Between Veils and Ruins

I’ve said it before, I know.

I’m repeating myself, I know.

I’m rehashing the same sentiments, just in a different order, I know.

And yet, despite knowing this, I can’t stop typing.

Being a blogger, journaling biographical thoughts as they tumble from brain to fingertips, means being an authentic writer—even when you’re repeating yourself. It also means that something isn’t truly extinguished until it’s written about, and in my case, these October feelings haven’t eased despite being penned one too many times. That means that I must continue writing and exploring these feelings, exorcising them in a traditional October way, until they’re fully quenched.

October: the completion of cycles and the beginning of new transitions. A spiritual month. A metamorphosis month. A month where I exist between veils as the daughter of Hekate, the Goddess who walks the bridge of the living and dead. All Hekatians, disciples of Hekate, anticipate this season with the same celebration as Christians do Christmas.

However, this month, much like the rest of 2025, has been marred by a sabotage of human life, joy, and normalcy. The world is out of sync, humanity is a shattered, disfigured version of itself, and all malicious intent has risen to the surface. Cruelty has become the new normal.

Understandably, then, the effects of this politically devastating year have trickled into October, blackening the tide. It’s hard to celebrate when human rights vanish by decree, and when millions brace for hunger because the safety net was cut loose. It’s hard to celebrate while Jamaica hunkers down from a historic Category 5 hurricane, the most powerful hurricane ever recorded in the Atlantic. There’s more, too, of course, but these are the highlights.  

October 2025 isn’t the same. It has lost its sparkle. There are glints of low light and gentle shimmers on the horizon, amid the gloom of oppression, but the light is weak, snuffing out before it can be held. What’s left is restlessness, the quiet panic of not knowing when the world will right itself again.

Since moving to America a decade ago, I’ve watched it molt into something unrecognizable—a land of fear dressed in freedom’s clothes. There’s unrest, alienation, and a complete collapse of community as radicalized politics charge forth with an agenda of state repression, genocide, and autocracy. Right-wing elitism is the signature signing America’s checks, and the continued economic decline is another symptom of the same disease.

Disbelief, frustration, anxiety, and depression—the indications of chronic stress—have become our new normal. With such irregular feelings suddenly becoming the standard, the impact on one's spiritual and mental health cannot be undervalued. No wonder October feels like a cold, miserable, and mundane January. It has been overshadowed by the worst spell of all: evil.

There are only a handful of days left until we say goodbye to October. For the time that remains, I’ve decided to focus on eating well, keeping warm, and catching up on some much-needed sleep. Of course, I’m terribly sad about it—sad that I’ve missed out on my favorite month’s festivities, failing to achieve connection and guidance, and most importantly, not finding light, hope, and assurance that tomorrow will be better than today. But I’ll light candles anyway. Out of habit, out of faith.

2025, you’re the worst thing to ever happen. Except for maybe the year of your cousin, 2020.