Before we move on to our discussion of Part II & Ch. 5 of KISSING THE LIMITLESS I’d like to go back to Ch. 2 for a moment. There Thorn writes

“Things may need to stay in the darkness for some time. There is power in darkness: the power of gestation, deep dreaming, and the sweetness of night.”

In Ch. 5 Thorn asks us to access that power through divination, dream journaling, fantasy, & “Naming the Nameless” (taboo, & thoughts/emotions that hide along the edges of our awareness). She also urges us to connect with our mythic & historical forebearers,

“Be they ancestors of blood or spirit, they can both gift us and ‘curse’ us with their legacy.”

On this murky March day (a haunted month if ever there was one) let’s take Thorn’s advice & listen to the ghosts of our own past. If, as Thorn suggests, you were to write a letter to your ancestors & ask for help in understanding your own journey, who would you write to & what would it say? @WeiserBooks

It’s a little after midnight. My typing is a bit off because my one thumb is a touch sore, so my space bar usage is a bit awkward. I got a lot done today (yesterday) and feel really accomplished at the moment. As is my habit I prepared the first part of this entry a little while after @WeiserBooks posted it. I’ve thought about the question off and on since I read it earlier today (yesterday).  I’ve pondered how best to respond. What is it that I would write in a letter to my ancestors? Would I tell them how grateful I am for their legacy? Would I need to assuage their concerns about my lifestyle? Would I tell them that I honor and love them, even when my life is difficult and I don’t remember to say it?

In my practice ancestor means a lot of things. It means my actual physical ancestors. My parents and grandparents going back to the dawn of time. It also means my predecessors. The gay men and women of yesteryear, who were at stonewall, who have died because they were different. In a larger sense, all the outcasts of history. Everyone who carried with them the stigma of being other. It also means my teachers and their teachers in the craft, the traditional teachings that have been handed down to me for good or ill. And my past lives, my spiritual ancestry. The bonds and connections that I carry with me from spin to spin.

When Thorn talks about ancestors, I think of all these things. And a part of me reaches immediately for the pen and paper to begin writing countless letters to my ancestors. There is so much to say to them, all of them. But another part of me stops. I breathe. I reach inside and find stillness. I contemplate.

How can I best communicate with my disparate ancestry today? Right now? The simple answer is in rememberance. The greatest honor I can give those who came before me is to remember their journey. This means remembering that my grandmother grew up during the great depression, and her survival and strength can lend me wisdom and guidance in dealing with the economic troubles we face today.

It means remembering that my native american ancestors walked the lands of Chicago (place of stinky onions) long before my European ancestors did. They have blood in the soil here, and their spirit is still part of the land I know live on and honor.

It means remembering the struggles of my own past in this life and others. Recognizing patterns that have followed me, and relationships that don’t seem to improve from one incarnation to the next. Choosing to be, or not to be, the person that I remember having been.

It means remembering the lessons of all the outcasts and pariahs before me. Remembering that the path is more important than the pain it causes. Remembering that real honor is in being true to yourself no matter what.

There are a great many things I would say if I were writing a letter to my ancestors. I can’t begin to list them all here. But I know it would start and end with rememberance.