Carrying the Dead With Us
As the earth shifts into darkness and the veil thins, we are reminded that this is a time when many cultures around the world turn their hearts and minds toward the dead. It’s not a coincidence. There is something ancient and shared in the human experience that draws us to honor our ancestors during this time of year. In Mexico, Día de los Muertos invites us to celebrate those who have passed with vibrant altars, food, and marigolds that light the way for the souls returning. In Celtic traditions, Samhain marks the end of the harvest and the beginning of winter, when the spirits of the dead are said to walk the earth. All Saints' Day and All Souls' Day, celebrated in Christian traditions, honor the saints and all departed souls, inviting us to remember the dead, pray for them, and acknowledge their continued presence in the spiritual realm. Even in East Asia, festivals like the Hungry Ghost Festival remind us that the dead are not so far, and they need tending, love, and acknowledgment.
This shared recognition of death transcends borders. The Zulu people, whose wisdom was appropriated by Bert Hellinger in his family constellation therapy, understand that family is never just about the living. The ancestors are active participants in the community, and they must be acknowledged and honored for the living to thrive. Whether we look to the Obon festival in Japan or the Gai Jatra festival in Nepal, the message is clear: we are not alone. Our dead are with us, and they need us just as we need them.
As the veil thins, the dead gather close, not just the ones we’ve known, but those we’ve never met too. We can feel their presence, their unfinished stories. Their grief becomes ours, their struggles reverberate in our bodies, their pain hums beneath our skin. And it makes sense. Because the world isn’t separate, neither in time nor space, none of us are untouched by the death that envelops this planet.
We may feel sadness or anger rise within us and wonder why, when our own lives seem untouched by the tragedies unfolding far away. But that’s the thing about being alive in this interconnected world, we are never truly untouched by what happens to others. Their grief moves through us, and it is part of the sacred work of being alive to acknowledge it, to bear witness to it, and, when we can, to transform it.
Carrying the dead with us also means holding space for those we’ve never met. It means recognizing that our grief is not just personal, it’s collective. And it’s through this collective grieving that we can begin to heal, both ourselves and the world around us. We may not have known them in life, but in death, their presence is close. Their stories, their suffering, their hopes, they are with us in this liminal space.
But in those we know, how do we connect to them? How do we contact our ancestors? How do we heal the wounds carried through generations, especially when we don’t even know where they come from? There are many practices, both ancient and modern, that allow us to tap into the energy of those who came before us and help heal their pain through our own bodies and lives. One powerful practice is automatic writing, a form of mediumship where you allow your mind to go blank and let the ancestors speak through your hand. In this free-flow, you may find messages or emotions emerging that aren’t consciously yours. The key is not to think too much, just write, and let what needs to surface find its way onto the page. This practice can open up new channels of understanding and healing.
Another way to connect is through creating an altar. Doesn’t need to be anything elaborate, it could be a small space with a candle, a photo, an item that reminds you of your ancestors, or even symbols of your lineage that make you feel connected. By dedicating a space to them, you open a doorway for their presence to become more tangible in your life. Planting trees in their names is another beautiful act. Trees are life, and in planting one in honor of a lost ancestor, you are both giving them new life and rooting their energy in the earth, where it can grow and heal.
Other practices might involve meditating with the intention of calling your ancestors close. In the stillness, ask them what they need from you, what needs to be released. You might also try speaking aloud to them. Even if you don’t know their names, speak to them as if they are present, and listen. You may feel their guidance in your body, in your dreams, or in unexpected thoughts. Cooking their favorite meals or even creating new rituals—like walking a path they may have taken or wearing something symbolic of them—can deepen the connection. The goal is to invite them into your life, not as distant memories but as living presences, because in many ways, they are still with us.
Connecting with our ancestors is not about reenacting old traditions exactly as they were. It’s about remembering that we are part of something bigger. When we engage in these practices, we allow them to heal through us, and we heal through them. Their unfinished stories don’t have to remain unfinished. We can complete them, we can transform them, and in doing so, we transform ourselves.
As we walk through this season of death, may we also hold space for those we’ve never met, for the collective grief that weaves through all of us, and for the possibility that even in this darkness, there is the potential for rebirth. The dead are not far. They are with us, in the air, in the earth, in the very fabric of our lives. And we carry them with us all the time, just as they carried us.