Everyone is dressed in black. It is not a rule, but personal choice, though we all seem to have silently agreed: black will be the color of Samhain. Gowns drape and float, cloaks heavy hang, transparent fabrics blur reality’s edges. These symbols meaningless within themselves – just a color, just a dress, just an ordinary November Eve. What matters here is that we make the meaning. Better if we all agree. Best if agreed upon in silence.

Every face is a stranger’s and I find it notable how those of my religion don’t overextend themselves to meet me. Perhaps they have a diversion to mundane small talk, relying on the circle we are standing in now, every one of us holding hands and wearing black, to reveal everything we need to know about one another.

Circles, as shapes, equalize.

A woman of power stands inside this polar circle. She recites passionate poetry that on this side of the mirror, lull the mind into trance. On the Otherside, arouse chaos into form. There are photographs of the deceased on the altar and tonite we give each other permission to become fuller humans by confronting Death itself. What unites us is that we all have stood at this crossroad, or are preparing to by supporting those who have.

The birth of a child, the female’s first blood, a couple’s union, the death of a family member.... Ritual builds community by publicly acknowledging life’s milestones. It fosters healthy psyche by providing a space to safely express fears and dreams. And by using life’s milestones as a way to mark our interconnection within The Family, ritual creates a cast of Elders who are respected for their journey rather than a collection of elderly, overlooked and undervalued.

In Minneapolis I was blessed to celebrate life’s most feared milestone, the darkening of the year, the fear of the unknown, the reality of Death, in a circle of equal individuals. I walked in a stranger and left feeling I was an integral part of life’s cycle.

I am completely insignificant, yet without me, it would never be the same.

And if I have learned anything from this year's Otherworld ritual (besides community, health and respect), it is that through Death, there truly is no meaning – no answers, no point, no purpose. Not on this side of the mirror anyway. And if it is I who manifests the importance (perhaps existence) of everything I see, if it is I who breathes life into our Gods, poetry into our spirituality, histories into our race and hope into our love songs, then I sure as heck am not going to sit around hosting thought forms, habits and relationships that don’t serve me.

It is a blank canvas and we are all filling it with brush strokes. Why not choose the colors?

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