I’m writing this in the freezing dark of early morning, sitting in my chair by the window, wrapped in a blanket. A cup of tea. An open notebook. The moon is out, splashed bright across my knees though waning. No birdsong, no breeze, just cold stillness, the starry dark is lantern-lit with Luna’s bright white. Everything is breathless waiting for the sun. This is when the land speaks to me most clearly, when the Goddess moves in closer and says Listen…
And this is what she showed me.
Samhain season is here. Summer’s end. It’s a weird one, though; despite the first fall of light snow yesterday morning, the leaves are still on the trees, some yellow, some rusty, but the hazel leaves are still very green. So strange. There is a reluctance to let go, to drop into the dark, to see the bare bones stripped of their finery. And I am the land and the land is me. Am I reluctant to drop into the dark?
Possibly. It’s been a hard year, with enough darkness. I’ve learned a lot. As a witch, I’ve come to recognised these cycles of learning, these hard roads travelled beneath the grindstone that leave you with a glass-like clarity, full of revelation and reassured by your resilience. But the dark of Samhain contains no grindstone, this should be an easier letting go.
I see myself standing amongst the fallen leaves, every colour, every shape. I pick up a leaf – Oak for courage. I write my fears upon it, the things I am ready to release. One leaf, two leaves, as many leaves as I need. Each tree means something different to me, something different to you. Go with your own correspondences.
Walk in meditation amongst the leaves. What do I need to let go to move forward? What little deaths do I still cling to? If you don’t recognise the species, be easy on yourself, pick the leaf that calls to you and write upon it the thing you wish to let go. Gather a pocketful, a basketful, and wheelbarrowful. As many as you need; feel utterly blessed in this abundance. The Goddess is here and magic is afoot.
Now do the witch stuff. I collect my leaves together and sit with them, visualizing the things I wish to let go, until every leaf becomes potent, full of meaning. This can be at your altar or beneath your favourite tree. You can even dowse for a favourable spot, or simply feel it; some places of power (and they can be as close as the end of your garden) are perfect for this kind of work. I often aid this visualization by using the Death card from the Wildwood Tarot – the image of Raven cleaning the bones of what is gone seems pretty perfect – but you could use a rune or an oracle card, whatever resonates. I find seeing this image on the leaves clarifies the message.
Get a container – a small lidded bucket, or use your compost heap (or make one) and cut those leaves into strips, adding them to the heap/bucket with a good double handful of garden soil. Keep adding to this compost all winter. Add veg peelings, herbal left overs, biodegradable witchy things, all chopped up small. Basically, anything that will rot and not attract rats. There are a lot of compost making resources online.
For those witches with restricted access to the land, you can use strips of paper, or even leaf shaped paper, and bury your leaves in the soil of a house plant.
Give this compost some attention. Be conscious of the work that is being done; the transmutation of your fallen leaves, those things that no longer serve you, into a magical, fertile substance. Stir or shake it at the changing of the moon (unless your heap is large), whisper to it what you wish it to achieve, call on a goddess of transformations to add her power to the process. Let those things you wish to be rid of rot away, be changed utterly.
And as the land sinks down into its roots, feel yourself sink down also. Where are your roots? Who are you once the finery is stripped away? Who will you be once those things that needed to be released have rotted away?
Samhain season is the time I sink into my roots and ask the hard questions. The time when I have to be the witch I think I am, because these journeys inside can be hard. I’ve been doing this for a long time, so start gently, be kind to yourself. Use your cards and oracles, call on a guide to help you, ask for a plant helper, an animal guide, an ancestor, your great grandma-in-spirit. Sit in the dark and allow the magic in.
When the light returns, the land starts to warm and the land energies rise once more, your witch compost will be rotting nicely. By May Day/ Beltane all the things that were weighing you down or holding you back should be transformed into a nutrient rich, magic infused, highly charged substance that will help you grow the things you need for next year. But that’s a post for spring.
Remember - you don’t have to carry around the bullshit that has been forced on you – let it rot. Let the dark of Samhain work its magic.
