31 October 2025

Writers Circle Prompt: Halloween, et al, the dead

 

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Spiritual connections between the living and the dead

When asked what Halloween, All Saints Day, and Day of the Dead have in common, AI tells me this:

Halloween, All Saints Day, and Day of the Dead are all observances that occur around the same time of year (late October/early November) and are connected to traditions of honoring the dead, with roots in pre-Christian beliefs about spirits returning to Earth. While they are distinct holidays with different cultural meanings, their shared history lies in the transition of the seasons, the cycle of life and death, and the idea of spiritual connections between the living and the deceased. 

“The transition of the seasons, the cycle of life and death, and the idea of spiritual connections between the living and the deceased.”

We in Pennsylvania are at the time of year when autumn is anticipating its relationship with winter by bringing us cold nights, colorful leaves, and the end of life for many leaves, plants, and insects.  Some animals are feasting to prepare for lengthy hibernations, while others are storing food and sharpening the weapons they have for the hunt.  Birds have started their journeys to the south.  All of this is informed by the tilt of the earth so we are further from the sun with shorter days and longer nights. 

These events are signs of the cycle of life and death, while, in actuality, under the ground new life is preparing its return from roots, bulbs, seeds, and spores.  There is more of a continuance than there is death, a fact that lies behind the ideas of connections between the living and the dead.  At least in biology and botonny, there is a sense that interdependence between life and death is ongoing.  And where physical facts open the way, spirit follows. 

I’m trying to stay away from religious ideas of heaven, hell, and an afterlife or lack of one when describing the spiritual connection between the living and the dead.  I use the words “resonances” or “essences” as well as spirit to describe the land of the living and the land of the dead as neighborhoods entangled with each other.  All lives are entangled or contingent, containing resonances of others, echoing each other’s essence.  When I think of it that way, I’m surprised that more of us aren’t aware of the spirits of the dead in our normal lives.  Some especially deep memories of individuals may be seen as experiencing the spirit, but that isn’t enough to explain the connection between the living and the dead.

Many strands of pagan belief point to a time of the year when the boundary between life and death is thinnest so that even a small amount of effort allows essences of the dead to revisit.  Few stories exist of travel in the opposite direction.  In Celtic and Gaelic traditions, that time of year is the end of October and beginning of November, approximate halfway between the autumnal equinox (September 22) and the winter solstice (December 21), a point known as Samhain.   Samhain is the origin of Halloween, a time between the last of the harvest and the beginning of winter.

According to AI

Samhain rituals include building an ancestral altar with photos and offerings, lighting bonfires, and creating a special feast. Other rituals involve divination, wearing costumes to ward off spirits, and a "dumb supper" or silent meal to honor the dead. People also practice "releasing rituals," like burning a piece of paper with something they want to let go of. 

Halloween dress-up was originally the “wearing of costumes” to disguise the children from spirits and keep them safe.  Bonfires also helped to block spirits. The opposite of this is the Mexican Day of the Dead, where spirits are welcomed back to the family with feasting and gifts.  Christianity added All Soul’s day to honor Saints and changed the name of Samhain to All Hallow’s Eve. 

I believe I have been visited by the spirits of beloved deceased, not only human, and not only around Halloween.  My grandmother also spoke of one visit from the dead in particular, one that I immortalized in a poem:

The Life of Ghosts: a sonnet (original April 2014)
Grandmother held no opinions of death.
She had stories instead, and the best was
her driving on 9-W Highway  
from Albany to home when her eyes closed
And her deceased husband called Maria!
 
She heard My little Maria, wake, wake!
and she did.  She experienced real truths. 
I won’t be cremated, she insisted,
and you yourself should not!  The cremated
do. not. have. visiting. power.  She knew.
 
I have no doubt.  Hadn't she been once a
Queen of a Castle, charged with rule while King
was out?   Didn’t she know how to find wild
mushrooms that could beguile a hungry child?

