Spirits.
The Earth churns. Our minds burn, inflamed by the drivel of our own making. So modern, indeed. We bedevil one another across a structured virtual landscape as if our words have no consequence but for the soothing of our grand selves.
How misguided we are.
Is it possible, on this one night — to remember how small we are? The dark that folds upon us is just the beginning, for on this night the veil between worlds is uncannily thin. Echoes of far-flung worlds and times grow louder and more stringent. The sky above reminds that we have wasted so much time. It would be easy to succumb to terror were it not for a strange dose of reverence that coats us like invisible drizzle.
Some of us will still succumb. Sadly.
But let that not break us. Let us reach out with our hope, our intent, our grief. Such flawed collections of molecules as we are, let us rejoice. Let the chaotic mysteries of this night shake us to our core and settle us anew, that we may live. And live well.
Halloween and Samhain, Eve of the Dead — for us.