Sweet ancestors, move your breath in my circle.
Spiral your wisdom in me.
Bless the longing ache in my bones.Rainbow you are – black, red, yellow, white, old, innocent, twice born, never born.
Your voice seeks my ear. Like a child I press close, listening for the inner sounds.
Instruct me in your harmony arts, invoke within me structures of peace. Lay my hands to the unfinished tasks. Find within me the missing pieces of the puzzle.
Open my heart generously to all my relations, practicing kindness wherever my foot falls. Help to see your face in what I cannot understand. Show me the old ways of being a blessing to everyone I meet.
Walk me at your pace. Free me from hurry. Set me on a willing sprint for what nourishes this life.
Where I am a rookie elder, where I have walked the path further than some, imbue my teachings with the irreverent twinkling wisdom of you, like the stars that bless the sky.
Help me to find my place in the order of things, even as that order shifts and shuffles. Make my way one of honoring all that has gone before. Let me feel the feet that have cut the path.
There is no being human without being human together.
I am another you.
Ancient ones, help me to remember.
We are often given to believing that we chose what we do because of who we are. But in truth the choices we make are what creates who we feel ourselves to be.
In a sense, the real reason we came here at all was to change through choice. To reconfigure the workings of the inner worlds and the outer through decision.
In my world, the yearly Ancestor Season began with our most recent full moon. The darkening of days brings with it a thinning of the veils, a softening of the gaze and a sweetening of the dialogue between me and those beloveds on the Other Side.
Our ancestors are with us always, nearer to us than we can imagine. They have access to insight, perspective and humor that can feel in short supply here in the embodied world.
My practice now is to be in dialogue with them. To bring my questions and listen for the answers that come in a language I barely understand.
What they show me today is that living is choosing. We have a choice, always and in every moment.
You have a choice, to bless or to curse what is within you and around you.
You have a choice to crumble under shame or to locate and mend the hurt beneath it.
You have a choice to say no to aliveness or to wake every morning with a yes yes yes!
You have a choice to open to each other or to close off.
You have a choice to speak understanding your words as a burden, or as a gift.
You have a choice to affirm everything that exists, to honor its place in the order of things whether you like it or understand it.
You have a choice to find fault or to become curious.
You have a choice to live the life that is truly yours or to live the life you believe is expected of you.
Today the ancestors show me how every leaf on every tree is a gift just for you. That the breeze that rustles the tree and the percussive dance of acorns smacking rooftops and archways are yours alone. The blades of grass and crow calls exist for you. All the things you hate and resist are gifts given to activate your loving choice.
And those you call your opponents and adversaries are there precisely to give you the gift of choosing what you love, what you care about. They give you the gift of leaning into value and purpose. They put you in touch with a gut-level creative power.
This life is loving you, is what the ancestors say.
What will you choose?
With the love of the ancients,