And tomorrow night, the widow of Jim Morrison of the storied 1960s rock band The Doors will celebrate Samhain, the ancient Celtic end-of-summer celebration that has evolved into Halloween, at her home in the East Village.

"I will light a candle and summon those from the other world, on the other side of the veil, including my beloved Jim, to celebrate the end of summer and start of winter," says Kennealy-Morrison, a rock 'n' roll journalist in the 1960s and '70s.

Kennealy-Morrison - the author of "Strange Days: My Life With and Without Jim Morrison," and several novels based on Celtic mythology, including "The Copper Crown" - was born in pre-yuppie Park Slope, baptized in St. Stanislaus on 14th St. and raised an Irish Catholic in Brooklyn and Babylon, L.I. She discovered Celtic paganism while a student at St. Bonaventure University.

"They had an amazing library on the subject at St. Bonaventure's, I guess operating on the principle of 'Know thy enemy,'" says Kennealy-Morrison. "And that's where I began my formal instruction in the only religion I ever wanted to be instructed in - Celtic paganism, the faith of my Celtic ancestors."

Kennealy-Morrison says she'd been introduced as a child to King Arthur, Finn McCool, Gwydion ap Don and other Irish, Welsh and Scottish legends. "But even as a little kid, I had a feeling there was a lot more to it," she says. "But there were no books on paganism around, so I had to come at it sideways through the legends until St. Bonaventure's - bless them - introduced me to paganism, and my life was forever changed."

In 1966, Morrison visited a private Irish library in Manhattan and met some people interested in Celtic paganism.

"They took me into a group where I met a high priest and high priestess, and they initiated me," Morrison says. "I took an oath. This in no way has anything whatsoever to do with Satanism. In fact, the high priest at the time was a practicing Presbyterian minister. The faith I believe in is simply the one my ancestors believed in before St. Patrick ruined Ireland with Christianity. For me, St. Patrick's Day is the darkest day of the year. I dress in black. It's fine that it's become a kind of Irish Mardi Gras. But for me it's a reminder of how Patrick subsumed paganism into Christianity in Ireland. That's not something to celebrate."

She points out that many of the rituals of Irish Catholicism are rooted in ancient Celtic paganism.

"The Pope at the time of Patrick ordered him to instruct the Celts that the goddess they worshiped as Dana would now be called Mary," says Kennealy-Morrison. "And it would no longer be Lugh of the Shining Spear but Michael the Archangel. Patrick built churches in all the pagan holy places. He gave saints' names to all the pagan holy wells and springs and basically co-opted the whole pagan shooting match. It was cultural and spiritual imperialism."

In 1969, Kennealy-Morrison became a Celtic pagan high priestess, also known as a witch, herself, presiding over a core group of 12 to 15 people. That same year, she first interviewed Jim Morrison in The Plaza Hotel for Jazz and Pop magazine.

"When we first touched hands, there were actual sparks, so we knew something magical was going on," she says. "I told him I was a witch and he was completely fascinated. Jim was into Native American Indian spirituality, which wasn't much different than Celtic paganism. And when he realized that Celtic paganism was part of his own Scot heritage, he delved in."

She says Morrison proposed to her in May 1970. "And we were married, or hand-fasted, on Old Mid-Summer Day, which was June 24, 1970, in my old apartment in the East Village," she says. "We took vows to each other, spoke traditional Celtic words, and had our hands bound with a ribbon. It was performed by a licensed minister."

After Jim Morrison died of a drug overdose at 27 in 1971 in Paris, a broken-hearted Kennealy-Morrison disbanded her Celtic pagan group but clung to her faith.

Tomorrow night, this Brooklyn girl who grew up to be a pagan Celtic witch and marry a rock legend will stay at home, alone.