by Coral Carte
Samhain marks the entry into winter, with its darkening days and rich autumn colours; its gift is rendering the threshold between worlds accessible. This is the time when the liminal space widens, and the living and the dead can sense one another more easily. In the old ways of Western magic, this was never a time of fear, but one of reverence. The darkness is not evil; it is fertile, gestational, full of potential. The ancestors dwell there, whispering their stories through the soil and through our blood.
In shamanic practice, the descent into darkness is part of the initiatory cycle. To enter the underworld — whether in trance, dream, or through the long nights of autumn — is to meet what has been forgotten or denied. Darkness is the womb of renewal, not its opposite. True “dark magic” is not malice or harm, but the wisdom of transformation: composting what is dead or stagnant into a cradle for planting the seeds that can sustain life.
Now I am preparing to turn toward my beloved dead. I will light candles for them for 21 days. At Samhain, I place their photographs on the altar and leave offerings. This year, there will be two new ones. The first is my beloved mother-in-law, who was part of my life for 30 years. She filled both the space of grandmother and mother in my life. My own grandmother was lost to me when I was very young, and my mother died in another country when my son, now 24, was 2.
The second death is her son, the father of my son, who died mercifully and tragically. Death has that paradox where it is a painful loss, but sometimes a gentle release.
I am grateful for the lives they lived, for the choices and chances that led to mine. They are not distant; sometimes they manage to talk to me through dreams. My grandmother, despite her early has always been present in my life. The dead are companions in the unseen, shaping the currents that run through my life. In honouring my ancestors, I remember my place in a lineage — standing in the river of human time with gratitude.
This year, my Samhain work deepens through study. I will be taking training in Trans Generational Counselling, exploring the relationship between family history and personal destiny, tracing the patterns that repeat through generations. We will use the genogram, systemic constellations, and dramatisation to uncover the hidden stories that live in our bloodlines. It is a way of giving form and voice to what our ancestors could not say.
Ancestor work can help transform what has been heavy into something that can support us — to meet the shadow of our ancestry not with judgment, but with understanding. In many shamanic traditions, healing the ancestral field is essential to restoring harmony in the present. The dead are not only mourned; they are healed, acknowledged, and sometimes released. Through this, their blessings can flow freely once more.
For me, this work bridges worlds — psychological and magical, personal and collective. It brings the abstract idea of “the ancestors” into lived experience. When we look with clear eyes at our family line — the migrations, losses, silences, and survivals — we begin to see how the patterns of the past shape our choices today. To know this is to reclaim power.
At Samhain, the darkness invites us inward, back to the roots. From there, we can turn again toward the future, carrying the strength of those who came before. As the old Irish blessing says, may the road rise up to meet you — and may your ancestors walk beside you in the long, luminous night.