ancestors – Grandfather Poplar

I was communing with the trees this morning, and we spoke of the ancestors. (Yes, I talk with trees like the character in my first novel, Grandfather Poplar.) Trees hold their kindred in spirit as dearly as we do. Their memories remain in the trees that still live. We all retain the collective memory of our kin anchored deep within. The trees acknowledge the ones who came before and still think of them as living beings. Death is merely a passage, yet they treasure each moment of life and remain as long as they can, serving their purpose, living their light. Trees stay connected fully to their ancestors in spirit. Their kinship remains unbroken.

I often pray for the ancestors and try to live in a way that will honor them and their legacy and heal the family line of suffering. I believe our prayers can create a sacred space to extend pure love and grace through all the realms. May we relinquish all that we and our ancestors have held of trauma, fear, loss, and pain. May we unburden the ancestral lines for ourselves and for those who come before and after us.

In my heart and soul, I feel strongly that a moment of pure love reverberates through time and space and passes through all boundaries. We can send love into the past, present, and future and beyond the veil to all our kin and dear ones who are gone from the physical world. They feel our every memory and all the love we send.

Several years ago, my first cousin’s wife restored some black-and-white photos of the Henderson clan from over a century ago. I never met many of them because they died before I was born. I was thrilled by the photos and felt such an outpouring of love for every one of them. On the night I received the photos, they all came to life in a dream, and we had a most joyful celebration. The ones whom I never met were so happy to see and know me, and I was overjoyed to meet them and to reunite with those I had known and loved.

Trust that even now your loved ones in spirit are sending you love.

Parents, grandparents, ancestors, long ago you paved my path into the heart of the forest. You walked in her stillness and let the hushed tones of the trees speak softly through your psyche. Your breath slowed in time with her pulse in autumn and winter. You felt the spring sing in your veins and the summer ignite your inner flame as she held you safe through the seasons of change. You let her call wash away the boundaries. She took from you the cares of life and wrapped you in her blanket of peace. In her bosom, you were whole. There in the woodlands you found respite. Nothing existed except the moment—the sound of the leaves beneath your footfalls, the droning from a high hornet’s nest, the cool damp or the glistening heat or the gentle wind brushing your face.

I cannot go into the forest without knowing you are with me. My blood, my bone, my life remember that you passed this way before me. I have stepped where once you stood and seen the wonders that you beheld so long ago. So today I walk in the rain to see the little brook flowing on its journey, to touch the dripping branches and feel my feet sink in the soft ground. Only one set of footprints in the mud perhaps, but a long line of loved ones walk with me.

Love of the Ancestors

Where Once You Walked