Samhain Isn't Halloween; It's the Celtic New Year That Begins When Everything Dies
As the 13-day EcoSpirituality challenge ends and the Celtic New Year approaches, here’s what I’m releasing into the dark half of the year
Yesterday, I made my commitments for what comes after the 13-Day EcoSpirituality Challenge that just wrapped up on UN Day.
Today, I woke up and the prompts were gone.
No practice waiting. No framework to follow. No expectations for my daily writing, reflecting, and actions. Just the empty space where the structure used to be. With the approaching threshold of Samhain, the Celtic festival that marks the end of the light half of the year and the beginning of the dark, now is a time to deepen into my practices.
I’m exhausted. Thirteen days of daily writing posts here, engaging in conversations, making new professional and personal contacts, gathering new readers. It was a lot. But there’s also relief. I did what I committed to. I put my ideas out there publicly. I’m establishing public credibility for my upcoming Rewilding the Soul EcoSpirituality Certificate at Cherry Hill Seminary—not just through people who already know me and what I offer, but through the work itself.
Now, as October moves toward its end, I’m standing at another threshold entirely.
The Celtic New Year Begins When Everything Dies
October 31st isn’t (just!) Halloween. It’s Samhain (pronounced SOW-in), the Celtic New Year. The moment when the harvest ends, the veil between worlds thins, and we’re invited to honor what has died so new growth can come.
The 13-day challenge ending and Samhain arriving in the same week isn’t a coincidence. It’s the rhythm of things.
Samhain marks the transition from the light half of the year to the dark half. From May to October, the ancient Celts focused on outward work: planting, growing, and harvesting. From November to April, they turned inward: storing, planning, surviving, and preparing for the return of light.
This isn’t pessimism. It’s recognition that growth requires rest. That creation requires fallow time. That we cannot consistently produce.
What a challenge for today’s industrialized knowledge econmy.
The 13-day challenge was light-half work. What comes next requires dark-half wisdom.
What I’m Releasing as Samhain Approaches
In ancient Celtic tradition, Samhain was a time to honor the dead and release what no longer serves. Food offerings were left for ancestors. Places were set at tables for those who had passed. The veil thinned so the living could speak with the dead.
I used to be Catholic. I threw out Ancestor veneration along with everything else when I left the church twenty years ago. At least at first. However, I’m reclaiming it now, not as a Catholic practice, but as a universal human practice. The saints I once prayed to? They’re Ancestors. Teachers and guides who have passed? Ancestors. Hermann, the tree who was removed entirely from Luxembourg Gardens? My more-than-human Ancestor.
All worthy of honor. All worthy of communion.
As Samhain approaches, here’s what I’m releasing:
The need to prove myself. I’ve established credibility publicly now. The exhaustion of constantly proving authority can die here. Begone, imposter syndrome!
Daily posting as the only measure of consistency. The challenge showed me I can do it. But sustainability matters more than intensity. I can write shorter pieces. I can rest. Even when we take off time, we still get dressed and make food!
The separation between Catholic saints and universal Ancestors. I’m done with either/or thinking. Samhain Eve (October 31st) falls right before All Saints Day (November 1st) and All Souls Day (November 2nd). The church knew what it was doing when it placed these holy days here. I’m honoring all of it.
The myth that I need wilderness to do this work. My EcoSpirituality is grounded in the Luxembourg Gardens, NYC parks, and Lenape land. I work where I am, knowing that changes at different moments in the year.
If I hold onto any lingering “not wild enough” or “not natural enough” guilt, it dies at this threshold.
How I’ll Mark Samhain This Year
Here’s what I’m doing on October 31st, drawing from both Celtic tradition and my own contemplative practice.
An Ancestor altar. Photos and items from my Catholic Ancestors alongside spiritual teachers who have passed. A place for the saints I still honor, now reframed as Ancestors and not religious authorities. There will also be something for Hermann, the tree that changed how I see the world.
A silent meal. Celtic tradition included a “Dumb Supper,” served in silence, with a place set for the Ancestors. On October 31st, I’ll eat a simple meal in silence with a place set for those who have gone before. Perfect for contemplative practice.
Walking the thin veil. A contemplative walk on Lenape land in Manhattan, speaking the names of Ancestors—both indigenous peoples whose land I walk and my own lineage. Acknowledging what has been lost. What has been taken. What remains. How history is a bloody and messy thing, something we must try to learn from.
A candle at sunset. At sunset on October 31st, the Celtic New Year begins. I’ll light a candle to honor what’s ending and what’s beginning. I’ll also leave biodegradable offerings, like bread, nuts, and water, for the Spirits of Place. This is both sacrifice and also sharing with Kin.
Notice that none of these involve candy, dressing up, or social gatherings. Those are all wonderful things for those who want them, but they do not fit my contemplative needs at this time in my life.
Entering the Dark Half of the Year
From November through April, my practice shifts.
The light half (May–October) is for outward work, such as teaching, community engagement, pilgrimage, and public writing.
The dark half (November–April) is for inward work: completing my Forest Bathing and Forest Therapy studies, finalizing the curriculum for the certificate program, reflection, and preparation for my personal pilgrimage in May and the September 2026 Le Puy contemplate walking retreat.
This doesn’t mean I stop writing or engaging. It means I honor the rhythm of things. Shorter walks focused on depth rather than distance. More sit spot time. More reading and study than producing. Less social media performance, more Substack depth.
The dark half isn’t about stopping. It’s about storing what was harvested so something new can grow.
The Threshold Between Challenge and Practice
Yesterday was Day 13 of the challenge. Today is Day 14, which isn’t part of the challenge at all.
Samhain teaches that endings and beginnings happen in the same breath. The harvest ends and the new year begins. The veil thins, and Ancestors draw near. The light retreats, and we prepare for its return.
The challenge is over, yet the deepening into practice continues.
It continues differently now. With more rest. More intention. More recognition that I cannot always be in light-half energy.
As I cross this threshold into the dark half of the year, I’m carrying forward what matters: contemplative walking, writing, holding space for others, developing the work that will serve seekers next year.
I’m leaving behind what the season asks me to release: exhaustion, proving, either/or thinking, and the belief that rest is the opposite of commitment.
The Ancestors knew this rhythm. The land knows it still.
Now it’s my turn to honor it.
What are you releasing as October ends? What threshold are you crossing?
Reply and let me know. I’m walking beside you through this season of letting go.
Walking into the dark half,
Jeffrey
P.S. If you’re interested in learning more about contemplative walking as spiritual practice, or about the Le Puy Camino retreat I’m leading in September 2026, subscribe to receive my weekly reflections. If this resonated with you, please share it with someone else who might need to hear about Samhain’s invitation to release and rest.
And the beauty of self-disclosure is that most often it simply speaks what most of us feel, one more aspect of how much we have in common.