Standing On The Edge

Usually at this time of year I write a post about hearing and feeling the Veil opening...well, not this year. The Veil has been open since Spring, and there was no gentle thrumming or humming. The sound was more like the renting of fabric as thousands crossed in a long line, their faces worn, bodies exhausted by the long battle with COVID-19. Mothers, fathers, grandparents, children...and so many healthcare workers. Every loved one reduced to a haggard shade of humanity.

How could this have happened? Human nature made us desperately search for something or someone to blame.  Thousands dying of a modern Plague, alone, unable to say goodbye through their drug-induced coma, many before their time, their loved one terrified to touch or kiss them in their final moments, a nurse or doctor providing solace.

Through the earlier part of this year we've been weighed down not only by helplessness and grief, but anger. A pall of negativity spread over communities thrown into week after week of mourning. Those of us fearful of the possibility of bring this Plague into our home follow the guideline of common sense: wash your hands, wear a face covering, only go out when necessary, otherwise stay at home. Every little cough or sneeze being suspect, we panic and brace for the worst.

Our world has been thrown off kilter to tilt toward a dark unknown. We gnash our teeth when our favorite coffee spot is closed, when we have to keep six feet or more apart, when our routine is interrupted by uncertain governmental warnings, by ridiculous, irrational  political theater, by armchair Facebook experts and the loss of normalcy.

In the blink of an eye and less time it takes to catch our breath, our comfortable routine, our normalcy, is gone. Gone. If anything like normal ever returns, it will be a new "normal". And it will take some getting used to.

Meanwhile, our metaphysical communities, occult practitioners, seers, sages, psychics, healers, light workers are all thrown into a type of vertigo. The Unknown, the Mysterious, whatever and from wherever we draw our power, is fuzzy and scattered. It takes every ounce of strength and focus we have to work our craft. But we persevere.

We're learning new ways to virtually gather online because it's important to keep in touch. We hunger for a word of encouragement and kindness from those familiar to us...even if it is on Zoom.

The single constant we have is the natural world. Despite our planet having it's own share of affliction heaped upon it by selfish mortals, we are still welcomed to walk or meditate in the outdoors, to fill our lungs and ourselves with sun and air. The Earth, our Mother, no matter how we abuse her, still loves us.
Bare feet on naked soil still grounds us, and we are invigorated. Watching deer and birds in the wild during these autumnal days reminds us that we are not alone. We share this world with others who keep the spark of life inside. Even more, we are, as the futuristic thinker Buckminister Fuller said,                 " Passengers  of  Spaceship Earth". All of us are on a journey. That's hard to remember when surrounded by so much gloom and doom. It's hard to be an enthusiastic traveler in these times.

Those of us engaged in Earth-centered spirituality see Death and dying differently. Our worldview is that of Death as transition, a natural part of the cycle of Life. Death is not in and of itself an ending, but linked to regeneration and rebirth. If Life is truly a loop ( and we have seen proof it is) then it is much easier to accept Death, painful as the separation may be, as temporary.

The Wheel of Life and the Wheel of the Year turn in a parallel unity. As we loose friends, family and loved ones to this modern Plague, it is wise to remember that they pass from this life into the Realm of the Ancestors. Our Ancestors are always with us, but especially at this time of year. A practice I've adopted is a ritual to let those who die suddenly go with love, with their memory keep in my heart. Letting go is a gift...yes, I said gift. Their existence in my life, sharing our humanity together, even if that relationship is difficult, gives me a new understanding and expression of who I am. But enough waxing poetic for now.

We welcome the Ancestors, new and old, everyday, but especially as we approach Samhain, the Final Harvest. We stand on the edge of the place of passage, where the Veil opens, and welcome those who have crossed with love and compassion. Each of us have our own personal rituals and ceremonies. I'd like to hear about them if you're willing to share.