Tonight I offered libations
Of Elderberry wine
And lit a beeswax candle
On the altar of my ancestors
and Amma, and Kali Ma.
I touched my grandparents’ mezzuzah on my father’s side
And felt them, paternal ancestors
Warm and living,
And living in eternity
They seemed to glow, to be part of life
And my contact fed them,
More than the wine.
I’ll try vodka next time.
Our dead live in graves
And in the spirit world
And in our bones
By honouring them,
We honour ourselves.
They want us to thrive, and live
In every sense
They want us to be happy and well
For our human cup to runneth over
With life in all its shades
They’re here to help us, and support us
We are their creation, their offering
Their gift to the world
Our living honours them.
Do then your inner work
Journey and seek and enquire.
Uncover and discover what parts of you
Fragments and shadows and child aspects
That live with the dead,
In their land.
For ungrieved relatives,
We may foresake our own land
And join them in theirs
A sibling (especially from the womb, or cradle)
An uncle or aunt
Or an ancestor recent enough to be felt,
But distant enough to be unknown or unnamed
(It’s said up to seven generations is the domain of ancestral influence
But there are always exceptions.)
Reclaim the part of you that sleeps eternally,
Or wishes to
That beckons you always back to bed, back to sleep
The part of you that is always confused, as if in a dream
Never quite landed and awake
That part of you is not dead,
But maybe it is with the dead
And maybe you can welcome it back.
Do this work gently, and lovingly
There are no cold clasps to be unhooked
Only embraces to be made, and resolutions to love
Let your dead be in their land, and remembered
and fed in this land too,
by your hands and with your heart
And let your own self, for as long as you live,
Live fully here also.