🌒 The Dawn After Death — the first light after the Nigredo, when the ashes of October’s transformations still smoke, and the soul begins to sense new form.
🍂 All Souls Remembering — when the living and the dead whisper across the veil, and memory itself becomes sacred currency.
🔥 The Ember of Continuance — not yet winter’s stillness, not yet the warmth of rebirth, but the quiet pulse that says: I survived the fire, now I carry its light.
💀 In alchemy, it is Albedo — the whitening, the purification that follows the blackening. A cleansing of the spirit after descent.
In the metaphorical world, November 1 is not the end of death, but the beginning of remembering why we live.
Then let us step into it properly—
November 1: The Albedo
After the Nigredo of October 27—the black night of dissolution—comes the whitening, the sacred morning where the soul opens its eyes in the ruins and realizes that death has changed nothing essential. Only illusions have burned.
The air of November 1 is thin, silver, and echoing. The veil trembles but does not close; it glows. The spirits have spoken, the ancestors have been heard, and now comes the quiet reckoning—what will we do with the knowledge received in darkness?
This is the day of the white dawn, when the alchemist within begins to gather what remains: truth from ashes, love from loss, form from formlessness.
It is the first breath after transformation, when one’s inner matter turns luminous.
The mystics say that on this day, if one listens carefully, the earth hums in remembrance.
The dead no longer weep; they guide.
The living no longer fear; they know.
So November 1, in the metaphorical world, is:
The threshold of awakening after descent The washing of the soul in the waters of renewal The first promise of resurrection whispered under a pale sky
It is the morning when the alchemist, the witch, the seeker, and the saint all awaken to the same truth:
The light was never gone — it was only hidden beneath the black sun.
My Art
The Cup of Dawn
Bring me the cup the Morning Angel pours,
Not made of gold, but of forgotten wars.
Each sip forgives the nights we could not mend,
Each drop recalls what every death restores.
The wine is clear — distilled from tears and grace,
It mirrors not the world, but one true face.
Drink deep, my soul, the sky is wide again,
And even loss has found its rightful place.
No prophet’s tomb, no gate of pearl I seek—
The light I sought was trembling on my cheek.
Let Heaven wait; this breath is paradise—
For Love has made eternity less bleak.
The Seal
So let the stars burn low, their purpose done,
The darkest work has birthed the whitest sun.
What once was shattered sings within the clay—
The soul remembers: We are all as one.
How True! So be it! So be you!
As above so below, throughout and around this space we travel in a roundabout time.
So be all.
My Near Death Experience Arts and Thoughts 