A Thin Time

The Ancient Celts knew that the end of October and beginning of November as the “thin time of the year,” also known as Samhain (SAH-win).  It’s when the veil of the living and the departed is thin and if we call to an ancestor, they just might visit us. 

What got me thinking about this today was something I experienced as I came down our stairs this morning.  As I approached the landing midway and began to make the next few steps down, the vestibule door suddenly opened.  The outside front door was closed and locked.  There wasn’t any breeze blowing in any direction, nor was the furnace on.  These could offer a reason for the door to swing open.  It’s an old house that we live in, and the doors are sturdy and thick.  For this one to just suddenly open seemed, not unusual, but rare.  There has been, on occasion, the sudden opening of a door in the house, including this door, which immediately took my attention. Having 50 percent Celtic DNA, and a bit of mystic curiosity, I’m convinced these thin moments are nearer to us than we realize.  Could this be one of those moments? 

I hesitated on the stairs, and peered at the half open door. I called “Hello?” Like maybe someone would answer, though no one was standing there but me.

I continued down the stairs and over to the door and closed it.  I wondered which of the ancestors might be visiting.   I thought about the people that used to live in the house when it was first built in 1913.  It is an American Foursquare built on farm land.  The sconces on the walls would have used gas for light.  There would have been an icebox, not a large refrigerator.  But then, they have been coming to visit for over a hundred years now.  They see the changes in how we live and how society has changed.  They would have lived through World War I.  They would have struggled over immigration and corrupt politics.  I wonder if when they pass through this thin time they reminisce about the “good old days,” or if they think things really haven’t changed in that respect.

Maybe someday, after I’ve departed, I’ll come back and open the door to the hallway and pass through the vestibule, wandering around the rooms, observing how things have or have not changed.  Will I be thinking of the “good old days?”  Maybe someone will be coming down the stairs and will stop and look and wonder how that door opened.  Will they think, ‘which ancestor is this’?  Or maybe they’ll just close the door and go make coffee.