Conversing with the Dead
Listening across the veil for wisdom, memory, and love
While the title of this post might sound ghoulish, I offer it in the spirit of the season when ghouls and ghosts are welcomed. And I’m not just talking about Halloween.
Actually, I’d like to take us beyond the masks and candy (I sometimes think Halloween should be renamed The National Day of Giving Sugar to Kids) to honor the deeper traditions that inspired it—English Hallow’s Eve, the Celtic Samhain (pronounced sow-in), and the Mexican Día de los Muertos or Day of the Dead. All of these offer rituals for remembering and honoring those who came before us.
According to these traditions, late October is the time of year when the veil separating the living and the dead grows thin—and the dead feel closest to us.
An Easy Way to Hear the Dead
Given how hard it’s been for us, the living, to take care of the planet, I’m open to any wisdom we might glean from the dead. And connecting with them is easier than you might think.
Last week, while picking yet another round of apples from our over-abundant trees, I listened to Krista Tippett’s stirring interview with the great primatologist, educator, and environmental activist Jane Goodall, recently deceased. Hearing Jane’s calm voice, I thought, She’s still here. I can feel her through these words.
As I listened, I began to ask her questions in my mind. In that wise, gentle tone of hers, she spoke about her connection to the planet, the animals, and the younger generations. So I asked, Jane, how do you stay hopeful, working well into your nineties, when the environment you love continues to be destroyed?
I didn’t need to hear her literal response to sense her reply.
The same thing happened while listening to a soul-filling series of podcasts by the environmentalist Joanna Macy, recorded at the end of her life. Though she’s now gone, her voice still fills me with her compassion for humanity and call for courage.
When, with our hearts open, we read books, listen to recordings, or watch videos of those who’ve inspired us, we can feel their spirit.
We can ask them questions, imagine their presence, and listen for their replies—even if imagination must bridge the distance.
Conversations Across Time
We can also reach beyond recorded history. I’d love to ask women like Mary Wollstonecraft in England, Olympe de Gouges in France, and Sojourner Truth in the United States what they’d say about today’s resurgence of misogyny and racism.
And I’d like to hear from my own ancestors—who were never famous—about how they struggled, persevered, and held their values.
If I sit quietly with an open heart, I can picture them and ask a question. Maybe I’ll hear something back; maybe I won’t. If words come, I listen and write. If nothing comes, I still feel grateful for the connection to their great souls.
A few years ago, preparing for a talk, I spent a weekend immersed in the writings of poet-philosopher John O’Donohue, seeking insights on spirituality, creativity, and art. At some point, I felt as though he began speaking directly to me. I grabbed my keyboard as a flurry of ideas poured in.
Was that really him? you might ask.
Does it matter, I’d reply, as long as it helped me and improved my talk? (And no, I won’t be submitting our exchange to Wikiquote.)
When I hear a truth that moves me, I’m content to let imagination help me capture it.
I know people who regularly converse with a beloved departed spouse or child. My friend Rondi Lightmark experienced her husband’s presence after his passing and described it beautifully in her book The Difference Between Seeds and Stones. She will carry that knowing with her forever.
It’s natural to wonder, Was that real? But imagination doesn’t appreciate that kind of question. If you gain insight for living, then more power to it—however it came.
Regardless of What You Believe
You don’t have to believe in an afterlife to try communicating during these “thin-veil” days of late October.
You only have to believe in love.
Just sit still. Be open. Send love to those you carry in your heart. If you feel words coming back, wonderful. I recently had a deeply reassuring inner conversation with my father, who passed a quarter century ago. Often, though, I hear nothing at all.
Still, I send love:
to family members I knew and those I didn’t,
to public figures who tried to make a difference,
to those who suffered,
to creators who were never recognized,
to anyone who dared to love pink when blue was in vogue,
to anyone at all.
You don’t have to believe anything about communicating with the dead to send love.
Because love is always real.
And if something—or someone—sends love back, that’s simply a beautiful bonus.
It's true, miracles happen to those who believe in them, it is said. You expressed so beautifully that part about listening. Listening without the burden of culture or definitions. Grief and loss is an opening with extraordinary potential to see, hear, and experience beyond the frame. And especially that opening happens in the first year after.
Thank you so much for your acknowledgement and for your wisdom!
Wonderfully expressed, Sally. Thank you.