Those Who Aren’t Ancestors

Roses and German make me want to share some family stories, both plain and embroidered. But before I honor my ancestors, I must first honor those who aren’t. You see, I’m not going to have any children. Whenever I’m reminded to honor the ancestors, a little voice in the back of my head has said “but what about me?”

One day, in meditation, giving thanks, in communication with the spirit realm, I called out to those who never became ancestors. They came in swarms. They are so lonely and there are so many of them. Hardly anybody ever talks to them. So many babies and young children, of course. So many murdered and starved. So many nuns and monks. So many kindred spirits.

Now whenever I am in a ceremonial context and we honor the ancestors, I also quietly or silently invoke those who aren’t. They form a sort of protective cloak around me as I go about life, eager to have someone acknowledge them.

At first I thought this was a secret. I knew it gave me great power and also that to talk openly about other realms might make me seem crazy to some people. I took a trip to the spirit world to ask if I should be public and open about my experiences and was advised that I should. “But I am afraid that it will put me in danger,” I said. “At this moment it is a greater danger to remain silent and hide who you are,” came the reply. “Through honesty you will find your allies and be strengthened by them.” So.

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