I grew up without access to all but one of my grandparents’ wisdom. Only my grandmother from my father’s side lived to an old age. I spent much time with her as a child, naturally, as parents often seek the help of their ‘elders’ for child minding and therefore inevitably involving them in shaping the minds of the young ones.
As I grew older, my gran’s help in caring for me stopped being necessary as I could take care of myself after and before school when my parents were out. I have not stopped seeking her company however, I sensed that our conversations over decaffeinated, over milked coffee she used to prepare were important stepping stones in my quest to obtain a suitable understanding of the world.
I missed however having a grandfather or two. I still have memories of my sadness and disappointment when in kindergarten or later during early years of primary school I was listening to the stories of other kids about their grandpas. I made do with whomever I ‘found’. An old family friend, ‘uncle’ Josh I have fond memories of and owe a great deal for my love of reading. Another one was the grandfather of a childhood friend. I could say that he was a classic old man, always grumpy, never sure about showing his kind side but it would make me appear falling into traps of building stereotypes. He was also an ever so active man working into his seventies, a builder and I believe he could have fixed anything with a hammer and a piece of wire. I shed many tears for the old dark Trabant he sometimes drew us around with, when time came to replace it with a more up to date vehicle.
As the years went by these semi grandparent figures disappeared from my life of course. Years have passed and I have not thought of them. Recently however I began rediscovering my path, analysing the steps that have taken me to where I stand today. I came to a curious quest of understanding the importance ones ancestors play in ones life.
Yes, recent months I have had plenty of time to think. My job allows my mind to wonder freely for hours on. One day somehow I came to think of the legacy of the Roman Empire. How it has grown from a mere tribe to en entity that has ruled over most of the European continent. And how along the way the original shamanic practices have been more or less successively replaced by ever more organised and hierarchic forms of religions. Such as the Greek or the Christian ones, mentioning only the well known. These structures suited well the technocratic society Rome has become. We live to this day the legacy of this early empire.
Ancestral worship however never truly disappeared and some parts of it, although vanishing slowly are still visible today. All Saints day is one of them but maybe more important is the following day: the day of the dead. It is still an important day in Central Europe. People pilgrim to the cemetery where their parents, grandparents were buried. Focus their thought on remembering while spend some time tidying the grave and its surroundings. I take no pleasure in this any longer as I have long left the land of my ancestors but I still mark this day wherever I am.
In 2002 something happened around this time that has embarked me on yet the most fascinating journey of my life. I lived in Denmark at the time at a most fascinating place. One day I woke somehow remembering that one of my adopted grandparents have died. I didn’t give much meaning to it, a dream and a wicked kind for that. Only, two days later when I was talking to my mom on the phone, it was my usual weekly ‘check in,’ she told me that Uncle Laci has passed away two days earlier. This coincidence has inspired me to begin preparations for the upcoming Day of the Dead. Unknowingly I began a form of a sacred practice that has become an event that in Shamanic culture could be referred to as my introducing or initiating shamanic experience that would set me off on the shamanic path…
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