I spent Samhain in an old graveyard (and was perfectly happy).

The sun was bright and warm at 8:30a on Samhain and I could see it was going to be a beautiful day. So, when I happened upon this old graveyard on one of my adventure-walkabouts, I was quite pleased. What better place to truly get in touch with Spirit?

I love really old graveyards, the ones that are set high on a hill overlooking a town, where the gravestones reflect the lives of people who lived in the 17 and 1800s. To me, they are not creepy places at all, they do not scare me -- if anything, they make me feel quite serene and more than a little mystical. I love the fact that the Old cemeteries are not manicured, and there are these amazing old oaks, cedars, pines, and maples acting as wise old sentinels, protectors of the spirits of our loved ones who have passed on, through the veil, to the next adventure.

 At the moment, I've clearly stumbled into the old Irish/Scottish section of the graveyard, aptly clustered under the protection of a grand old druid oak, so I sit down among "my people" and commune with my dearly departed Father.

 I love that the leaves and sticks and gnarled old roots are raw and real, and there must be a hundred types of birdsong serenading me.The cardinal is obviously checking me out, as is the blue jay, and I feel that they are singing directly to me. And I do consider them my brethren, thinking of all the times I tented alone in the woods with the sounds of geese, loons, and ducks soothing me with their chatter, letting me know that I was not alone in the world, not by a long-shot. 

 The ground is patchy and scratchy, and nothing is in perfectly straight lines, its all random and wild and allowed to be free and natural. As I walk up the hill, there are several hawks gliding. I wish I could fly and glide and soar like them ... like my father in the air force in WW II. I haven't seen my father since I was eleven. He agreed to give me up for adoption and died just after I was adopted. He was the one person my heart was fully "home" in ... and I feel him here in this place, in a very deep space. I miss him beyond my ability to convey, with the grief of a small child ... but it's because of this loss that I've had to learn to "let go" and move forward no matter how great the loss or how deep the pain. I've wandered all over this country in search of a connection that (I hope with all my heart) will be as deep and as true. I love these wild old graveyards at the edge of the woods ... they make me feel like Huck Finn on a great adventure: the smell and crackle of dead, dry leaves; the scent of balsam, long grasses, and wood-burning stoves bring me to the center of my being, to my heart of hearts, to the place where I am one with everything and everyone, living simultaneously in this world and in others.