 

[The other cross-quarter days are Imbolc (winter/spring), Beltane (spring/summer), and Lughnasadh or Lammas (summer/autumn).]


© 2025 Susan L. Chast
Writer's Circle Prompts.

Please respect my copyright.

28 September 2025

Writers circle prompt: Transformation: A new sleeplessness

 

Dreams (and gassiness) wake me at 2am and keep
me awake, my head spinning, its earth rhythms pulling
on the moon which pulls at the rivers of my body.  High
tide, low tide.  Blood flows in estuaries while head pings
Someone’s in my apartment! 
No one is here. 
The sofa bed is closed with black cat sleeping on its back
looking sweet—my good luck charm.  I bury my nose in her
softness and feel the first burp moving up my esophagus.  
There is also a river, one body length, mouth to anus with
the digestive track in between.  Standing helps the flow, and
so, I wait by the kettle for a cup of chamomile-lavender tea,
then head to my writing corner and its ever-present laptop.
The aroma of the tea surrounds me.  Together with the
early morning hours the aroma heightens the magic,
and so, I tell the truth—
dreams and gas—
the first I don’t remember, and the second is undeniable. 
Maybe the tea will help.
I was busy during the 3 hours of my sleeping, of that
I am sure.  Shuffling through the themes of my life,
splintered and unstable due to the evils of today
unravelling our democracy and allowing cruelness around
the world—even here. 
I stop.  Waiting.  And remember a movie—
Siege, a 1998 Denzel Washington film
in which the US Army’s 101st airborne division
enters NY City to put a stop to terrorism.  Its plot
foreshadowed 9/11, and resonates now.  It shows a few
Palestinians bombing buses and buildings,
while the troops apply torture to find the leader
and hold thousands of young Palestinian-Americans
in holding pens.  This cruelty is only ended when
Denzel (of the FBI) finds the leader of the terrorists and
ushers the military out of New York City.
Our US military accompanies ICE into cities
to deport illegal immigrants.  This is what keeps me busy at night—
running and hiding from unregulated violence
released on our own citizens.  Acts of violence pervade the news.
I feel I might get sick, but it’s only gas
working its way out of my system in short violent bursts. 
I’m ready to pass out from exhaustion.  I am safe, maybe,
but the world has changed too much for normal
sleep processes to calm the rivers flowing inside of me. 
I hear the echo of Macbeth’s voice crying Sleep no more
but fall into a deeper sleep until the 8:00am alarm
wakes me.  I wake thinking Macbeth brought
on his own tragedy.  So does the USA.


© 2025 Susan L. Chast
Writer's Circle Prompts.

Please respect my copyright.


31 August 2025

Writers Circle Prompt: Labor

 

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Find labor in collaboration, elaboration, and laboratory—that is work is the core of all four.  I found these words in AI, and later confirmed them in online dictionaries. 

Derived from French and Latin, the term “labor” implies "toil, exertion; hardship, pain, fatigue; a work, a product of labor."  Herculean effort is labor such as that of childbirth and other tasks beyond the ordinary daily chores and work tasks which may be laborious, but rely more on continuity than any one extreme effort.  To collaborate is to work together toward a goal, and to elaborate is to exert oneself on details.  I know I am belaboring the point that the core word “labor” is useful in ways that are true to itself. 

Labor Day in the USA is meant to celebrate labor as in laborers and groups of laborers such as found in Labor Unions.  I marched in Labor Day parades as a teacher and member of the AFT—the American Federation of Teachers through the PFT local 3.  I enjoyed the companionship, but resented union dues until I retired.  I knew how much the union mattered to working conditions and salary through negotiated contracts, but these were impersonal benefits.  When I retired and stopped paying union dues, I found that my personal benefits package included ongoing health benefits at a reduced cost as well as limited access to lawyers.  A union lawyer prepared my will, power of attorney, and living will.  I can update these documents every two years at no cost. 

