At the Edge of Becoming

The dead speak in leaf-fall and fire. The soul hears what the mind forgets. –Dakota

Death walks in autumn
Ending becomes doorway
Invitation waits in the turning leaves

Leaf by golden leaf
The land surrenders
The air sharpens,
the trees whisper prayers,
Samhain’s breath curling beneath your ribs

Are you listening?
There comes a time
when silence thickens
The dead draw close
And your soul remembers
what it came here to do

Psychopomp,
Death midwife,
You who are hollow bone
You who bear the ache of stories
You who feel the world thinning
between heartbeat and root

We gather in Maine
Where forest and flame hold the threshold
We walk beneath the turning year
Spirits brushing our skin,
the veil parting as dusk descends

Journey with us,
Enter the fire,
Retrieve your animal of death
Craft the rattle,
carry the oil,
walk the portals
Midwife the crossing
Tend the unspoken,
honor the descent

This work is no lecture
It is becoming
It is the ancient song
summoning those who answer
with bone-deep willingness
to kneel beside the dying
and rise again as guide

At Samhain,
we walk between worlds
We remember
The dead are not gone
They wait
for the bone-deep call
of those who know
how to walk them home

Walking Between Worlds: Four Fold Path of the Psychopomp

Are you called to serve at the threshold? Learn more here, or – if you are already established, explore this practitioner immersive journey.