Before I'd finished my mint infusion, I was squatting over a bucket, flooded with tears. I could sense my female ancestors all around me."
One afternoon in the Sacred Valley, I randomly found myself having a shamanic yoni steam. I’d met a shamanic yoga teacher woman who’d invited me round to her place to ‘do some work’ – whatever that entailed. Before I’d finished my mint infusion, I was squatting over a bucket with a towel wrapped around my waist, flooded with tears. I could sense my female ancestors all around me in a circle, supporting me, as the mix of herbs she’d prepared acted powerfully on my lower chakras to pull out lifetimes of trauma, stillbirths, sexual abuse and who knows whatever else my poor female lineage had to suffer. It was profound.
I’ve done a fair bit of shamanic work with my ancestors and it’s always been one of the most rewarding and poignant parts of my practice. Through some of my journeys I’ve come to appreciate how they literally are us – felt their presence as making up the substance of my very being. I felt how I was just the tip of an enormous energetic iceberg of ancestral ‘substance’. This is true, of course, in a physical sense as much as an energetic one. Their stories, struggles, and triumphs are held within our DNA, blood, consciousness, and cultural inheritance, shaping the foundations of who we are today.
It means we also carry their wounds and the lessons they have learned. The imprints of all the wars, famines, loves, traditions and migrations generation after generation went through. We might not consciously notice it, but they’re constantly guiding us through our own make up as well as through their more direct spiritual influence in our lives.
When I was in Bali I saw the richness of their ancestral practices. Their whole culture is centered around honouring the ancestors – with colourful parades in the streets to honour those who have passed, ceremonies, daily offering and even property rights all being seriously upheld to make sure the ancestral world is as it should be. This might seem strange and perhaps unnecessary to us, but for them it’s deeply practical. I try not to think about the impact our lack of awareness of the dead has on those who are on the other side. Those left wandering as ghosts, confused and scared. Those who are stranded, lifeless, in some afterrealm. Is that what we want for our families? Is that what we want for ourselves when we cross over? We will all be ancestors eventually after all.
Taking an interest in the ancestors doesn’t have to be framed as ‘weird’, ‘spooky’ or ‘new age’. While these days, most of us give little thought to our ancestors – a grandparent, parent, or uncle we were close to perhaps. Someone specific who meant something to us – but people throughout the ages have understood the power of remembering our ancestors. It’s in every family’s culture somewhere. It can be wonderfully rewarding to learn about indigenous traditions, ancestral practices, or spiritual teachings from your cultural background. To explore family traditions, stories, practices and histories. Talk to grandparents or elders from where you grew up, read ancestral records, or meditate on family roots. It can actually be a wonderful way to bring closeness back to a family that’s lost anything to center itself around.
Through my altar work and rituals, I’ve had a chance to reconnect with more specific people from my past, who have taught me a lot about who I am, and to heal some of the rifts in my lineage that were impacting my own health and wellbeing, as well as my entire family. I’ve seen through witnessing many people’s shamanic process how many of the issues that we have that we can’t explain often have an ancestral component – be it an inter-generational curse, a negative habit, or a specific weakness that shows up sometimes as a hereditary illness and sometimes just as ‘something a little weird about your body that you can’t explain’. Through making offerings in the form of food or spirits, we can strengthen our ancestors in the spirit world, which not only benefits them tremendously, but also enables them to help you as well. For the most part, it’s quite emotional when you get to feel just how much they want to see us thrive.
Each culture has its own rituals, but I didn’t know my own, so I’ve settled on a generic system that’s loosely based on Caribbean practices I came across and made sense. You don’t have to overthink it. What I do is set up a clean sacred space as an altar. A white silk cloth is the best, with a drop of bodily fluid on it such as saliva or urine to mark your scent. You don’t have to soak it, a drop’s enough. I decorate it with photos, objects, or symbols that represent my ancestors. Then I light white candles and incense such as frankincense or copal to call them. If I don’t have incense I don’t worry. It’s helpful, not essential. I offer them traditional foods they would have eaten (no salt though), a glass of their traditional alcoholic spirits, or loose pure tobacco. The evening before the new moon is a great time to connect. I sit quietly, listen, talk, pray, sing traditional songs, or just allow the silence to be there. There are no rules. You don't have to see them. You don't have to know who they are. You just have to be in the room however you are.
I leave the food and candles burning for an hour or two to give them time to consume their energy. Then extinguish the candles, and dispose of the offerings respectfully in nature within 24 hours. That part’s important.
Whether we choose to acknowledge it or not, we carry the legacy of those who came before us. Our ancestors are very much there, watching us, invested in our lives. There’s always an invitation to connect with them, but no requirement. It’s on us. Similarly, we have the opportunity to work with our ancestral patterns to release our blockages, heal our legacies, and tap a real source of power and support. Or not. It’s up to us. But I’d say the main thing we’re denying ourselves if we don’t engage is the richness and meaning that comes from feeling a part of that great family network, that forms the basis of who we are.
