Herbs for Spooky Season, Part Four: The Veil
Communion, Boundaries, and the Language of the Unseen
There comes a night each year when the air itself feels alive. The trees hold their breath. Leaves fall like slow prayers, and the scent of earth and woodsmoke fills the lungs with memory.
This is Samhain, the hinge of the year. The ancient festival of death and renewal, where the veil between worlds thins and the living and the dead meet in the space between breaths.
Samhain teaches us that death is not an ending. It is a doorway. When the natural world turns inward, when roots sink deep and branches rest bare against the sky, the invisible begins to stir. The ancestors return. The spirits of the land whisper again. Time itself softens until past and present walk side by side.
To honor this season is to remember that we are part of that same rhythm. Life and death are not opposites. They are two sides of the same sacred motion.
The Season of Descent
The earth is exhaling. The great green tide of summer has receded. What was once in full bloom has fallen back to feed the soil.
This is the time when nature herself shows us how to die well. Leaves let go without resistance. Seeds sink into dark ground to dream. Creatures gather close and turn toward hibernation.
Samhain marks this turning inward. The work now is release and reflection. We are asked to shed what no longer serves so our deeper roots can rest and grow strong in the quiet months ahead. As Tolkien said: deep roots are not reached by the frost.
Just as the world above slows, so must we. There is magic in the pause, in allowing the old stories to fall away and the bones of truth to remain.
The Living Veil
The veil is not a curtain that hides one world from another. It is a living fabric that breathes between realms, a shimmer of awareness that grows thin when the rhythms of death and decay move through the land.
At Samhain, the energy of the earth turns inward. Sap sinks to root, seeds fall into darkness, and life folds itself into shadow to dream of renewal. In that quiet, the veil softens. The pulse of spirit becomes audible again, steady and close.
You may feel it in your body as a hum beneath the skin, a sudden coolness in still air, or a shift in light that makes everything shimmer for a heartbeat. It is the sense that the world has grown porous, that presence lingers just beyond sight.
The veil does not separate the living from the dead. It protects the balance between seen and unseen so that both may coexist in harmony. When it thins, we are invited to remember that every tree, stone, ancestor, and breeze carries consciousness.
To touch the veil is not to pierce it but to listen. To sit quietly at the edge of its shimmer and let it speak in its own language of sensation and symbol.
The plants we work with during this season understand this language better than we do. They grow in the places where the visible world frays: forest borders, graveyards, stream edges, and roadsides. They are threshold dwellers who know how to stand between life and death, between silence and sound.
When you work with them, you begin to understand that the veil is not something outside yourself. It is also within you, a soft boundary between your waking mind and your deep knowing. Each time you enter stillness, you step closer to that quiet field where everything touches.
To live with awareness of the veil is to live in conversation with mystery. It is to move gently through the world, recognizing spirit in every form of life, and trusting that connection does not end when breath does.
Reflection: Listening for the Veil
The veil is subtle, but it is always speaking. Its language is not words, but feeling. To sense it is to remember the ancient ways of perception that belong to all of us.
You do not need special training or ritual to touch it. What you need is presence, patience, and permission.
Try this practice when the world feels still:
Go outside at twilight or dawn. Sit quietly and slow your breath. Let your awareness rest on sound, scent, and sensation rather than thought.
Soften your gaze. Look at the space between things: between tree branches, between stones, between the flame and the smoke. The veil often reveals itself in these spaces of in-between.
Notice what changes. Does the air feel thicker? Does time feel slower? Does your body begin to vibrate with a low hum? These are the signs that you are standing close.
Listen with your whole body. You may feel emotion rise, or see an image flicker in the mind’s eye, or simply feel watched by something loving and vast. Whatever comes, let it move through you without grasping.
End with grounding. Place your hands on the earth and whisper, “Thank you. I am listening.” Feel your heartbeat slow until the world feels ordinary again.
The more you practice listening for the veil, the more fluent you become in the language of spirit. Over time you will begin to sense the subtle shift that comes when unseen kin draw near.
