We carry them in our blood, in our hearts and our minds. Carpenters, scientists, singers of songs. Mystics, soldiers, skeptics. Homemakers, travelers, planters of trees. We carry them all.
There is nothing in this life not touched by those who have gone before. There is a line reaching from past to future. We are that line. We are a bridge. We listen. We work. We pray.
We shift the line into a wandering spiral, a galaxial arm, a twisting of destiny. We, by our thoughts and actions, make new worlds possible. We do it hand in hand with those who have gone before. We listen to the past and scent the future. Our own cells grow and die in every moment. Time is here. Embrace it. Feel the bones beneath muscles. Feel the beating of the heart. Feel the coming days of winter. They are here.
The ancestors, ever with us, insist upon attention as the winds gather and the tree leaves fall to loam. We set out food and light candles to welcome their closeness. We tell stories in the gathering darkness. We remember that our own lives are but continuum: every day a little older, and hopefully more wise.
Ancestors, be you beloved or maligned, we honor the fact that you helped to build this time. We seek to raise up that which is beautiful and to dismantle that which does not serve. We seek to build our lives in concert with holy Nature. We seek to learn. Thank you for holding us. We also hold the future.