Things I Learned From the Ancestors, #1
Your ancestors are people of differing levels of perspective and spiritual ability. A few of them are close to deification; others still need help elevating in general, and choose to incarnate to help themselves achieve that. But even after transition, some shit never changes. Some examples, by no means representative of the total experience that comes with ancestor worship:
Your mother moves people to give you chocolates when you’re sad. She gives you dreams about your future, and is the first to protect you against the negative spirits that are drawn to your light. She exposes the friends who wish you ill, unbeknownst to them; she is the persuasive energy that makes them tell on themselves.
Your grandfather will help you do the work, all the gritty, dark and sometimes frightening self-work, that he couldn’t have held your hand through while incarnate. He smells like cigars, but he comes through strongest when you hold crushed cilantro in your hands.
Your grandmother still prays for you and cries when you’re hurt. Her mere whisper carries the ase of a five-hundred year old priest, because she is. You owe her more respect than you gave her.
Your great uncle is bitter that he can’t have coffee anymore. The cold breeze you feel is him popping in to smell your latte for the nostalgia.
Your aunt still got jokes, and plays pranks around the house. The WiFi issues are because of her, and she’s learned how to trigger it whenever you need to come visit the altar. Or when you’ve spent too much time on a Netflix binge and need to get the hell out of bed. Or when you’re running from something that you now need to face. She was a really good runner in life, like her mother, like so many others in your family, and she wants to help you hang up your emotional running shoes for good.
Your late brother uses Pandora stations to shade your boyfriend. To be fair, J Cole also ain’t shit. Also, it’s not your brother’s fault that you choose that station every time ol’ boy comes to visit. Though you should probably have noticed that Big Sean’s “Beware” made it onto your queue every time, even when you played Afrobeat instead.
Your second cousin is still a beast at board games; better now, because she can whisper things about other players if you quiet your thoughts enough. You don’t feel her presence often, because she has work to do elsewhere, but when she visits…you know.
An ancestor whose name you do not know helps you pick the right cards during card games, and gives you weird urges to play chess. The game is similar to what he once played; his taught him strategy, kept his mind sharp, and he wants the same for you. You may be the one who helps his descendants; remember, not all of this is about you.
Your father really, really doesn’t like yams. Never did and never will, and probably accepts offerings of it with his nose pinched. He should have earned an Oscar for his annual performance at the Thanksgiving table. He will teach you to sacrifice; that way, when you finally learn to always tell the truth, dishonesty is seen for the roadblock that it is.
The child of your relative who returned home early - the one whose name is whispered because the loss still hurts - is the one who, when you’re really stressed out and need to slow down/breathe, makes you lose your keys. She brings your egbe closer to you when you need them. And you do: like many others, you have promises to them that need to be kept.
Your ancestors love and support you, even if in life that wasn’t always true. Sometimes, that’s still true, and they fall back to allow the others who like you to do the work. The ones who step forward to guide you, nourish you, take your burdens and help you elevate are the ones who consider your living and breathing each day to be a win. The ones whose names you do not know will still take up arms to protect you, and dry your tears. They’re people, and because they are people, you are never alone.
This is merely a reminder.