The veil is not a thing to chase. It is a teacher that appears when we are quiet enough to learn.
Inviting Allies Into Circle
Before beginning any communion or ritual, create a sacred container. In animist practice, this means acknowledging and inviting all beings who share the space with you.
Sit quietly. Take three slow breaths. Place your hand over your heart and say:
I invite all benevolent spirits of this land, all ancestors of love and wisdom, and all unseen kin who walk in harmony with peace to join me. You are welcome here in kindness. You may speak through wind, through scent, through feeling, through memory. I will listen. I will honor. I will release you when our time is complete.
Notice what shifts. Perhaps the air feels denser. Perhaps warmth gathers at your back or a flicker of light dances near. This is how the unseen says yes.
If anything feels unclear, pause and ground. Ask again for only those who come in peace.
Working with the unseen is an act of relationship, not command. Always seek consent. Always close with gratitude.
Herbal Allies of the Veil
These are the plants that stand watch when the worlds draw close. In many cultures, they are known as psychopomps, guardians, and guides. They help the living walk safely between light and shadow. Each one carries the wisdom of both earth and spirit, holding a distinct relationship to the thinning of the veil.
Mugwort (Artemisia vulgaris): The Dream Gate
Mugwort is a plant of moonlight and mist. Her downy silver leaves shimmer like the edge of a dream, reflecting both light and shadow. For centuries, witches and seers have turned to her during the season when spirits move freely.
In old Europe, she was gathered on the eve of midsummer and Samhain alike, tied into bundles to protect travelers between realms. Roman soldiers tucked her in their sandals for endurance, and wise women burned her to call forth prophetic dreams.
When the veil thins, Mugwort becomes the threshold itself. She helps you sense the presence of your ancestors and the whisper of your own intuition. She does not conjure visions from beyond but tunes the inner ear so you can hear what already speaks within.
Element: Air and Moon
Use for: Dreamwork, divination, spirit sensitivity
Ways to work with her:
• Burn a small pinch before sleep to invite clear dreaming
• Brew a gentle tea to open the intuitive mind
• Add her leaves to a ritual bath when preparing for spiritual work
Ritual:
Before bed, brew a small cup of Mugwort tea and hold it over your heart. Say softly, “Show me what I am ready to see.”Sip slowly, breathing deeply. When you wake, write what you remember without judgment. Let Mugwort teach you to speak the language of symbols.
Wormwood (Artemisia absinthium): The Boundary Keeper
Where Mugwort opens the gate, Wormwood guards it. Her bitter green body holds the energy of iron and smoke.
Wormwood has long been burned at thresholds to keep wandering spirits from entering uninvited. Ancient Greeks placed her near the graves of the dead so souls might find their way home, and medieval charmers used her to ward off deceitful spirits during divination.
At Samhain, Wormwood stands watch beside the veil, ensuring that what crosses into your circle comes only in peace. She strengthens psychic sight while protecting the heart from confusion or energetic drain.
Element: Fire and Air
Use for: Spiritual protection, purification, discernment
Ways to work with her:
• Burn with Frankincense to bless and clear the space
• Keep near the altar as a spiritual guardian
• Anoint doorways with Wormwood oil to mark sacred ground
Ritual:
Stand at the edge of your ritual space and hold a sprig of Wormwood. Say, “Only peace may cross this boundary.” Circle the space clockwise, letting her smoke or scent define the perimeter. Feel the air sharpen and still as if the unseen recognizes your authority.
Rosemary (Rosmarinus officinalis): The Thread of Memory
Rosemary is an herb of the living and the dead alike. Her name comes from the Latin ros marinus, meaning “dew of the sea,” and she was said to grow where the goddess Aphrodite first stepped from the waves.
In ancient funerals she was placed in the hands of the dead to ensure safe passage, and in weddings she was woven into crowns to remind the living that love is eternal. Her scent clears grief, awakens memory, and purifies the air.
When the veil thins, Rosemary becomes the golden thread that keeps you tethered to the body while your spirit drifts toward the unseen. She holds you steady in remembrance of lineage, of love, of what it means to be alive.
