It’s almost Beltane. It’s almost Halloween. It’s always time for ancestors.
As I wrote last month in Darkness and the spring equinox, I’ve given up on trying to create boundaries when it comes to holidays. Some local Pagans say it’s not Halloween, but it is, just like Christmas in summer, and what they mean is that it’s not Samhain. It is spring, and many will be celebrating Beltane.
I can do it all. I take no more issue celebrating Halloween and Samhain by association than I do with Christmas at the height of summer. I’m not alone. Every year, more and more Australians celebrate Halloween and the Day of the Dead. It’s always a good time for a celebration.
I can’t explain it. Old habits die hard. Maybe my inside clock is still Nothern Hemisphere-ish. I’ve been in this incarnation for 39 years, only six in Australia, and my ancestors have always been in the Northern Hemisphere. Six years in Australia isn’t going to undo hundreds of years of genetic memory.
I honour my ancestors all year long and get louder at this time of year. They act up twice a year: at Samhain in the autumn and Halloween in the spring, and it’s a good deal for them. For years, I’ve devoted these months to genealogy. Ancestor work is circular. The more you give, the more you receive.
People sometimes tell me they don’t know how to begin honouring their ancestors because they don’t know anything about them. Your ancestors know you, and you carry them in your blood. Invite them to come in, and they will. It may not be a short visit, though. They might stay a while (like forever). They’ll want drinks, dinner, a cigar, music, and perhaps some of your stuff, like that lovely perfume you recently purchased. You know how the family is.
That’s the great thing about ancestors. They are family. You are in this world because of them, and you are their legacy. They know all about your troubles because they have been there.
My ancestors were indigenous people who fished, hunted, were highly skilled in agriculture, and worshipped Yúcahu, the god of cassava, and Atabey, the goddess of the moon, fresh waters, and fertility. They built their homes, worked their land, played ball games, loved their children, and revolted against their oppressors.
My ancestors were Spaniards who sailed across the oceans. In the name of the King of Spain and for God, they conquered and spread disease and enslaved. They destroyed one world, built another, loved their children, and revolted against their oppressors.
My ancestors were people stolen from their ancestral homes in West Africa and enslaved. They worked, died, freed themselves, and preserved their cultures as best they could. And they loved their children and subverted their oppressors.
My ancestors were Cuban. They were farmers, teachers, healers, fighters, caretakers, revolutionaries and dissidents, exiles and hustlers. They loved their children and fought their oppressors.
They all knew hunger, illness, fear, and loss. We all know these too. They all knew love and joy and hope, as we do. When I look at the moon, I look at the same moon they did. When I look across the ocean, I feel the same longing they did. When I eat yuca and yellow rice, I eat the same food they did. When I dance, I dance to their rhythms.
It’s Beltane. My body and heart are warmed. The trees blossom, and watching a bird build a nest is a joy. It’s Halloween, and I buy lollies for trick-or-treaters. It’s not Samhain, but I honour my ancestors anyway.
