Anyone who has crossed a border knows it. People at borders are on edge. Eyes move more quickly. Pockets and bags are checked more frequently. To each side of the border is a borderland. The Holy Island of Lindisfarne is in the borderland between Scotland and England. Over the centuries the border shifted between the two countries. The borders have a special feel. Borderlands develop their own music and stories.
Derek Lundy's Borderlands: Riding the Edge of America is an interesting read. His three closest friends all died within a few months of each other. Lundy, a Canadian, felt the need to do something, find some space, do some reflection. He decided to ride a motorcycle along the U.S. borders with Mexico and Canada to examine the American obsession with border security. The book is well worth a read if only for Lundy's insights into U.S., Mexican and Canadian history at the margins. What fascinated me was that he found a borderlands both north and south; in-between places, neither Mexican or American, neither Canadian or American. Strange places.
The change of seasons is just such a borderland. Preparations are made to move from the old and familiar to the new and uncertain. This week we took down the summer gazebo, preparing the yard for winter. Tomorrow I will winterize our camper van after enjoying our last weekend away. The forecast promises the first drop below freezing in the coming week. Change is in the air—in the wind, in the smell of earth.
It's not surprising to me that the ancient Celtic peoples recognized the change at this time of year.
Samhain marks the change. Autumn’s end, but not yet quite winter. This border is celebrated as between the now and the not-yet, between life and death, between the seen and the unseen. Christians termed it All Hallows Eve (the eve of All Saints' Day, November 1), hence Halloween. All Saints Day is followed by All Souls Day and, traditionally, we remember those who have gone before, those who have passed through the veil. And for these few days the veil is gossamer thin.
Jane’s mum so recently passed through the veil. The borderland is especially poignant this year. Death is the great returning. The body returns to earth, continuing the cycle of life, nourishing other bodies. The spirit returns to G*d who gave it. Nothing to fear, something to celebrate—a borderland, a change, a crossing.
Enter and enjoy the season. It lasts but a short time.
+Ab. Andy