Subject: RE: TFTD- Merry Samhain/Halloween 31/10/02
From:
CapriUni
Date: 31 Oct 02 - 12:34 PM
Thank you, Kat! And the same to you...
Here is a Samhain (pronouced Sow-en, or their abouts) prose-poem I wrote for one of my ancestors this year. The details are personal, but the sentiment, I hope, is universal. And I send it out not only for my ancestors, but for all the loved ones we saw pass through the gate this year:
Call Across Time's Gate
By Ann Magill
The dead are never gone. Their spirits, like drops of rain, fall all around us, seeping into the stuff of life as rain seeps into the earth: a coffee mug, a favorite shirt, the walls of rooms where beloved voices once echoed. It is Time, alone, that separates us, keeping "What Was" and "What Will Be" outside our lives, as surely as an iron door keeps out the creatures of the dark. But on this night, this Samhain night, the Gate of Time stands open. And so the spirits return, and ask for a seat at the table.
Old family photos lie scattered around me like autumn leaves -- shadows of the living, now gone, frozen in time, images as faded and transparent as ghosts. And you, sweet Peter, Mother's little brother, are among them. She saw your face in mine, she said, heard your laugh in mine, and I, staring at one photo, see her face in yours -- just as it was when she was lost in thought, and didn't know that anybody saw.
Yet, at that moment, when the camera clicked, you were the focus of all eyes, the very guest of honor. What thoughts were you lost in then, what fears, what hopes, and what regrets? You stand before a chalkboard, before a picture of your younger self. It's the only one with any date, as if those present tried to pin time down, and make it stay. And yet, in this image, time collapses upon itself, and disappears. I turn the photo over, and see my mother's hand -- hear her voice again, thick with grief and anger: "Send this one back." She didn't, though. She loved you too much to let you pass through Time's Gate unremembered.
You passed through too soon. There was no one there to keep the demons at bay when the bullet ended your life on that Tijuana road leading south to the beach.
She and Lincoln, newly wed, flew down when they got the call. They had planned to be apart, that week, but Death puts an end to all plans. They spent long days seeking answers, and found instead locked doors and chatter in a language they could not understand. Finally, wrapped in grief and love, your sister became my mother.
Time wavers, and your image flickers in my mind like a shadow cast by a candle flame -- caught between the young man you were, and the old man you would have become, if only fate had taken a different turn. And yet, if it had, would I be here at all?
I cannot say.
Is anyone left on this side of the Gate to remember you?
I cannot know.
So I will do my best, for your sake, and for hers.
So come, sweet uncle, on this night, and join the family circle: mothers, sisters, fathers -- all. Let us laugh, and sing, and speak of loves we share, before the Gate of Time closes for another year.
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sj
