Autumn is coming.
Here in the dog-eared days of this particularly weird summer, there has been a decided lack of the sweltering temperatures one is accustomed to in August in the eastern United States. This has influenced the flowers and vegetables in my gardens, the bugs that plague them, the pollinators and other insects that live and pass through here, the chickens I raise, and even the wildlife activity. Interestingly, it does not seem to have had much of an impact on the land spirits.
But beyond those notable changes this year, this slide into the turning of seasons just feels different. Autumn has always been my favorite time of year, but something about this difference has me feeling more eager than ever for the change in weather, lazily tumbling leaves, pumpkins, cider, orchard visits, and the many comforting, bracing, cozy things I associate with the days surrounding the final harvest.
A wooded vista with mountains in the distance [B. Rhodes, courtesy]
The journey from summer to autumn, ripe with the active duality of embracing abundance and harvest while moving towards a time of release and inward focus, has always been encompassed by a gentle awareness of drifting through liminal space towards the new season. This year that awareness is heightened, and the threshold itself seems larger. There is an exciting, alluring presence on the other side that is urging time, nature, the season, and me to move forward, quick as we like.
People talk about the veil between worlds thinning or being non-existent, but that is not what I am referring to. And I do not mean that the threshold has been stretched in a way that would cause distortion of liminal space or liminal experiences. Whatever is happening seems to be a natural, organic occurrence.
This experience is the difference between stepping up to a doorway and looking into the next 10×10 basic color painted room versus stepping up to a doorway and seeing an unexpectedly long and architecturally glorious courtyard, or a view overlooking an endless range of mountains dressed in autumn colors, or the dazzling array of the night sky cloaked in the Aurora Borealis. The difference is apparent in size, texture, and depth (spiritual and emotional) both in that liminal space and in the here and now. At the same time, it is unconfined and undefined and without boundaries or borders at all, and able to move energy through and beyond any such restrictions that it might encounter as if they never existed. Perhaps they never have.
Maybe it is my awareness that has grown, and I am simply, finally, perceiving the reality that has always been there. Whichever it is, I can feel this living energy down in my very marrow.
Do I contradict myself?
Very well then, I contradict myself.
(I am large, I contain multitudes.)Walt Whitman, “Song of Myself,” 51
Do I see and feel things that make some people roll their eyes?
Very well then, they roll their eyes.
(I am a witch, I know what I know.)Sheri Barker, “Song of My Self,” 55
Leaning on observation (which may be the only scientific principle available to a Witch in such circumstances) and from there standing firmly on my well-founded intuition, I believe this phenomenon is connected to the increase in paranormal activity I have been noticing. It is also influencing dreams, divination, and magical practices.
Within the cottage, there is a disappearing third room that has existed or not existed since my husband and I first looked at the property. I do not consider the house spirits and land spirits to be paranormal entities, but there have been at least two ghostly human entities in the house for quite some time.
During the waxing moon in the first week of August, the ghost of a small black cat began to show himself. He sometimes runs up and down the hallway with the other small cat who lives here but I have yet to see him in other rooms. On the three occasions when I saw him and stepped up to a doorway to try to get a better look, he disappeared into the space where the third room should be. Each of those vanishing acts was accompanied by the sound of a small bell ringing in the distance. That goes along with the increase in other auditory representations such as old music, distant conversations, a woman singing, and the occasional gently ringing bell.
Ah. How do I know these sounds are not coming from somewhere outside? That they are not just neighborhood noise coming in through the windows? Because they have a very distinctive other-worldly quality to them, and once a person has identified that sound by experience it is unmistakable. If anything, the change in the threshold removes some of the muffled quality of these sounds. I try to never listen too hard, though. Some things are none of my business.
An autumn altar [B. Rhodes, courtesy]
There are matters and beings that many Pagans or occult practitioners do not like to openly discuss. Even I am careful when I broach these subjects with people who I trust, but I bring it up here because it is part of the liminal change.
Society jokingly accepts Bigfoot and ghosts, vampires, and other supernatural creatures of fiction. Charmed, Supernatural, Buffy, Twilight, and other such television and book series have huge fan followings, but most people do not really want to believe that the paranormal beings and magic encountered on those shows truly exist in our world. Talking about them can make people roll their eyes like they are trying to check the view inside their skull.
Nevertheless, those beings are here among us, and the larger threshold is making it easier to see them for what they are. Ghosts, tricksters, once-human entities, never-human entities, creatures masking as humans, and beings that do not care whether or how we see them. Many of them are benign; some of them take no notice of human beings; others are malevolent. As far as I know, there is no action to be taken other than protection spells, but it is best to be aware of their presence.
For the past few years, troubled as they have been, the energy leading into the arrival of autumn has been all about getting ready; preparing for lean times, stocking up, building community connections, and helping one another. That need still exists, of course, and is more important to be met than ever it has been.
In this turning of the wheel, that sweet energy from the other side is telling me to look at all that has been accomplished. To be mindful that the harvest tally credits beyond the material harvest to equally significant matters like the number of people who are taking up the old skills, crafts, and ways that connect us more deeply with the earth and the divine; the people who are sharing knowledge to encourage and help others; the slow and steady shift towards supporting local markets and artists and supporting one another. To the strength and connections wrought by the webs being woven that move beyond the boundaries of location and time.
There are harder times ahead. This is common knowledge and belief, I think, all through the Pagan community. These signs tell me that all the collective and individual work has strengthened the community’s connection to the divine, to elemental energies, and to the earth herself.
I will still be moving through the days of autumn with a mindset of preparing for the hard days ahead. Stocking my pantry and medicinal herbs, tending my land and gardens, and helping friends do the same when I am able. But I will also look with fresh eyes at the wider liminal space for new ways to deepen and expand my spiritual and homesteading practices as I move towards the time of longer nights and self-reflection.
Sometime in the middle of last night, I woke because someone was saying my name. The sound faded into the darkness, but I lingered in that space between sleep and wakefulness, drifting with the breeze coming through the open window. A slow, wide flash of light on the upside-down horizon of the night sky caught my attention. I do not know how long I drifted in and out, watching the lightning dance in the clouds.
Eventually, my sleepy awareness shifted to the night songs of the katydids, frogs, and crickets. It is the sound that means autumn is coming, and I let it carry me back to sleep to dream of a bountiful harvest.
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