Reflecting on Labor, Labor Day, and teaching brought me back to a poem I wrote during my first year at Simpson House:

(03 September 2024)

September Labor
 
As student and as teacher, I knew
Labor Day heralded the serious new year,
one based on the rhythm of semesters,
and surrounded by city streets, backpacks,
uniforms and rush hour dangers.
 
That rhythm sings to me even as I move
in green landscapes and feel their slower pace.
The gold, orange, red and brown that pop
in schools grow gradually into autumn
with chrysanthemums and maple trees. 
 
Warm days and cool nights invite walks and sleep;
thoughts settle in the hush of birdsong and
distant planes.  Who can miss crowded rooms and
lessons here?  My hands open a book, and
I think idly of holding one among students,
 
three or four of whom are curious
to discover the rough and holy
dimensions of words that unroll like flight
in our minds.  I leave the book open in my lap,
pick up a yellow leaf, twirl it, and
imagine its journey from seed to me.
 

 

© 2025 Susan L. Chast
Writer's Circle Prompts.

Please respect my copyright.


04 August 2025

Writer's Circle Prompt: Gathering: A gathering of friends


 

I was feeling the kind of weariness
that doesn’t rub or sleep off.
The kind that closes my eyes
in the middle of whatever I am doing
be it writing or listening or watching—
when my friend Paul called.  He and his wife,
toddler, and young son could stop by and visit
on their way back to Poland where they live.
 
I woke up in a flash to dash around my home
and pick up the things that were out of place
or harmful to young ones.  Half my weariness
vanished in anticipation, and all left with
their warm welcome and the cool winter air
when I opened the door.  We talked
around the quiet sweetness of the children
occupied with colored pencils and paper.
 
Elwira had finished all the requirements
for her doctorate and was giving a paper
in North Carolina. Paul was visiting his father
and our old Quaker meeting.  I was writing poetry
in and about my retirement community.  We talked
about our old Quaker friends and then turned

to politics.  We agreed on the dangers. 

We had all experienced immovable MAGA politics.
 
We talked past time for them to leave, so we rushed
on coats, packed away photos, and hugged at the door.
What good medicine they were!  I carried my joy and 
stayed wide awake through dinner and a dinner program. 
New friends and acquaintances make me welcome,
but there is nothing like old-time friends to infuse
a tired spirit with love.  Now, I’m tired again, but 
new old friends help me fight off the weary blues.

 


© 2025 Susan L. Chast
Writer's Circle Prompts.

Please respect my copyright.


14 July 2025

Writer's Circle prompt: Love sonnet or simply love

 
Outside Philadelphia
 
I fear to say just who I love, as most
Have died or gone away.  Let’s talk instead
About the land I love, though coast to coast
World round, so many people face pure dread.
 
Here green trees dominate as summer reigns
and rain is plenty for grass and bushes, too.
I love to see the hills above the plain
And city below, with buildings in a queue.
 
We don’t get tornadoes or flood and fires
(I whisper this so I won’t change our luck)
We help those whose condition is dire
So many drowned and missing I’m dumbstruck.
 
As I aged more people I love have died
I pray the land, the beautiful land, survives.

 and

Stay at home with me
by Susan
 
Take care when standing in the sun today—
the glowing orb’s too hot to play a part
in vigils. True, more cars will come this way,
but sun will paint you lobster red as art.
 
And I would rather you stayed home with me.
While I make dinner, you can hear the news
about the heat whose waves we almost see
while you are safe inside this afternoon.
 
I love your commitment to peace, justice,
democracy, and education, but
wish you cared more for safety and for bliss
yes—bliss—as we both eat and play, you nut!
 
Let sun be your reason to stay at home.
Let sun disguise the point of this whole poem.
 
 
 (Note: Thinking of Caesar’s wife, Calpurnia.)


© 2025 Susan L. Chast
Writer's Circle Prompts.

Please respect my copyright.