There is something at once exciting and depressing about October for me. I do adore the weather, the leaves falling and scrunching under my feet, the brisk, cool winds that seem to twist into little vortex’s of debris with the slightest lift, the clear, endless starlit skies. I love to see the changes in the leaves, trees, plants, watch the squirrel’s scurry about getting nuts buried just so for the cold to come. But in that beauty is also the unavoidable: dying. It’s not death yet, but the dying of the year. It’s also a strong and ancient metaphor that represents the dying of all things. That part makes my mind linger on the pain a bit, the wonderment, the awe, the sorrow and release of dying. The loss of one consciousness, one life’s experience, to be changed and morphed into something new, like a caterpillar. October seems like the start of that change, the cocoons are being spun, and that funny little worm who crawled into it never returns the same again. It’s sad, and beautiful. It makes my heart hurt in deep places.
My dreams were strange, busy journeys last night. Part of it took me to that dying place and it leaves me sort of melancholy now. I dreamed that my sister and I were walking around together with both of my dad’s parents, we were at some kind of show then my grandma got a call and she said to us, soothingly and yet unemotionally, “Your dad has died.” Amid the anguish and tears and knee hugging and rocking, we asked what happened, and she said, “He passed in his sleep.” Obviously, anytime one dreams of the death of a loved one it’s disturbing those touchy places in the soul. But this part of the dream is interesting because my grandfather has been deceased for some years now, and my grandmother is undergoing a very serious situation currently (she’s 93) and it’s startling how frightening it is to me. So while I think it’s neat to see my grandma and grandpa together again, it was strange, and my grandpa seemed to be a silent player, not speaking at all. I think of it as Laini Taylor so beautifully expresses death in her Dreamdark books, the Moonlit Gardens are where faeries go when they die. They stay in this dark, still moonlit place until all ties to the mortal world are severed, and then the spark of their soul “becomes”. You have to just read the books because they are wonderful and, in my opinion, new mythologies. She touches a powerful kind of magic in these books, magic that clearly has been handed to her from the Divine. But I like that, when a person “becomes”. When they’ve shed all mortal concerns and shape-shift into a new kind of life, or being. In the books they shape-shift into seraphim. I just googled Seraphim and was intrigued by the different origins and meanings: “burning ones”, “fiery ones”, “dragon-shaped angels”, serpents, they have six wings and they sing. Interesting.