Enmeshed within the roots of time, of ancestors so far in the distant past that we are only mists to one another, we are merely the memories we access through the rhythms of Mother Earth and the songs on the wind that sound like birds but are the voices of words strung together like berries on a bush that are eaten now as their cousins were then.
Within the palm of my hand, out of the shallow cup of darkness emerges the light of morning and illuminates the way forward so that I can hear the wisdom of She Who Is All. I stare at the star and know my own heart for within mine is Hers and theirs and ours. I don’t think there is any way to let go, to forget the ancestors because they dwell within bone and sinew; even if skin and hair pretend to be someone else, when I close my eyes, sink into the earth, I feel our relatedness and experience our inseparability.
Can you imagine if we open to conscious access of the origins of our species? And then go just a little further to swimming in Her womb among the kindred that swim in our present? Were the trees in the mountains once seaweed of ocean valleys? We are all related, our blood the same as sea — we remain salt and water, bleeding life into life and beyond death. The roots are snakes shedding their skin and the hawk flies once and leaves a feather upon the trail for me to find and put in my hair as I follow the crumbs of ancestors thinking I am on my own.
Am I going backwards through time? Am I the ancestral spirit who led me to this moment of acknowledgment to hold the soul of she who birthed me into a hole lined with flowers? How and why do we reject our spiritual ancestry in preference for physical genetics? We are energy beings and souls emerging into bodies of form. Could we have chosen to live a unique code each incarnation? I resonate with this beyond-form wisdom as Truth. Another lesson in the journey backward and forward through time? I have no child this lifetime but it doesn’t mean anything because I am all forms in many lives — I am gender free and role fulfilling and species unlimited as I move through being the ancestor and knowing the ancestor. How do we honor all life if we cling to physical as relation instead of knowing all Spirit as ancestor? We are each of us the child and the mother, the dove and the tortoise, the whale and the antelope, the shell and the stone, the scorpion and the hummingbird sipping its nectar from flower and energy that is the vital force invisible yet more real than the rock from the depths of the earth that holds the billions of years old fossil of a creature whose spiral reflects the Truth of all life infinite. I am the dirt, black and rich and thick with power holding the song of planet and stars that sparkle within me like the endless space beyond my perception. Is it possible to know ourselves as infinite? Beyond my ancestry from a continent I’ve never touched?
When I walked the African Art Village — an unexpected surprise at the Tucson Gem Show — my heart pounded to an unfamiliar pattern that welcome me, exciting and more vigorous than that of my every day life. I look into the black and I see me; I look into the light and there I am again. No difference. I am related to all of life past present and future in this single moment.
I posted elsewhere — Deep Within — about the Tucson Gem Show. The lovely bronze figurine shown in the above photo was purchased at the African Art Village.
*** I call my little book-reading figurine Aja. She represents the West African Goddess of the forest and herbs, a goddess of healing and teaching this knowledge to others. The following description is from Auset’s The Goddess Guide: Exploring the Attributes and Correspondences of the Divine Feminine:
“Aja: West African goddess of forests. Aja is worshipped throughout Nigeria and in the New World Yoruban tradition as a wise woman and healer. She rules over forests, woodlands, and the medicinal herbs found within them. She teaches herb lore to her followers, ensuring their physical and spiritual health.”
The artist of the figurine is: Kofi Awudu Ouedraogo