Whispers of the Ancestors

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One of the odd things (at least from a global perspective) of living in a relatively young country that has been built from scratch by waves of immigrants is that there is not only outright ignorance about the past but also disinterest about the past. This not only true at the national level, but even at the personal level. At least, this is what I have seen living in Canada for most – but not all – of my life. Nearly effortless long-distance mobility also contributes to this ignorance, disinterest and sense of transience.

I think that my family is a typical example. I know the names of my grandparents (who lived a three-hour drive from where I grew up) but I don’t even know how many siblings they had, and know the name of only one great uncle and that was simply because my father had an interesting story to tell about him (in brief, while emigrating to Canada from Britain by ship, teen-age Tom tended to the horses on board and contracted lockjaw; the ship’s physician had to knock out his front teeth so that Tom could get nourishment; fortunately, he survived the ailment). I do know that not all my paternal grandfather’s siblings moved to Canada from Britain and that two of his brothers did not survive WWI combat – but this I know only because my eldest sister has done some research; my father certainly never told me or my sisters this. I know a bit about my great-grandfathers: one was a Scottish sailor who went down with the ship in the North Sea in the early 1890s; another one was a Scottish merchant; one was a brick mason who lived near London before emigrating to Canada with his wife and most of his children; and the last one was a German immigrant who established a farmstead in central Michigan in the 1870s. But this is as far I can go with direct ancestors without the assistance of my sister’s research.

The only ancestral thread that I have beyond my great-grandparents is the history of my mother’s Highland clan. I can go back many centuries with that, but it is impersonal: still, it is good to know and it is corroborated by many books of Scottish history (the clan features prominently in the life of Queen Mary as well as in the Jacobite rebellions – how’s that for a romantic past?).

The thing that I find, as I have passed the second “Saturn return” of my life (that is, over 60 years of age) is that when I was young I had scant interested in my ancestors – both direct and indirect; but now that I clearly have more “yesterdays” than “tomorrows” in my life, my mind has been tending more and more to thoughts about my ancestors. I’m not sure how common this phenomenon is. Perhaps having both parents deceased (that is, in the Land of the Ancestors, to put it in terms that would be familiar to many different peoples around the globe) helps: when I think of them, I wonder about their parents, and their grandparents before them, and so on.

Youth, understandably, is focused on the future: after all, most of their life is there and they typically want to exert much effort, time and passion to chasing their desires and in making as good a future for themselves as possible. In typical modern North American society, this youthful tendency is compounded by a youth-obsessed culture. Everything that is “new” is “better” or “improved”! In all but the most economically stagnant cities and towns, old buildings are torn down – regardless of their architectural or aesthetic value – and replaced by modern mass-produced monstrosities. The past is for old farts; the future’s where it’s at, baby!

I am certain that there are some exceptions to this general rule of future-focus over respecting and valuing the past but compared to many of the “old countries” in the world, this attitude seems to be more common than not across North America. And in a place like Toronto, where I live, it is on steroids! Fortunately, I live on the outer rim of said city, where 19^th century farmhouses occupy prominent locations and have been well preserved. Downtown – where I dread to go – it is another story entirely. With each passing year, more old buildings are torn down (some of which may have been constructed by my stone mason great-grandfather) and replaced by – what else? – crappy condos.

Given this cultural and geographical double-whammy, it is no small wonder that for much of my life, I had little interest in the past – including my family past. But that has changed for me over the past decade or so. For most of my life I have believed that we all have multiple “mothers”. Obviously, there is the human mother who gave us birth. But there is also Mother Earth, the motherland, as well as the “mother” of the culture and traditions that one belongs to. All these “mothers” nourish and protect us and to them we owe a debt that is very difficult to pay in full. At about the time that my mother died, I realized that I have only “intellectually” paid respect to the fourth “mother” mentioned above and that it was high time to find a way of paying back my debt to my cultural “mother” – and that part of paying that debt is tied to my ancestry.

