Here's a little something I wrote in honor of the Ancestors:
Step into the light Wearing your ancestors Like a cloak Like a crown Bearing their power Into the future Generations of love Stand behind you Upholding you Hear their voices Urging you on Feel their wisdom Guiding your thoughts Their hands Holding yours Never fear You are not alone
[Content Warning: This post contains a photo of human skeletal remains.]
When we talk about funerals, many of us think of the deceased being either cremated or buried in a grave, and that's the end of the process. But for the ancient Minoans, it was only the beginning.
You held my hand Guided my steps And supported my dreams.
We did not always agree But eventually the paths Of our divergence met at The singular point of Love.
You possessed the wisdom of age And experience as the power of The feminine coursed through you as the Elder and first Mother.
This mantle was passed to you from Your Mother and hers from a continuous Line of strong and courageous women.
Each passing of this Queenship Made a little easier the road ahead And for me that easier road stretched Exponentially further.
Your life was hard so that mine Would be made easier and the Blessings I pass to my daughters Will be ones of a newly forged strength That has been honed and tempered in the Fires of pain and joy of those who came before.
You have found your freedom and In passing from this world left behind The mantle of Matriarch that I now Must take up as I find my way.
I am not ready but this is not a choice And I will take on this gift wearing it Proudly until my time in this world Is done....
I Am the Matriarch And in this naming I Set foot on a path all Women will one day walk.
Recent loss of my Mother has set me to thinking about much that I have claimed as my space of knowing about the power of the Goddess and the Divine Feminine. Our focus never wants to stray into thoughts of when the inevitable will happen, so we direct our claimings to those of identification as the lusty Maiden, the creative nurturing of the Mother and the prized wisdom of recognition as a Crone.
On the recent Goddess Pilgrimage to Crete women had the option of riding up a winding road on a mountainside in the back of a farm truck singing “She’ll Be Comin’ ‘Round the Mountain” or could choose to go with the guard in his closed automobile.
That evening one of the older women who had chosen to ride in the car said, “I saw how much fun you were all having, but I have done that before. This time I was happy to let the rest of you do it.”
“That’s exactly how I feel about death,” I responded. “Some people want to live on after death, but I don’t. I am happy to let others do it. The only thing that would upset me would be if life did not go on after me.”
When my kids were approaching their teen age years, I happened along the practice of the Days of the Dead because I was teaching a
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