branches up, roots down

Today is officially Samhain, but who can tell the difference! The veil has been sliver thin all week. Heck, for way more than a week! Last week the Chronicle photographer came over to photograph my house for the usual little article on real Witches and Halloween. I knew the dead were really here when my sister from Santa Cruz "just happpened" (like there's such a thing as coincidence!) to drop by. She ended up holding the martini glass that goes on the altar for my father. We laughed heartily, agreeing he really wanted to get his picture in the paper this year. And, usually the martini goes on Samhain night. This year, he wanted that drink ahead of time. Who can blame him! The little article turned out to be a BIG article , with plenty of my dead being clearly featured. The martini got plenty of play as well. Good magic, as my plea this year was that they put their shoulder to the wheel of positive change. My father was a Republican who wrote JFK and apologized for vo...

I can't seem to write much this time of year. Maybe it's the overwhelming cacophony of words, opinions and predictions that are filling the air. Who needs even more? Maybe it's been a time to focus in a different way. I've been making art and getting lettuce seeds sprouting. Maybe it's been a time to focus too on my son and hearth and home. There's been long talks and a new ease between us. In any case, I'll let pictures be the bulk of my words. My friend Jeremy was beginning to actively die at this time last year. This was the moment we all began to face that he was crossing over. I was painfully aware last October that this year I would be writing his name in frosting on a sugar skull. This week I am finishing up on the spirit bottle I have been making him. It has on it a slew of beads, baubles, shells and stones that his family and friends dedicated to him. On it too are the buttons his mother wore constantly up until his death. What is remembered live...

Today is Samhain, or Halloween, as it’s called by everyone else but us witches. The veil is thin, and it is time to deal with the dead. That means honoring them, working on healing any old relational wounds we still have with them, and asking them for help. As my beloved said to me this week, “Being a witch is a lot of work”. I’m particularly feeling that today. For the past few weeks I’ve been creating sugar skulls and for the past few days I’ve been creating tall votive candles with pictures of ancestors of spirit on them, all those who are our/my allies on the other side. There are a lot of them, and the binder keeps expanding in which I keep copies of all the photos and pictures I have collected. Google images is an incredible resource! As I’ve made both skulls and candles, I’ve felt the spirits come closer, and not an hour goes by when a new name or face doesn’t emerge from the memory bank. We witches say, “What is remembered lives”, and this week, I am remembering bac...

As a child and teenager, death was part of a collective dream. It wasn’t up close and personal, but played on the screen of the black and white television and came in over the radio. I remember my second grade teacher tearfully telling us the president was dead and then watching Oswald being shot live/dead on the screen in my family’s living room. Many more of these kinds of deaths would follow, and nightly the news brought us images of the carnage of a distant war. Church bombings, casualties of war and assassinations of heroes were the backdrop of a childhood devoid of family funerals. Up until my twenties, I don’t think there was one funeral I attended. My twenties seemed consumed by them. In my twenties, death came like an icepick. It hit hard and fast and it hurt. Bad. When I went off to college one of my new friends was raped and murdered. Before I was twenty three I would lose my father, my cousin who was also my best friend, and my grandmother. Death came quick b...