The tone of the spiritualist material that has been drawing my attention lately isn’t the usual tone in which I tend to feel most comfortable. It feels lighter, faster, and a little more ‘every day’ for the lack of a better word than the Saturnian weight that tends to be where I feel comfortable (I know, I’m weird). That’s one reason why I talked myself through its stability, because it is stable, but it’s not dense.
It’s real, but it takes me a little work to appreciate how it is real. That’s a good thing, because it forces me to stretch my legs a little and get out of my own comfort zone, but it’s different and I’m going to think about that a bit here.
Today, my Saturday triplicity made me chuckle because it addressed that lightness, but it also addressed the Hallowtide, and the sorts of spirits that can be active within it. As I sat with and elaborated upon that triplicity, it dawned on me the specific tenor of spirits highlighted were precisely the family of spirits that seem most amenable to spiritualism and spiritism, namely those generally light-filled or, at least, light-seeking spirits.
If we think about the descent of Inanna as a meditation on the different states into which souls may enter upon their departure, each of the gates into the underworld forms something of a ring of spirits, Dante’s hell without the moral hooplah. That domain close to the door forms something of a ‘Mercury in the Earth.’
I suspect the hungry ghosts often circulate in this domain, but so do other spirits with a much more expansive interest in us. The fact that they seem so talky and without identity? Well, they lack the weight that grows with each step down toward the hook at Saturn’s heart; they are far from their grave (if they ever had one). They are both ideal and idealistic. They are tall tale tellers and fantasists. They are the ghosts that drift across the pages of comic books and strike dramatic poses around campfires.
They are a bit far from my usual stomping grounds, but they are an essential part of what makes human life humane. While dramatic, they ted to keep everything firmly in a human scale and they make it easier for us to hang out together, laughing and crying. Their just-so stories give us a sense of order and regularity which we sometimes desperately need.
They hear stories passed up through the gates and they want to give us a little heads up about what lies beyond their world for those who might need go deeper. A few gates further in and we can still hear them laughing and crying easily, which is a good reminder that there is a way back up even as we are going downward.
A few of them are probably souls far from their life, on their last step before slipping back out the door, and they still remember the way up and down, after their own mercurial fashion. Fewer yet still know the lower gates and cross them from time to time, speaking of Virgil. The ones who know how to keep the secrets of the heaven safe as the soul dives deeper into life, toward death.
And they are really close to the heavens, still feel stars dancing on their skin. They know grace. There is much to respect and admire about that, and much healing that can be had from them.