Ancestors are on my mind a lot these days.
I attended two celebrations of life in September. Since then, one more person who is a beloved part of my past has died, and someone else I love is at the threshold.
This is also the time of year that Celtic spirituality terms “a thin place”, a time when the veil between the material world and the unseen world thins. It’s not surprising that those who have passed beyond that veil are a part of my thoughts.
I did not grow up with a close connection to the generations before me. My parents moved our family quite a distance from their parents and siblings. We also moved every few years, so I didn’t experience long-term relationships with older adults who might have been surrogate grandparents. Perhaps that is why, as an adult, I’ve been drawn to friends/mentors significantly older than me. I am now of an age where many of those dear ones are no longer earth-bound.
When I consciously take time to remember them, even to mentally recite their names like a litany, I feel a unique kind of comfort. I feel surrounded by benevolent attention, a sense of each of them watching me from afar with affection, cheering me on.
I watched a movie many years ago called Iron Will. One of the final scenes in the movie is the hero reaching the end of a long, difficult dogsled race. All of the townsfolk are on the sidelines, cheering wildly as he uses the last bit of his endurance to finish. The encouragement of the people who believe in him give him what he needs to do the impossible. Remembering that scene never fails to move me to tears.
When I think of the beloved ones who have passed through the veil before me, there are times I can connect with a similar sense of being bolstered by their faith in me. I have a felt sense of each of them sending me encouragement, willing me to remain faithful in the work of living fully my experience as a human here on earth. There are some that were writing mentors, and I feel them infusing me with the courage to keep showing up to the page. Some were spiritual companions, and I feel their encouragement in my soul-work. Yet others were loving supports for my growth in general, and their ongoing love buoys my everyday experience.
These are the ones I have had relationship with here on earth. I know it to be true that there are generations of ancestors beyond the veil who are also cheering me on. I don’t know their names so it’s harder for me to connect consciously with them. Yet the connections I feel with those I can name helps me feel the support of those I can’t.
I believe they have a perspective on earthly life, and on my life, that it isn’t yet possible for me to have. They see “the big picture”, not only of who I am and my place in this lifetime, but the contribution my life is making to the whole of humanity over generations. It’s not a task I can meet consciously because I’m too close to the minutae. They are now a part of the great Wisdom that is infused in all that is. They see the great overview, and they know my life matters, that my work in growing in love and freedom is contributing to the expansion of love and freedom in all of humanity.
This helps me to continue doing my soul-work, even when staying present to the uncertainties and discomforts of my experience is hard. I know I am not alone in the struggle of being human. I feel grounded in the long lineage of light bearers.
I also believe that my remembrance of them is important. It thins the veil between us, even for a moment, and keeps the flavour of their earthly presence active.
To paraphrase a song from my early adulthood (written by Jon Mohr and sung by Steve Green). “May all who went before me find me faithful.” May I continue to remember their example, their love and their ongoing encouragement. May I follow their footprints well.
My invitation to you is to take a few moments to begin your own litany of remembrance of those who are no longer here on earth, whose influence when they were present made a difference. Keep the list open for the next few days and see who comes to mind.
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