Welcome the cold, dark, night of the soul. Welcome the ritual of the departed ones, in memory. We remember them, we see them as in our minds eye. We listen to their voices in the whispering trees and wish them well. We set out glowing gifts for them, as an offering of peace for times gone by, and for memories long gone. Laughing children slink through the night in images of things ghoulish, or cute, or funny, or just gross. We fill their buckets with candy, treats, and lies.

Out beyond the city lights, there is an old woman who still believes. She still does the rituals, worries that her lantern won't stay lit all night, and burns candle after candle. Her life is full of the supernatural, invaded by other worlds, and filled with fear of things that aren't there. For the rest of us, it's a representation, a nothingness filled with laughter and images of unrealities. For her, the night is real.

Let not these fake images drive fear into your hearts. These images are manufactured, are passed down from department store to department store. There is nothing in the night air, other than the coolness, and the invented magic that is made by the living on this night. The magic of remembering the dead, the images we revel in, are all of our own making, our own celebratory rites and rituals. The dead sleep. The dead are remembered, but the dead do not return.

Happy Halloween!