Today the Veil Is Thin: My First Samhain Altar
I built my first ancestor altar this morning. Here’s who I’m honoring on the day the threshold crosses.
Today is Samhain, the day when the veil between the worlds is traditionally considered the thinnest.
I built my first ancestor altar this morning, and I had a short ritual in front of it before working on this post. You can see it in the photo above.
On this altar, I honored my grandmother, Saint Mary Oliver, the freeing power of the postmodernist Lyotard (whose gravestone is in the photo), along with memories from extinct species, the work of the Knights Templar, the lasting inspiration of Hypatia of Alexandria, and the energies of Avebury.
I have an offering of Irish Whiskey on the altar. I said prayers and offered intentions to the ancestors who are of blood, mind, deed, and kinship.
This is my first Samhain alter, and I want to share what it felt like to do this, not what I thought it would be like, but what it was.
The Difference Between Thinking and Doing
I’ve been thinking about building this altar all week.
In many ways, endless thinking about something and not actually doing the thing we focus on are different. I was thinking about this to the point that it started to spiral and become something much larger than it actually was.
Doing it this morning was different.
It was helpful to consider some of the items I included. While it turned out a little different from what I envisioned, it still has the same feel.
The overthinking created anxiety. The doing created presence.
If you’ve been thinking about creating ancestor space, or any practice, really, just start. It doesn’t have to be perfect. It doesn’t have to match your mental image. It just has to be yours.
Who I’m Honoring and Why
Let me tell you about each ancestor on this altar, because the choosing matters.
My grandmother. I’m honoring her memory of being kind, patient, and loving. These qualities shaped me more than I recognized when she was alive. They’re part of who I am now. The carved owl represents her, as she had a collection of small owls in her home, and I have always linked her with owls.
Saint Mary Oliver. Her poetry embraces kinship and wonder in the natural world. I once heard her referred to as “Saint Mary Oliver,” and it stuck with me. Her words are really profound. Why not problematize the formal naming of saints, or holy ones? We call them like we see them. If sainthood is about seeing the sacred in the world and helping others see it too, then Mary Oliver qualifies.
Jean-François Lyotard. I have visited his grave in Père Lachaise Cemetery in Paris many times to remember him and his influence on my studies and worldview. That cemetery is the largest in Paris at 110 acres, and I’ve walked it repeatedly over the years. The photo on my altar shows his actual gravestone. His thinking freed me to question structures that needed questioning. That’s a gift worthy of remembrance.
Extinct species. Two of the carvings on my altar were made from bones of woolly mammoths. I usually don't resonate with bones, but somehow these two entered my library, and I’ve never really known how to honor them. Along with the extinct species they represent, they also remind me of Spencer and Posey, our previous pugs who passed into the veil eleven and twelve years ago. They’re here too.
Knights Templar. I stayed at a wine estate in the south of France many years ago, which the Knights Templar initially cultivated. Wine has grown in that area for 800 years, and they believe it was grown there even closer to Roman times. The stone in front came from there, and it reminds me that, while many things last, like memories, stones are a way of remembering and connecting. It is no wonder we refer to things as being built on a solid foundation.
Hypatia of Alexandria. She is the patron ancestor of Cherry Hill Seminary, where I will be teaching the Rewilding the Soul EcoSpirituality Certificate. I honor her focus on learning, and how many turned against her as—even today—knowledge is suspect and many who are afraid of ideas or truth cease to eliminate it. Her courage to teach when teaching was dangerous matters now.
Avebury. The stone from Avebury represents those who built the standing stones there. We do not know why they did it, yet their power and influence endure even today, and likely well past my own life.
That’s the kind of ancestor work worth honoring, something built so well it outlasts the memory of its purpose.
Ancestors of Blood, Mind, Deed, and Kinship
When I said my prayers this morning, I spoke to ancestors in four categories:
Blood: My grandmother. The lineage that made my physical existence possible.
Mind: Lyotard, Mary Oliver, Hypatia. Those whose ideas shaped how I think, how I see the world, and how I understand my place in it.
Deed: Knights Templar. Mary Oliver, too—she was not valued by many academics in poetry or literature or culture, yet she did the work anyway. Those who acted courageously, who built things that lasted.
Kinship: The woolly mammoth bones. Extinct species. Spencer and Posey. The more-than-human beings whose lives touched mine, who remind me I’m part of something larger than humanity alone.
Not all ancestors are human. Not all ancestors are family. Not all ancestors are people we knew personally. Some are ideas. Some are species. Some are stones that outlast us all.
The Irish Whiskey Offering
My tradition often involves using alcohol as an offering, as indeed it did in Catholicism, out of which I developed.
While bourbon or whiskey is typical in this context for me, I found an unopened bottle of Irish Whiskey that I didn’t know I had. Symbolic in ways, as Samhain comes out of the Celtic traditions, of which the Irish peoples are perhaps the closest remaining kin to them.
Sometimes the right offering reveals itself when you’re ready to give it.
What Happened When I Sat With the Altar
Only that it felt right that I did this.
I rarely share specifics about my own spiritual or religious practices. They’re personal. Private. Not performed for an audience. But I thought this might be valuable to share for those who may be interested but don’t know how to start.
The veil being thin today, it’s not abstract. It’s the feeling of presence when you sit with the altar. The sense that those who came before are somehow near. Not physically, but in influence, in memory, in the ways their choices shaped your life.
I’m taking the afternoon off after I finish some Camino Retreat planning. I’ll muse, reflect, and consider how real all this is in my life as I deepen into it.
We have another windy and rainy storm today, so it still has the “spooky feeling” many associate with Halloween. The threshold weather continues.
This Is Memorial Day for the Soul
Who doesn’t honor their ancestors, their influencers, or those who did amazing things before us?
This is the essence of Memorial Day related to those who sacrificed themselves for a greater good. This is universal, not religious, not pagan, not spiritual unless you want it to be. Just human.
We all have people who came before us and shaped who we are. We all benefit from ideas we didn’t create, from actions we didn’t take, from sacrifices we didn’t make. Acknowledging that, giving it space, giving it gratitude, giving it recognition, that’s what Samhain asks.
The veil is thin today. The threshold has crossed. The dark half begins, and I am here, with my altar, honoring those who came before.
If You’re Thinking “I Could Never Do This”
I would invite you to consider this: go for a short walk and share this, in a quiet, private way, with the natural world.
Find a tree, a bush, or a body of water that somehow seems to call you or resonates to you, and bring your thoughts to them. What about honoring ancestors is scary or seems beyond what you can do?
Then listen for a response, even a quiet one, and consider journaling a bit about it.
I recommend doing these steps in that order:
Walk
Find something natural that resonates or invites
Share your thoughts quietly
Listen
Journal
Try it. You may be surprised.
You don’t need an altar. You don’t need to know Samhain traditions. You don’t need Irish whiskey or woolly mammoth bones or stones from ancient sites.
You just need to acknowledge that someone came before me. They shaped this world I inherited. I’m here because they were here first.
That acknowledgment is the practice. Everything else is just how you choose to express it.
Who are you honoring today? What ancestors—of blood, mind, deed, or kinship—shaped who you are?
Reply and let me know. I’m crossing this threshold alongside you.
Walking with the ancestors,
Jeffrey
P.S. If you’re interested in learning more about contemplative walking as spiritual practice, or about joining the Le Puy Camino contemplative walking retreat in September 2026 where we’ll explore these themes of Earth connection and life’s cycles, subscribe to receive my weekly reflections.
‘I’m here because they were here first’ is quite a line to ponder in this context of remembrance. Thank you!
I'm honoring my grandmother. She was a really good human being.