Happy New Year!

It was my first time celebrating Halloween, and thanks to StrangeWorks it was incredible! A procession of spirits marching the streets of London with lanterns, masks and giant puppets, chanting and singing to live music and the toll of the bell summoning out the dead. Afterwards soup was served and friends were united in a frenzy of dancing to wild gypsy music. (more pics from the parade can be viewed at the magick's website here)
I have found out, and you may know this, that the festival originates from the Irish festival Samahin, the end of summer, sometimes considered the Gaelic new-year. There was also a belief that this night the boundaries between the worlds of the dead and living were broken, allowing the deceased back to earth, and to ward against their evil it was tradition to light large communal bonfires. This is reminiscent of the Icelandic New Years Eve at the end of December when the ghostly elves of our country, almost equally feared as trolls, would move their dwellings and roam around the countryside. Then, like on the night of Irish new-year, it is an old, established tradition to light bonfires that burn into the new-year. I like to draw this parallel because in a discussion with a friend recently we concluded that Halloween, or All-Hallow-Even, is really the best and most appropriate time to celebrate new-year. This time of year always seems to be a much bigger turning point in my life, and society in general than the new-year we celebrate usually. I therefore have started a new year as of last Thursday.
And that day I had a slightly odd experience where I found myself walking alone through Hackney for half an hour dressed in a dirty and torn costume from the night before. A lone bride in a pale blue wedding dress with a flowing full-length skirt and a giant lace turban garnished with a big white flower. What was special about it though was that in a way it seemed to me to bring together the myths of the Icelandic and Irish new-years-eves, the traditionally blue-clad elven lady of the Icelandic fairy-tales, wearing what was slightly reminiscent of an Icelandic traditional costume, exept not so glamorous, more like homeless dead of Ireland, lost between worlds. In fact I felt almost invisible at times and if it hadn’t been for the stares and grins I met on my way I might even have believed that I was.
In the end it was a relief to get back to where I had started the evening and to change into my normal clothes, although I cannot deny that I also felt a slight sadness, or regret for leaving the magical space I seemed to have stumbled into for a little while.