that other place.

The Wanderer By Roger Garland

Of course- these days we think of Halloween as Trick or Treat, and daft spooky costumes. A laugh, fun for kids (and some grown ups.) A shallow reflection of what lies so close to who we are. A glib, shoddy sham. Not that that’s entirely a bad thing––Halloween should be fun. There is not enough laughter in this life. But sometimes it’s good for the soul to look beyond and beneath, pry, ask why – or else dare venture behind that lying mirror. What’s past the murky corner in the creepy wood? The one you’re strolling through, as light fades fast on a winter’s afternoon. What lies beyond … ? Go on, go see!

The Horned Man By Roger Garland

For me this time of year is especially poignant. With that in mind I like to share my Cornish Ghost story––The Haven for any who should wish to read. It’s creepy, spooky, but has nuanced layers that will get you, dear reader, thinking. Wondering on the nature of who and what we are. Dare you delve deeper? If so – you can get your free copy here

This short reflective post is dedicated to those we have all lost. Loved ones and dear friends – those warm bright souls who wait for us beyond the doors framing our edge of time. Nothing is ever forgotten …

I’ll be back next month with some more quirky Corin action and witty vulgar fantasy shenanigans. (What I do best 🙂  Until then––enjoy your Halloween! Heed not those nightly noises. But if you do by chance read The Haven. Keep the light on ffs – else She finds you helpless in the dark…

JWW October 31st 2019

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