The celebration of the start of Dark Half of the Year, is upon us.
If you are not Irish, you are probably tired of every Irish person you know reminding you, annually, that Halloween is an American invention. An American invention based on the myths, legends and practices of the ancient Irish pagan festival of Samhain (SOW-in – SOW:as female pig, not as in needle pulling thread).
You may tire of hearing it, but it is true.
Samhain was a festival of thanksgiving for the bountiful harvest of Autumn, a time to rest a bit after the gathering and storing of food and resources was done, a time to come together before the bitter of winter took hold.
We’ve only been happy to adopt the pumpkins over here because the likelihood of injury from carving turnips is, well, very likely.
They are way better though.
I’ve been thinking a lot about the season of Samhain/(Halloween, if you prefer), this year. My children are still into it, but there is less pressure to have decorations and pumpkins ready etc. Our plastic, throw away culture grows ever more garish each year. The smell of cheap fresh-spun-oily-plastic that will be in landfill by early November, fills me with ever greater wonder and dread for, and about, humanity. I try not to dwell on those aspects that I hate, and think more of the ancient customs of this season. The stuff that roots us into our lands and landscape. The kind of legends and stories that will, if anything will, make us rise up to fight for and protect it.
I will have a candle in my window to guide lost loved ones and ancestors to a place of rest or feasting.
That is a big one for me, as it is almost a year since my beloved mammy passed on. She had no truck with pagan rituals, she was much more of a Jesus fan. It’s the one big thing that we disagreed hugely about, and eventually avoided altogether for the sake of the great love between us. I hope she is happy in the heaven she so fervently believed in.
I will always believe that the ancient oaks of Ireland have more to tell us than the bible.
I am so glad that her voice is embedded in my music now for all time.
Another reason that I’m in reflective mode, is that my mother’s passing also took place very soon after the time I released my debut EP last October.
Available, still, here 😉 https://roisinwhyte.bandcamp.com/album/its-sunny-though-id-hoped-for-rain
The year since has brought many changes – some welcome, some challenging and I have done very little with that EP in the year since. I notice the very last blog post I made, was a tribute to all the independent makers and doers. It holds as true today, as it did then, probably more so, as AI bores ever deeper in to our world, destroying our earth, poisoning our children’s minds, and telling us it can do better than we can. (It’s also still there)….https://roisinwhyte.blog/2025/10/06/release-the-beast/
When it comes to making novel things, AI is utter, utter UTTER horseshit. It will never be better than a unique idea from a human who has thought, felt, tried, failed, tried again, failed better.
I feel that strain of trying and failing better every day. I also feel the gain. I am improving as a fiddle/violin player. I am improving as an Irish speaker. I am writer songs that say what I mean better than they used to. I am trying to spend more time with my hands in soil, growing.
Through this dark half of the year, I am looking to record better and perform more. There is NO AI that can or ever will, replace the need in humans to come together in music, art community.
I am seeing my husband growing and plotting his own course in work that he loves and knows has value. I am trying to steer my children towards hope, love, community creativity and belonging. Big Tech are fighting us all the way on this. We cannot let those BASTARDS win.
So come, all you ancestors, all you spirits and older versions of us. The veil between your world and ours is at it’s thinnest.
And we could do with some sage advice.
