The veil is thinning,
and I hear your call.
You always speak loudest in the fall.
The rustling of the browning leaves
is an echoing chorus;
The cooling heat of the sun,
the touch of many hands
Of the ones that came before me,
And the spirits of the land.
The veil is thinning
And we hear your call.
The ancestors have not left us at all.
The start of the day found the temperature just shy of chilly, with an overcast sky, and a draping fog over the land…but North Carolina is fickle about her weather and the day will no doubt clear, with a warm rush of sunlight, and the scurrying of small animals and birds in the trees and brush.
Today is my 35th birthday and I find that the ancestors are on my mind.
The reasons for this abound, but none have to do with getting older. Getting older for me is just what it is. We are born, we grow up, we get older, and then when our time has come, we join the ancestors on the other side.
When I was a child – even a child as young as seven or eight – I felt the ancestors at this time of the year. When I wandered around our large backyard, or played in the field around our home, the whispering leaves and the quiet anticipation that the whole world seem to be filled with filled me up at well. I would often think of colonial times – when there were supposed to be witches and spirits and headless horsemen in the world. I would think of the Native Americans, the first peoples of this land, who were one with it and who were driven off of the land. Whose spirits I imagined I could still feel in the chilly autumn air.
Perhaps I was a sensitive child. Perhaps I had a good imagination. And perhaps I watched too much television.
Regardless, the fall and its main holiday – Halloween to most, and Samhain to a few – captured me and held me tightly until the Christmas seasone swept away the more quiet, magical feelings I held inside with anticipation for rich food, presents, and Santa Claus.
But even then, the feelings that the ancestors were there on the outskirts watching and whispering never truly left. I could feel their presence in the celebration of Thanksgiving, and I would wonder about the Native Americans and why I’d never met any. I could feel the ancestors’ presence in the songs about the virgin birth of Jesus, the Christmas tree, or about decking the halls.
The silent, holy nights. The angels appearing to shepherds in the field. The evergreen boughs of the tree and the decking of halls. The singing of yuletide carols.
Even before I knew the histories of some of our most prominent fall and winter holidays, the hints were there. The voices muted, the language changed, but the presence of those who came before were still there. And still are.
The fact that I’m harping (can I harp? I didn’t know it was a verb) on thoughts of the dead and deceased on my birthday might frighten some, make others nervous, and still others question my state of mind, but I assure you…I’m quite all right.
In truth, thoughts of the ancestors comfort me in these shorter, colder days of the year. Their voices soothe me in the darkness before bed.
I sit in the yard, listening to the wind in the trees, the scurrying animals, feel the faint warmth of the sun, and know that they are there with me. Thoughts of the long-gone and dearly departed do not depress me but move my spirit to peace.
I tell them that my soul remembers them, even if their faces or their names are lost to me. I tell them they are not forgotten. They live on in this world because we, their descendants, live on in this world. We struggle and love and work, just as they struggled and loved and worked.
I may have said it before, but the fall time is my favorite time of the year…because it is a quiet, reflective, magical time – when the veil is thinning, and our hearts can entwine more fully with those who have gone before us.