Day 7: Lord of the Dead and Samhain’s Shadow-King: Donn, the Dark One
(Day 7 in the Samhain Series)
When the winds shift cold and the veil thins to its barest shimmer, the dead stir — not in frightful malice, but in remembrance.
And at the edge of that twilight realm stands Donn, the Dark One of Irish myth — the shadowed ancestor, the keeper of souls, and the oldest lord of death in Celtic lore.
The First of the Dead
Donn’s name means “the brown one,” an echo of the soil itself. In myth, he was once a mortal — perhaps even a god of the Milesians, the last wave of invaders who came to Ireland after the Tuatha Dé Danann.
"The Coming of the Sons of Miled" by Stephen Reid
When he drowned off the coast of Kerry, his spirit was said to linger on a small, storm-tossed island called Tech Duinn, or “The House of Donn.”
It is there that the souls of the dead are said to gather before crossing into the next world.
As Lady Gregory wrote in Gods and Fighting Men (1904):
“To Donn they go — all souls of the Gael — for he is their father, their dark ancestor, the first who died upon these shores.”
In this, Donn is less a devil than a shepherd of souls — a somber figure ensuring the dead find their way home.
The ancient Irish believed that when storms rose over the western sea, it was Donn’s horses racing across the waves, bearing spirits to his island.
The Island Beyond the West
Tech Duinn still stirs the imagination. Locals in County Kerry say the island is haunted by whispers and wind, and that to look upon it too long invites dreams of the dead.
In older pagan practice, people would turn west during Samhain and raise their cups to Donn, calling blessings on their departed kin.
The west, after all, has always symbolized the passage into the Otherworld — the place of sunset, endings, and rest.
Even the Christianization of Ireland could not erase Donn. Over centuries, his domain merged quietly with the idea of Heaven’s gate or the Christian afterlife, his island transfigured but never forgotten.
Donn and the Fires of Samhain
At Samhain, bonfires burned not only for protection but also as beacons for the dead — lights to guide wandering souls back to Donn’s island, or to the homes of their descendants.
To the Irish, this was not a night of terror, but of deep ancestral communion.
The people spoke to their dead, left offerings at their tables, and whispered their names to the fire — a ritual echo of calling to Donn himself.
Folklorist Kevin Danaher wrote:
“It was believed that the souls of the departed returned to the old homes on Samhain night… The living welcomed them, as they might welcome Donn, the Dark Father.”
The Shadow King and the Living
Donn’s story reminds us that death was never feared in the old ways — only misunderstood.
He represents the natural end of all cycles, the fertile dark before rebirth. In many ways, Donn’s role is the mirror of Brigid’s — he holds the space of descent, while she kindles the spark of return.
As the Samhain fires burned down to embers, it was said that Donn’s gaze passed over Ireland — ensuring the balance between the living and the dead remained intact.
Reflection & Ritual
If you feel called to honor this aspect of Samhain, you might:
Light a single candle in the west window of your home, to guide your ancestors or loved ones on their journey.
Offer bread, milk, or whiskey to Donn — tokens of hospitality for the lord of the dead.
Journal on endings: What in your life needs to rest? What are you ready to release into the fertile dark?
Journal Prompts
What cycles in your life are closing, and what wisdom do they leave behind?
How do you honor those who came before you?
What fears about death or endings can you soften into reverence?
As the fires of Samhain’s approach, remember that Donn’s realm is not one of despair, but of return.
The same soil that receives the fallen also nourishes the seeds of what will rise again.
To walk with Donn is to understand that death — in all its forms — is not an ending, but a promise: that all things find their way home, that all darkness carries the pulse of new life.
So when the winds turn cold and the veil shivers thin, stand at your own threshold, breathe deep, and whisper to the west — for even in the stillness of the grave, the heart of the world beats on.
And as always, my friend, take care of you.
Melody