Element: Fire and Sun
Use for: Remembrance, purification, grounding during spirit work
Ways to work with her:
• Burn while naming the ancestors
• Add to tea for focus before scrying or reading cards
• Place fresh sprigs on altars of remembrance
Ritual:
Hold a sprig of Rosemary to your heart. Speak the names of those who walked before you. As her scent fills the air, imagine a web of light connecting your heart to theirs. Whisper, “I remember. I carry you forward.”
Cedar (Cedrus spp. or Thuja plicata): The Sacred Shield
Cedar is the forest’s ancient protector. Her resin and smoke have been used in purification rites across cultures, from the cedar boughs of the Druids to the smudge fires of the Pacific Northwest.
At Samhain, Cedar becomes the guardian flame that holds the boundary between realms. Her fragrance steadies the nervous system and clears the energetic body, ensuring that no restless energy lingers after communion.
Cedar teaches that safety is sacred. She holds the balance of cleansing and blessing, the art of clearing space without fear.
Element: Earth and Spirit
Use for: Protection, blessing, grounding after spirit contact
Ways to work with her:
• Burn to seal and cleanse the circle
• Place boughs around your altar for protection
• Add to floor washes to reset energy in the home
Ritual:
Light a Cedar bundle and trace its smoke around your head, heart, and feet. Say, “Spirit of Cedar, root me in peace. Shield me from harm. Hold me steady between worlds.” When the smoke fades, imagine a soft golden glow surrounding you.
Rose (Rosa spp.): The Heart of Communion
Rose is the bridge between beauty and shadow. Her thorns mark the boundary, but her bloom invites union. In many traditions, Rose was associated with the soul itself, fragrant, eternal, and unfolding through many lives.
During the thinning of the veil, Rose reminds us that all communion must begin with love. Her scent softens grief and opens the heart to forgiveness. She helps us feel the presence of ancestors not as ghosts, but as love returning in another form.
Element: Water and Spirit
Use for: Emotional healing, heart-opening, devotion
Ways to work with her:
• Scatter petals over the altar or offering bowl
• Infuse in honey or oil for blessing
• Add to baths to soften and restore
Ritual:
Fill a bowl with warm water and Rose petals. Place it before your candle or fire. As you stir the petals, whisper, “May love be the bridge across time.” Dip your fingers into the water and touch your heart, sealing the connection in tenderness.
Bay (Laurus nobilis): The Flame of Clarity
Bay was sacred to Apollo, god of prophecy and healing. The Pythia, or Oracle of Delphi, chewed Bay leaves to enter trance and burned them in sacred fires to carry her words to the gods.
As the veil thins, Bay acts as the flame of discernment, bright, steady, and unwavering. Her smoke cuts through confusion, revealing what is true. She encourages courage in those who fear the unseen and insight for those who seek truth.
Element: Fire and Air
Use for: Divination, clarity, protection during spirit work
Ways to work with her:
• Burn during scrying or meditation
• Write questions or prayers on her leaves and burn them
• Add to incense for prophetic dreams
Ritual:
Write your question to spirit on a Bay leaf. Hold it to your heart and say, “Carry this prayer through the flame, across the veil, and home again.” Burn it and watch the smoke rise. Listen for the answer in breath, wind, or silence.
How These Allies Move With the Veil
Together these plants form a chorus. Mugwort opens the gate, Wormwood guards it, Rosemary anchors memory, Cedar blesses the threshold, Rose softens the heart, and Bay illuminates the path.
They are companions in balance, blending light and shadow, earth and spirit, protection and openness. Through them we learn that communion is not only about calling the unseen near, but about remembering how to live gently with mystery.
Ritual: The Night of Communion
You will need:
• A candle or small fire
• Mugwort or Rosemary incense
• A bowl of water
• An offering such as bread, honey, or fruit
• Optional: a photo or symbol of your ancestors
Steps:
Cleanse the space with Cedar or Wormwood smoke.
Light the candle.
