I drew her down on me
My jack-o’-lantern illuminated from within, its mischievous grin piercing the darkness beneath the Hunter’s Moon
I drew her with a smile
~ PJ Harvey, "Yuri-G"
While stargazing with a friend late Sunday night, I had the pleasure of witnessing the magnificent Hunter’s Moon, traditionally associated with the height of the autumn hunting season. Enormous and luminous, it dominated the heavens, with Saturn shining nearby.
Over a bottle of Aglianico del Vulture, our conversation turned to Halloween and my plans to attend a party. My companion seemed surprised by my enthusiasm for the holiday, having assumed that my faith would make me opposed to such festivities.
Quite the contrary. I have little patience for puritanical gatekeepers who regard drinking, dancing, music, art, and other earthly pleasures with suspicion. There is a place for fasting, penance, and reparation, all of which I practice, just as there is a place for rejoicing in God’s gifts. Halloween, after all, belongs to the ancient Christian observance of Hallowtide, when the Church remembers the saints and our dearly departed.
Nor do I dismiss the things that haunt the darkness. I believe in demons, witches, ghosts, and magic. As for goblins and zombies, I encounter them on the subway almost daily. My ancestral Irpinian blood and peculiar affinity for La Bella Luna leave me equally convinced that werewolves still prowl beneath her pale light.
And every year, as All Hallows’ Eve approaches and the veil between the living and the dead grows thin, I hear my late mother’s voice calling my name in the black of night. Strangely, I never hear my father’s.
Of course, there are those who profane and corrupt the occasion, but what human endeavor is immune to such abuses? The corruption of a tradition is no reason to abandon it.
So when All Hallows’ Eve descends and wandering souls draw near, I shall greet the trick-or-treaters with cheer and candy before enjoying my ossa dei morti and amaro while the waning moon keeps watch. Happy Halloween!
~ By Giovanni di Napoli, October 26th, Feast of San Gaudioso di Salerno
Over a bottle of Aglianico del Vulture, our conversation turned to Halloween and my plans to attend a party. My companion seemed surprised by my enthusiasm for the holiday, having assumed that my faith would make me opposed to such festivities.
Quite the contrary. I have little patience for puritanical gatekeepers who regard drinking, dancing, music, art, and other earthly pleasures with suspicion. There is a place for fasting, penance, and reparation, all of which I practice, just as there is a place for rejoicing in God’s gifts. Halloween, after all, belongs to the ancient Christian observance of Hallowtide, when the Church remembers the saints and our dearly departed.
Nor do I dismiss the things that haunt the darkness. I believe in demons, witches, ghosts, and magic. As for goblins and zombies, I encounter them on the subway almost daily. My ancestral Irpinian blood and peculiar affinity for La Bella Luna leave me equally convinced that werewolves still prowl beneath her pale light.
And every year, as All Hallows’ Eve approaches and the veil between the living and the dead grows thin, I hear my late mother’s voice calling my name in the black of night. Strangely, I never hear my father’s.
Of course, there are those who profane and corrupt the occasion, but what human endeavor is immune to such abuses? The corruption of a tradition is no reason to abandon it.
So when All Hallows’ Eve descends and wandering souls draw near, I shall greet the trick-or-treaters with cheer and candy before enjoying my ossa dei morti and amaro while the waning moon keeps watch. Happy Halloween!
~ By Giovanni di Napoli, October 26th, Feast of San Gaudioso di Salerno