This does not, however, mean that I am following my eldest sister’s footsteps in researching as much as I can about my descendants. No, it is more subtle than that. It is a re-orientation of perspective; a greater respect for who they were in the times that they were living, and a sense of gratitude for all that they did that allowed me to be who – in many ways – I am. This also coincides with the Order of Essenes training that I took a couple of years back, in which one of the first exercises was giving blessings to everyone and everything that one sees. I decided early on to modify the exercise somewhat to include asking the Divine to bless my parents, grandparents and ancestors (I don’t think that it is appropriate for me to bless them directly, as it is odd for the “junior” to bless the “senior”) and I ask them to bless me. Somehow, this feels right – at least, for me.

Sometimes I just sit still, calm my mind, and just “feel” for my ancestors. This is not any attempt at communication – Lord knows the whole séance-channelling thing is not my cup of tea, for one can never know who the “spirit” one is communicating with is really one’s dead ancestor or an imposter who may never had a human form and has questionable motives in contacting me! Nor am I advocating ancestor worship: I believe that it can be destructive and regressive if relied on exclusively as part of one’s faith. No, it is something quite different and it is hard for me to find the right words: it is more like trying to feel a connection to my ancestors in a subtle way, a sort of trying to understand them, what they stood for, what they valued, what they suffered, what they sacrificed, what they believed in, and in trying to be true to them even though the memory of them has faded away.

And I do believe that I sometimes hear (inside myself) faint whispers from them. There are many layers to these ancestors. Some are “modern” in their orientation, but the vast, vast majority are very traditional (though I guess what we call “traditional” was “modern” to them). Of course, many of their values changed over the centuries, though for a very long time they were Christian – especially Catholic, but before that Celtic Christian. Before that, Celtic polytheist. Part of my “making peace” with these ancestors is honouring and putting into practice the core values that they lived by. Some of these values are Christian; others are pre-Christian. But these values melded into what was a consistent belief system and a code of honour that can be traced, even if it is ever so faintly, to me. It is almost like travelling along a highway that later becomes a rural route, then a side road, and finally a couple of ruts in a meadow. I try to find my way back to that highway, though I am not sure if I will ever succeed. Still, I think that it is worth the effort.

Many of us in the modern Western society are complex beings. There is the ancestral part of us (which can be pretty muddled, for a start). Then there is the geographical part of us – and in North America, that means understanding and respecting the peoples who have lived on this continent for millennia and the spirits of the land that dwell here. Then there are the unique parts of us that may not be associated with either our ancestral or geographical “selves”. For example, I am a believer in reincarnation, which would have been heretical to most of my ancestors. I do believe that some “parts” of who I am are the product of who I was, what I did, and what I believed, in previous lives. My own life experience makes it hard to deny this.

Those who have an intellectual bent may be perplexed by the apparent contradiction in my beliefs: if I believe that the soul reincarnates, how can I believe that there are ancestors? After all, the souls of my deceased grandparents (for example) must be in other bodies by now. Yes, I admit that it seems to be contradictory. However, it is also a contradiction that light has both the properties of a wave and a ray. How can it be both? Perhaps the problem is the limits of our own understanding and imagination: the truth of light is beyond the models that we can imagine. So, too, with the afterlife. After the body dies, not only does the immortal soul live on, but so does the mind. So, too, do the words and actions of our lives reverberate through time like ripples in a pool, or lay “tracks in space” (as Dion Fortune put it). And there is genetic memory. We are all probably far more complex than we can imagine. And to further complicate things is my belief that the core “me” is the imperishable, eternal, pure soul – a wave in the limitless ocean of the Divine – but I experience it only rarely and briefly in moments of mystical bliss; meanwhile, on a regular day-to-day basis I am functioning on the level of identifying the body, the senses, the mind, the emotions, and the intellect as “me”.

I’m not at all concerned if I cannot convince an intellectual about this complexity that I am describing. Convincing others really isn’t my “thing”. Experiencing this complexity and figuring out how to put it together in a way that enriches my life, and perhaps makes me wiser, is what really matters to me. So, I will continue to listen to those whispers and continue to seek ways to integrate them into my character in a way that I hope makes me a better and more complete man for it.