A PRAYER TO THE FAMILY TREE (AND OTHER VOICES IN MY HEAD): re-post from 2009:

I had dinner in the house of Magick and Mystery tonight. That’s what I’m calling a 19^th century brick Victorian gingerbread that you might find in an Alice in Wonderland scene, or (to honor the owner) a Tom Robbins novel.  It would take too long to describe it adequately, so instead just imagine Dr. Seuss meets Colonial England with a seasoning of chaos and inspired unexpected.  In the main boudoir (and it IS a boudoir, complete with grand piano and antique sofa) hangs a print by Norman Rockwell.  It is his family tree…the astonishing family tree. 

The image is of the red-haired archetypical golden boy of the 1950's.  And to his left is his proper-house-wife mother, and right his business-as-usual-bread-winning father.  As the tree goes back, the characters get more interesting.  There is the gypsy, the native American, and the pirate.  So unexpected, so passionate and exotic, so...ASTONISHING.

It got me thinking about my own family and their lineage. 

I always dread any neo-hippy ceremony when we’re asked to the “call in our ancestors”.  Don’t get me wrong…I’m grateful for mine.  I’m sure that I wouldn’t be sitting here now using these very real fingers to type this lovely diatribe if it weren’t for each and every one.   And I bet they were a fine bunch of folks.  But damn, some days I feel the weight of their souls in every cell of my being.  I feel the heavy dankness of each numbing addiction, every clinging desire, all ignorant prejudices, and all matter of beliefs, goals, truths and nonsense.  It’s heavy, inert, depressing.  Talk about a downer.

I wonder, why not an upper? Why not lightness?  Why not gaiety?  Why not love and beauty, support and guidance? I guess that’s the point when we’re asked to call them into the circle - to recognize their unique talents and strengths…their shared lessons…their exquisite gifts.  I wonder why do those things feel less alive in my bones than the grief, shame, hate, anger, jealousy, and greed?

Am I simply stuck in pessimism?  Falling prey to the negative vibrations of discontent learned from the world around me.  Instead of feeling the joy of my ancestors and their wisdom as they live on through me, perhaps I’ve adopted other voices from my past and allowed them to worm their way into my DNA?  The half-baked lovers, teachers and friends I clung to for refuge in times of unknowing who offered well-intentioned but potential inaccurate and even harmful advice?  Has those opinions of what is right and good turned into should’s and ought’s that now whirl like a blurry knife that slivering me off from my authentic self and family, requiring me to vigilantly question and doubt every minute experience?

In times like these it’s helpful to remember the wisdom of Buddha,

 “People with opinions just go around bothering one another.”

So with that, first let me call out to the universe of completion and rebirth, ”I no longer will fall prey to another’s story of reality.  I am WILLING and READY to trust my own self.  I am here to remember who I truly am and respect that above all other things. To be like Jesus or Socrates and DIE rather than give up the conviction of whom I really am and what I truly believe in.  Fools with opinions be damned. “

Second, I make a request.  “Family tree…I know somebody, somewhere was a great singer, a profound artist, a practical statesman and a masterful magician!  Let me feel those gifts coursing in my blood, singing in my bones, emanating from my aura.  Offer those gifts as my inheritance.  Grant me the permission to toss the Louis Vinton trunks and freight train baggage of disempowerment into the Ganges, Nile, or whatever sacred river you’d like.  The French Broad is just down the road. Will that do?”

With the anger, hate, shame, and guilt gone.  I want welcome you in as you are.  But, since I do not know you by proper name, I will call you into the circle as I know you to be.  Ancestors, I’d like to call in:

Wild flowers and fir trees…and the fig trees too.

….Quan Yin and Hanaman

Brother wolf and sisters eagle

The loving Tara and the fierce Sekmet. 

  … Armetis,  Maat, and some rich, dark African Queen whose name is unknown to me

Dragons…

…. and brightly painted Brahmin Cows!!!!

                                         …and great, great grand father tortoise too.

Deep pools of clear, lightly perfumed water from forest streams

       ….and newly formed cherry blossoms

Late night games of charades on the front porch

      …and canning the garden harvest into the green mason jars of my imagination.

Unicorns,

the Phenoix…

                        …and  the Siberian tigress

Magicians and Alchemists

            … Seers and Sages

 Medicine Women

            …Priestesses

Warriors: Zen, Hindu and wild women of the Americas. 

…Poets: profound and passionate

Music and Merry makers.

            …Scholars and pens.

The spirits of the small stone church west of Astorga Spain…

            …Ajax Mountain and the woods out back

The Calligrapher and the Archer…
  ....and  faery folk of my youth

            …and the soft subtle sweetness of my own heart.

I’m beginning to remember now.

The members of this lineage have been very patient with me as I learn to disengage from the world of black and white and good and bad.  I am coming back to the world of grey-dation…and with your help I am learning to live vibrantly there. 

Like the great goddess Durga who received a boon from each of the Gods and Goddesses of the Hindu Pantheon, each of you have give me a treasured gift. I promise to wield them all with great respect.  And allow myself to express the power of an authentic imperfect self. I remember you well…as you were…singing yourself into existence.

Dear Ancestors…I am honored to call you into my circle. I will never forget you again. Stay if you can, go if you must, A-ho and fair thee well.