SisterSpirit's Women's Samhain Oct, 30th, 2005 at We'Moon land

© Frodo Okulam 2005

The night before Samhain, we travel upriver, over hill, up on Wy'East's southeast flank to We'Moon land. This forest and meadow has been women's land for over 30 years. Deep peace covers the autumn forests, and the crickets still sing in the thickets near the herb garden. When we arrive Musawa greets us, and we head for the sauna's warm mother-womb.

We emerge from the sauna quieter, having shed the city's anxieties. Many women are already gathering in the new round building, the big yurt that women have built here as community space. Oma, they call the building: O for the round skylight at the top, two stories high, and ma for the Mother.

A vegetarian feast is appearing on the sideboard: four kinds of soup, three kinds of cornbread, dishes from different cultures giving forth savory scents. We drink herbal tea and cider, and learn one another's names as we mesh two communities: We'Moon and SisterSpirit. There are 28 women present, more or less as we come and go on the land, and one dog. An altar already awaits, with first fruits from this land and the beautiful African Goddess of abundance, Aqaba, and pictures of our ancestors.

Amid the community feasting, I read a post from Starhawk, as she talks of all those who have passed this year, so many, in "natural" disasters made worse by our environmental destruction and in wars. She says grief is healing, if we can really allow the grief to surface and move us into transformation. As grief gives strength to Cindy Sheehan in her mother's vigil at the White House, so may it give us all strength to stand up and do whatever we can to stop the madness sapping so much that is good in the world.

As we feast, Jamie collects bottles of all sizes and colors to tie outside on the Bottle Tree. The Bottle Tree is an old African American custom akin to the Dream Catcher of Native American tradition: any negative spirits are attracted to the bottles and trapped inside, away from the circle. We silently write the energies we want to be rid of on papers to put under black candles, and later to burn away in the cleansing bonfire.

We are coloring skeletons with messages to our ancestors: those we would like to invite to our circle tonight. My skeleton represents my ancestor Barbara Napier, a foremother of my mother's, who was burned as a witch in Scotland. I am asking her for courage in the times ahead. I write "Cour" and draw a heart around it: the word means "heart" in French, the language of other ancestors. I write "age" and draw winds, wafting me into the age just before Cronehood, wafting us all into the next age of the earth.

As we begin our circle, the women of We'Moon Land come among us, smudging and cleansing us, welcoming us to this land. Jamie invokes the spirit of Mallie, a SisterSpirit crone from New Orleans who passed last December, foretelling dire times ahead. We sing the song Breaths by Ysaye Barnwell: "Listen more often to things than to beings… 'Tis the ancestors' breath when the fire's voice is heard. 'Tis the ancestors' breath in the voice of the water." The circle begins to breathe together, the ancestors begin to gather close.

We'Moon women and SisterSpirit women invoke the four directions, with the swamp animals of New Orleans preparing us for our spirit-journey. Jamie invokes Yemaya Olokun, she who revitalizes those who have passed with creative inspiration.

Then we anchor ourselves here to We'Moon land and venture out in spirit, east and south to the swamps of Louisiana, to the mists of the between place, where many spirits hover near, unwilling to leave their people. A grandmother spirit mourns for her grandchild and searches for her daughter. She tied the baby to a lamppost to keep her from being swept away. The women in the circle begin to wail. An ancestor visits but cannot speak, unable to voice the pain. We mourn together. One woman is hearing all the animal spirits, companion animals who died in fear and confusion in attics full of rising water, in hunger and in pain. We reassure them that we hear them, and that we care. We rage that people were forced to leave them behind as they fled to safety.

I am swimming on the back of a snake, a red and black swamp snake, who takes me to a boat that will guide my way. All around guides are appearing. We tell the mourning spirits that we will not forget. We will not let the music die. We will not let the destruction continue. We ask them to give us strength for the work we have ahead. Then we find our way back along the lifeline to the anchor here in the circle.

Rising, we file past the spirit water on the altar and gather our ancestor messages. We put on our shoes and wend our way to the outdoor fire circle, passing under the Bottle Tree. There are dried herbs standing tall in the center. They flare up eagerly as we light the bonfire, in spite of the misting rain that begins on this night at the edge of winter. We burn off the things we want to be rid of, covering the smoke with cedar, cleansing.

Then we send our ancestor messages, bright flames to celebrate their lives and inspire ours as we send them to the place of Inspiration. Many names are lifted up into the night, people we've known: Monica Sjöö and Raven and Mallie, grandfathers and grandmothers, cats and dogs. People who've inspired us: Marion Zimmer Bradley and André Norton and so many more.

Tasa says that during the meditation at one point she saw a bus come floating by, with a small, genteel black woman driving, calling out for all who need rides to get on board. "Rosa Parks!" we shout, invoking her name and spirit, reminding us that one person can make a difference, all the difference in the world. We remember Marsha of W.I.T.C.H., who chose to pass at Samhain one year when SisterSpirit celebrated here. Musawa tells her story: how the women interrupted the Stock Exchange, and the averages went down that day!

Filled with the bright flames of these women of courage, we snake back into the yurt, bringing our guests with us. "'Tis the ancestors' breath," we sing again, and move into dancing. Many voices rise in song. As we send, Lynnae arrives, resplendent in a butterfly cape she has just finished making. We aren't done yet: Musawa offers another song about how anyone could be a witch, and we wind up the spiral again, a little wilder, a little freer this time. Zia the dog, perfectly calm in the center, enjoys the spiraling energy with us. She is ecstatic when we all begin to howl! This time the sending lasts, and we see the energy spiral up from Oma's skylight out into the world. Jamie reminds us to ground, and we reconnect with this deep nurtured soil once again.

Donna speaks of the other communities of like-minded people, who also are attuned to the earth's energy at this time of returning. Tonight we feel their presence gathering and growing. We may have a chance yet to turn back the destruction. We are many, and we are strong. Those who have gone before empower us. The earth energy is with us.

The time comes to close the circle, to thank the ancestors and the Goddess and the energies of the directions. "When we are gone, they will remain, wind and rock, fire and rain." We know that will be true here, on this land that has been cared for by these loving women for 30 years. "They will remain, when we return, the wind will blow, and the fire will burn." We hope to return here when the wheel turns into Spring and Summer, celebrating the growing time.

Giveaways follow: food to those who want it, rocks from the We'Moon women to SisterSpirit sisters, tablecloths from my household to We'Moon. We'Moon Calendars to SisterSpirit women; Spirited Women newsletters to We'Moon women. We find our carpools and move out into the misty, rainy night, past the Bottle Tree glinting in the light of our flashlights, reminding us we are protected. Our last song is running in my head, preparing me for the return journey: "May Artemis protect you, and Hera provide for you. And the womansoul within you guide your way home." In these beautiful words Z. taught us years ago, we remember what unites us.

For all of us who shared this circle, for the plants and animals of this blessed land, for the ancestors we have remembered and the drifting spirits we mourned on their way, the time of returning has come. As I drive along the narrow winding road, mists drifting by, leaves blowing, I suddenly swerve. Jamie is startled, and says, "You would risk our lives for a worm?" "It wasn't a worm," I say, "it was a Salamander. A fire-elemental!" I hope I have saved its life, remembering the bright fire-orange flash as it lifts its splayed fingers in greeting, running out into the path of my oncoming lights.

May we all see what the Earth-spirits are saying to us, and may we swerve in time. Blessed be.

--Frodo Okulam