Say aloud:
Beloved ones of my blood, my spirit, and this land, you are welcome here in peace and love. You may come only if your purpose is good. Teach me what I am ready to learn, and go in peace when our time is complete.Offer the bread or honey to the flame or earth.
Sit quietly. Let sensations, memories, or warmth arise naturally.
When complete, say:
The gate closes now. My gratitude remains. Go in peace and carry my love home.Extinguish the candle. Pour the water outside as offering.
Afterward, eat something grounding. Speak aloud your gratitude and affirm that you are fully in your body.
Tending the Altar
Your altar is a living being. It breathes through candlelight and scent, through your attention and devotion. Keep it simple and true.
Offer fresh water, flowers, or food each week. Speak to your ancestors when you light the candle. Sit in silence when you have nothing to say.
The altar does not require perfection. It asks only for presence. Every time you tend it, you strengthen the bridge between worlds.
Non-Human Kin of the Veil
When the veil thins, it is not only the ancestors who draw near. The world itself awakens. Every sound, shadow, and shimmer seems to breathe with awareness. This is not imagination; it is remembrance. The living world has always spoken, and during this season its voice grows louder.
The veil does not belong solely to the dead. It belongs to every being that lives in the liminal: those who move between soil and sky, light and dark, silence and sound. These kin are messengers, teachers, and companions. To honor them is to restore the ancient balance between human and more than human.
Crow carries the songs of the in between. In Celtic lore, she is the messenger of the Morrígan, a watcher of battlefields and transformation. She reminds us that death is change, not ending, and that the unseen will always find a way to speak. When Crow calls during this season, listen for what is leaving and what is about to begin.
Moth dances in the space between fire and night. She is the soul’s longing for light, the small brave heart that flies toward illumination even when it burns. Moth teaches us to move gently through darkness, to trust curiosity, and to approach mystery with grace rather than fear.
Wind is the breath of all that moves between realms. She carries whispers across distance, stirring both leaves and memories. In many traditions, sudden stillness or a cold draft through a closed room is how spirit announces itself. Speak your prayers aloud to the Wind. She knows where to carry them.
Fire is the eternal bridge. Every flame, from hearth to candle, opens a path for communication between worlds. Fire consumes but also transforms, releasing what is heavy and guiding lost energies home. When you light a candle for your ancestors, remember that every spark is an echo of the first flame that ever burned.
Stone holds the memory of time itself. Stones remember the ancient songs of the earth. They ground us when the veil feels too thin and our energy drifts toward the unseen. Sit with a stone after ritual. Let its weight remind you that your spirit has a body, and your body is sacred earth.
Water carries the voices of the past. When you listen to rain or streamflow, you are hearing the songs of your ancestors returning to the land. Offer a few drops of water after spirit work as a gesture of gratitude for the flow of life that connects every being.
Tree is the bridge of worlds, its roots reaching the underworld and its branches touching the heavens. When you rest your hand on bark and feel the pulse of sap beneath, you are feeling the heartbeat of the world that holds both the living and the dead.
Each of these kin lives at the edge of the veil, reminding us that the sacred does not exist only in ritual space. It is woven into every breath of wind, every flicker of flame, every rustling wing.
To honor them, you do not need grand offerings. Whisper gratitude when you notice them. Pour water at the roots of a tree. Pause when Wind moves through the room and say hello. Touch the stone by your door with a quiet thank you.
When we acknowledge our non-human kin, the veil does not only thin between life and death. It thins between human and world. And that, too, is communion.
Reflection and Practice
This season is not only about visiting the unseen. It is about learning how to live with what you have touched. The work of Samhain is not finished when the candles are blown out. It continues quietly each morning, in how you move through the world, in how you remember, and in how you listen.
Integration asks for gentleness. After deep spiritual or ancestral communion, you may feel opened, tender, or restless. The veil has brushed against you. The boundary between seen and unseen is still delicate. This is not a time to rush. It is a time to breathe, to digest, to be still enough for the lessons to settle into the bones.
Here are ways to practice integration and reflection as the season deepens.
