I used to think that everything I had become was a culmination of what I had been. I realize now that it’s more than that—much more. I am the seed of every ancestor that came before me. The seed of every ancestor whose egg and sperm once carried me in “to be” form.
When I act upon, or fail to act upon circumstances, I am not only displaying my present-day possession of my legacy’s seed, I am displaying the ancient-day possession of those I will never know, yet know intimately because I am a part of them, just as they are a part of me.
The seed of me has seen many things. And with the dissemination of my genetic map into my children, this seed will continue to be privy to events long after my transition. In living within my children, I never die. Not physically, not spiritually.
Somewhere down the line, one of my descendants will once again live out who I was—writer, researcher, gardener, healer, freedom fighter, evolutionary. And they will do so because of my seed that has been handed down. My seed, that decides it wants to be center stage, will meld with the spirit of this descendant and begin the cycle anew.
Sounds confusing?
It may. But it’s true. We are an ancient bloodline. There is a story within our cells that has been here since the beginning—day one. These cells know the story, even when we consciously do not. For all I know, I could have at one time been a scholar, an engineer, a healer, a builder. And I say I, because I was present back then. Of course, not in my same form or according to my current structure, but I was here, from day one.
For the past few years, I have watched my 17-year-old son tinker with all kinds of mechanical devices. Each time, he has found a way to repair these devices, whether it be a broken garage door, hair clippers, light fixtures, cars, cell phones, etc.
It seems no matter what “contraption” he’s confronted with, he finds a way to fix it. Mind you, he has never taken an electronics class, has never been taught to fix garage doors or cell phones or light fixtures. But, instinctively, he knew how to repair them. In the same token, not only does he use his hands to repair, but to heal. In our home, he’s the go-to person for neck tension, shoulder tension, aching feet, etc.
When asked how he knows this, he simply shrugs and replies, “I just do.”
So, it left me wondering which of my ancestors or his father’s ancestors was a tinkerer. Where did he get this uncanny ability to use his hands to repair?
I can only come to one conclusion: one of his ancestors has made contact.
If life is cyclic, which we know it to be, then it’s only natural that his ancestor gets to once again express himself in a lanky 17-year-old, with no history of repair or healing classes, but a genetic map that has been here since day one.
Leave a Reply