05/08/2025
Ancestral ties are within all of us, the energy and experience we pass down to those who are born into the physical space.
Generations upon generations of memory that imprints itself into the fabric of our being. The pain inflicted that is passed on, the love we receive that shapes the ways in which we love others. We are engineered by the past, always. Knowingly or unknowingly, what we have seen/felt/heard and what has been seen/felt/heard before our earthly existence is the pestle that shapes and grinds, a factory line of our response, reaction, projection, identity.
I have been sinking into the ancestral footholds, living in my mother’s childhood bedroom, flicking through photo albums of not just my memories but the memories of my grandparents, and their parents and so on and so forth. An archive of fishermen who can’t swim and their mystic wives, land girls and navy sailors, tin bathtubs and the old town dialect.
With each sea-folk-tale shared, the strange superstitions of old, every moment of connection and reconnection to family members past and present, I feel more at home.
I see the ways in which ancestral tracing is affirming innate magic I always knew to be true, photo by photo, story by story. I understand precisely how and why I am the way I am. It has been worthwhile to set alight this connectivity, after a long time avoiding the generational trauma space.
Where there is pain there is also light, this is what I am noticing. For each trauma passed on there is a quality instilled.
Feeling thankful to the many who came before carving a path only I could tread.
A tiny town that holds the spirit of most every ancestor I have.
Feeling the warmest of welcomes home.
