Samhain. Halloween in the modern tradition. October 31st on the Gregorian calendar — yet in truth, the moment when the Sun reaches 15° Scorpio. The Celtic New Year. The Turning of the Wheel.
An ancient fire festival marking the end of harvest and the beginning of descent. The nights grow longer; darkness reclaims dominion. As cold engulfs the land, everything once alive and pulsing with solar energy withers, dries, and begins its slumber. The veil thins and it becomes easier to access the liminal; the in-between; other realms and dimensions.
Always my favorite time of year.
Pisces-born, with a storm of Scorpio in my twelfth house, I’ve always been well acquainted with the darker and unseen layers of reality. Ever since I was a child, I’ve seen things, felt things; things I couldn’t explain. Things other people didn’t have answers for either.
And some of them were terrifying.
The Presence in my Room
Ever since I was ten years old, I suffered bouts of what most people call sleep paralysis.
To me, it felt like dying.
I’d lie there, frozen — powerless yet wide awake.
Unable to move, open my eyes, or speak.
Inside, I was kicking, screaming, thrashing with all my might.
A crushing weight pressed down upon my chest.
A strange echo filled my ears.
And all I knew to do was fight.
I would battle a silent war until finally I broke myself free.
Alert and wired, I’d rush to my parents, trembling, only to hear it was “just a bad dream.”
But I knew it wasn’t.
It didn’t feel like a dream at all.
It felt like a presence in my room. An entity.
Something intent on killing me.
It always came in from the left side.
These attacks continued sporadically throughout my childhood and then seemed to cease. I almost forgot.
In my mid-twenties, it started to happen again. This time, I lived in an apartment in the city. I started to go through a process that had me a little worried for my mental health for a while.
For nearly eight months, every single day, I would have visions of death — spontaneous flashes of being crushed by a bus, falling off a bridge, being shot, or devoured by something unseen.
They came without warning.
And alongside them, the paralysis returned.
This time my mind was a stronger and more inquisitive, but I still went through many sleepless nights.
Skulls and Shadows
At the same time I became obsessed with skulls.
I drew them, wore them, bought trinkets and decorated my apartment with them.
Some part of me remained calm. I figured I was processing something beyond this life, though I didn’t yet have any metaphysical vocabulary to frame my experience. It was all just raw, pure sensory data.
One night, the paralysis hit so hard I fell off the bed.
And yet — the most peculiar thing that I couldn’t quite reconcile — every time I broke free there was never anything left in the room.
No entity. No presence.
It vanished the moment I regained control of my awareness.
The Ritual
Fast forward many years.
Ireland. Kerry. October 31st, 2019.
By then a lot had changed. I’d encountered many spirits, guides, even extraterrestrial beings and consciousness. I was well on the path. I knew what was up. Being in Ireland for Samhain was an unmistakable opportunity so naturally I planned a ritual…
To enter the descent consciously.
I created an altar. I layed out my stones. I lit my candles.
I spoke to my ancestors and the spirits of the land.
I asked for their blessings and told them I was ready to work with them.
What happened next changed everything.
My perception. My belief. My fundamental understanding of what these things that people call demons and entities really are.
The Descent
So there I was. I’d set the stage.
I sat upright — and I was completely sober.
And as soon as I finished my invocation, I closed my eyes, leaned back, and suddenly began to feel very, very heavy.
The energy in the room thickened. Everything darkened. Even with my eyes shut I saw candlelight flicker and shadows begin to dance.
If I hadn’t orchestrated this moment myself, I would have been terrified.
But this time I knew;I called this in.
My ancestors. My allies. Those who wish me well.
The weight grew by magnitudes. The shadows swirled.
Then came the tell-tale pressure on my chest.
And then — I saw them.
The Greys.
Hovering over me with their huge heads and massive black eyes. Cold. Calculating.
Now, most of my experiences with ETs have been miraculously divine, but once in a while the Greys show up.
Every time they do there’s a lot of work to do.
And this time, instead of fear, I felt rage.
Pure hellfire and fury.
I bolted upright shouting, cursing them with everything I had.
“Not YOU. Not again. Not this time. Get OUT!”
The power that came through me was so intense and so immense it shocked me.
And then — the wildest thing.
All the shadows, all the distorted energy, even the Greys themselves were sucked backward into my solar plexus in one great whoooosh!
And then Silence. Stillness. Calm.
The Revelation
Candles still flickering, I looked at my altar.
I looked back at all the corners of the room.
In the stillness I sat dumbfounded and amazed, processing.
And I realized that everything that I had just witnessed, everything that had been swirling around me… was actually a part of me.
In that moment I understood that the shadows, the demons, the “entities” — even the Greys — were projections of my own fragmented consciousness, my power splintered across lifetimes and timelines.
The shadows were soul fragments, pieces of my astral body trapped between worlds.
The Greys, I sensed, were connected to the psyche and a part of humanity’s collective trauma — a timeline of disconnection, perhaps even a far future we’re healing from.
Something big had shifted. I felt more of myself return.
I was stronger. Fuller. Clearer… Multidimensional.
And I understood at last:
Demons and entities are and aren’t real.
We experience them, yes — but they are also us.
Fragments of power lost through trauma, still vibrating between the threads of time and space.
Because time doesn’t really exist and all of what we call creation is but a quantum fluctuation.
The Integration
Some souls come here to live a simple, grounded life.
And some of us come to reclaim power.
The irony of my path is that I do both — all the madness that I meet, I bring back down to ground. My own life and my own body are my instruments of measure.
Those who suffer from sleep paralysis are not cursed — they are simply being invited to call their soul fragments back home — into this body now.
It doesn’t matter where the fragmentation began: a wound in battle, a poisoning in ancient Greece, an alien abduction, a heartbreak in this life.
What matters is the remembering.
This world is overrun with chaos because we have forgotten how to die — and how to guide the dead.
We’ve lost our death rites.
Our songs of passage.
Our prayers of release.
But that night — Samhain, 2019 — I remembered.
And I’ve never had sleep paralysis again.
I cracked the code. I understood the game.
The monsters in the dark were never here to harm me.
They were my own lost pieces, begging to come home.
Blessed Samhain, and Happy Halloween.
May you dance with your spirits tonight.
— Mayah
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