1. Keep a Dream and Symbol Journal
During the weeks around Samhain, dreams carry messages more freely. Keep a small journal by your bed. When you wake, write everything you remember, even fragments. Over time, you may notice patterns that reveal guidance from the unseen.
If writing feels difficult, draw symbols or colors that reflect how you felt rather than what you saw. The language of the veil often speaks in images more than words.
2. Speak with the Land
Go for quiet walks at dawn or dusk. Let the world be your temple. Notice which trees call to you, which stones draw your attention, which birds cross your path. Whisper a greeting. Sit in silence.
This is one of the simplest and most powerful ways to stay in relationship with the unseen. When you connect with the land, you connect with every ancestor who ever touched it.
3. Create a Ritual of Continuity
Choose one simple act that bridges your everyday life with your spirit work. It might be lighting a candle each morning for your ancestors, pouring water outside as an offering, or speaking gratitude aloud before you eat.
These small acts weave the sacred into your routines. They remind your spirit that the veil is not only a seasonal phenomenon but a living rhythm that exists year-round.
4. Offer Rest to the Spirit
Just as you cleanse your space, remember to cleanse your energy. Drink grounding teas such as nettle, ginger, or rosemary. Take salt baths. Eat warm food and touch the earth with bare hands.
When you do this, you tell the spirits within you that it is safe to rest. You show your body that communion with mystery is meant to nourish, not exhaust.
5. Ask the Veil for Wisdom
The veil is not only a threshold. It is a teacher. Sit before your altar or a candle and ask softly, “What am I being shown?”Then listen without needing an answer right away.
Sometimes the veil responds through a sudden insight or a phrase that lands in your mind. Sometimes it answers days later, through an animal’s visit, a line in a book, or the way light filters through the window. Stay open. Trust that what you need will find you.
6. Return to the Body
After spiritual work, come home to your body. Touch your heart and belly. Name aloud three things you can see, two you can touch, and one you can smell. This grounds your energy back into the here and now.
Remember that integration is not about holding on to every vision or message. It is about letting them become part of you in their own time.
Each act of reflection, each small ritual of connection, keeps the thread alive. You do not need to chase the mystery. You are already standing within it. The veil is not a door to pass through, but a rhythm to remember. It lives wherever love, memory, and awareness meet.
Afterword: The Circle Closes
Every season of descent must end in return. The veil that opened in whispers will begin to draw closed again, not as a wall, but as a gentle reminder to rest. You have walked through mystery and memory. You have met the eyes of ancestors, plants, and the living world. Now, the path calls you home to yourself.
The thinning veil is not meant to stay open forever. Its purpose is to remind us that we belong to both worlds. It invites communion so that we might remember how to live more deeply rooted in reverence, and then it guides us back into form. Integration is the soul’s exhale after transformation.
As winter draws near, the earth sleeps, and so should we. This is not a time for expansion or striving. It is a time for reflection, tending, and quiet creation. Keep your altar alive with small gestures. Light a candle for gratitude, pour water for peace, and sit with silence as if it were an old friend.
If the veil taught you anything this season, let it be this: death is not the opposite of life. It is part of the same rhythm. Every leaf that falls nourishes the soil for what will rise again. Every ending holds the seed of a beginning.
You may feel the spirits grow quieter now, but they have not gone. They have simply folded themselves back into the pulse of the land, into wind and root and dream. The connection remains. It always will.
Carry what you have gathered gently. Let it shape how you speak, how you love, and how you care for the earth around you. Let the unseen find expression through your hands and heart.
When you walk outside on a cold morning and see your breath meeting the air, remember that this, too, is the veil breathing with you. You are part of it, and it is part of you.
The circle closes, but it never ends.
Author’s Note
Every year, when the air grows thin and still, I feel the ones I have loved brushing close. Their presence is not haunting. It is homecoming.
I light a candle. I whisper their names. And I remember that I am a continuation of their story.
May you find comfort in the knowing that you are never alone. May you walk gently between worlds. And may your heart remain open to every form of love that lives beyond the veil.