Archive for dead

My “Guests”…

Posted in Esoteric with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , on October 27, 2010 by Mj Rains

“A cognate of “guest,” the word ghost is rooted in Germanic Geist, originally a spirit of a dead ancestor invited to tribal feasts on such occasions as Samhaim, or Halloween, and other solemn ceremonies.  Many European peoples preserved the heads or skulls of the dead, which were set up, painted, and decorated, in a prominent position at gatherings of the clan, and were consulted for oracles after being offered their portion of the collation.  Hence the saying “Death’s-head at the feast.”

During later Christian times the custom was discouraged, for the church’s doctrine of resurrection of the flesh forbade burial of bodies without heads.  Nevertheless, the visiting ghost was an ineradicable belief.  Ghosts were supposed to haunt all the scenes of the former lives, especially if they died violently or unhappily, or were buried in unconsecrated ground, or had possessed evil spirits.  The earlier, more benevolent type of family ghost is still suggested by the identical pronunciation of “ghost” and “guest” in northern England.  The anger of ghosts was most feared by people who refused to honor them as guests. “

Text source: The Woman’s Encyclopedia of Myths and Secrets
Images:   in ghosts  by mOthyyku and  All the Ghosts will Come Back  by Scheinbar

The Dead…

Posted in Writing with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , on October 20, 2010 by Mj Rains

Yes, the newspapers were right: snow was general all over Ireland. It was falling on every part of
the dark central plain, on the treeless hills, falling softly upon the Bog of Allen and , farther
westward, softly falling into the dark mutinous Shannon waves. It was falling, too, upon every part
of the lonely churchyard on the hill where Michael Furey lay buried. It lay thickly drifted on the
crooked crosses and headstones, on the spears of the little gate, on the barren thorns. His soul
swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like
the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead.  – James Joyce, The Dead

Photo: Cemetery by blue-blood-karina

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