The Veil between the Living and the Dead.

I stand at the supernatural veil between the living and dead. The boundary that separates the physical from the spiritual realm. It is Samhain ... the veil becomes thinner - enhancing connection with spirits and ancestors.

I open the forbidden door ~ that thin line between them and us - and tremblingly peeled back the layers to my imagination... I am frightened to look beyond, to the other side of myself.

I'm quivering at the threshold - the living lean forward and the dead lean back, each curious about the other.

I stepped through...A voice whispers: "Don't turn around, lest your eyes behold the awful truth".

I begin to quote the master of dark ravens.

Spirits of the Dead (Poe)

Thy soul shall find itself alone

'Mid dark thoughts of the grey tombstone;

Not one, of all the crowd, to pry

Into thine hour of secrecy.

Be silent in that solitude,

Which is not loneliness- for then

The spirits of the dead, who stood

In life before thee, are again

In death around thee, and their will

Shall overshadow thee; be still.

...

I walk it slowly ~ carrying a single candle.

The Veil Thins...

This place is not a location, it's temperature...it's interior feels slightly overexposed.

Shadows do not behave as shadows should. ..and yesterday grows louder than the present.

Most of the living approach it with superstition. I approach it with authorship.

Peeling Back the Layers...

Expecting to find horror - I find recognition.

The dead are frightening - they remind us that what we see, is what we will eventually be.

Don't turn around.

The living are frightened - we forget, and forgetting is its own kind of death.

In between it all, is

the liminal corridor where spirits, and selves drift.

This is the realm where our mystical voices thrive.

🌒 The First Step - doorway to the unexpected:

On one side, the living breathe fog into the air.

On the other, the dead exhale silence.

I walk the center line, both sides watching me with equal longing.

One walks exactly where one has placed oneself,

that trembling seam where the living peers in...to observe - to learn.

I listen to a bone-chilling whispering,

spoken by someone half in the world

and half in the dark beyond it.

🕯️ I lift the Veil ---

Touching the edge of the world with two fingers, carefully - lest it scourges my skin.

The veil is a membrane - breathing,

cool as a river stone held too long in the palm.

When I lift it ~

the air changes.

Becoming colder - something waits there,

neither ghost nor warning,

listening...leaning toward me.

I want to turn around...

to remember the borrowing.

Behind me, the living world breathes,

insisting on its brightness.

Before me,

the dead keeps its silence...its dignity.

And I ~~~

caught between the pulse of the living

and the dead....

realize the veil was never a barrier.

Only a question. ..a place

where the living go to hear themselves more clearly.