Honoring Ancestry

In the Northern Hemisphere, October 31st marks the Celtic version of New Year’s Eve — the beginning of Winter, and the thinnest veil between worlds. Whether or not you believe in ghosts or Halloween goblins, it is a potent time of year to explore the legacy passed onto us by our ancestors.

This past weekend I attended the SoulCollage® Facilitators Conference in Stevenson, Washington. (Sidenote: my maiden name is Stevens.) The theme of ancestry was very powerful for me as I played with images, poetry, song, and silence.   Today I share a musing that arose as I pondered this experience. 

“You enter this room in human shape and as the atmosphere we breathe.” Rumi

“And so our mothers and grandmothers have, more often than not anonymously, handed on the creative spark, the seed of the flower they themselves never hoped to see—or like a sealed letter they could not plainly read.”
–Alice Walker 

My ancestors call to me like sand pouring through an hourglass. They whisper and prod and announce their presence through endless voices. They speak through the deer lying inert by the side of the road,“Watch, listen, pay attention.”

With red poppies in the hands of bright-eyed girls and sultry women they murmur, “Pay us honor. We are here.” They come to me in the pathway of a labyrinth, “This is how you build a house. All is necessary. All.”

They dance with me and frighten me and send love bumps and goose bumps up my spine and down my arms. They float in the dust of fall-kissed sunshine and hang heavy in the mist of an October day. “We are here. We are here. We are here.”

“Honor. Love. Obey. Listen. Do not be afraid…” and still my heart pounds with trepidation for I am stepping into unknown territory, yet known for generations. Held within our bones. Buried in family plots and unmarked graves.

Ancient. Omniscient. Benevolent.

“Call on us and we will come. Bury us and we will plague your dreams and stall your life.”

“Come,” they say in the song of a wooden flute and the heartbeat of a drum. They twinkle in the eyes of my children and the wrinkles of my soul. Like an eternal flame, they will not be squelched. Like St. Brigid and her Kildare women, I am a tender of the fire. My fire burns bright. It calls to the ancestors just as they call to me.

I do not understand this road nor do I need to. I am drawn. I am comforted. I am safe. I am astounded and enlivened. Enriched and enraged. There is so much I do not understand. I want the answers to be solid like their tombstones. Instead they slip through my fingers like the mist of morning… 

What is the legacy passed onto you by your ancestors? Where or how do you hear the ancient whispers? 

(btw - Keep your eyes open for my upcoming live and online SoulCollage® offerings... And please let me know if there's a workshop topic you'd like to see presented!)