Samhain Reading

Angie talks Samhain, letting go, emotional support corpses and pulls some tarot cards for the dark season of Samhain to Yule.

This is a picture of my Layouts book with my margin notes. I really encourage you all to change up things in your books, because connecting with the layout is the MOST important part. You have control!

I talk about this piece by Marybeth Bonfiglio called 41 Ways to Make Love to Yourself: https://www.elephantjournal.com/2013/12/41-ways-to-make-love-to-yourself-marybeth-bonfiglio/

ancestors

dear future ancestors,

As October draws to a close and we welcome in Samhain, All Souls and All Saints Day, I acknowledge the thinness of the veil. I hear the whispering in my ear of the ancestors. 

Mi amor, be strong. 
We are always here. 
Honor yourself when you honor us.

I create an altar for Día de los Muertos* in mid-October, when I begin to feel the ancestors pushing against me. I call them in. Ask for their help. It is not simply because I come from a culture that celebrates this holiday (though I do), but because I am a bereaved mother. And this American happy-happy culture does a lousy job of honoring the dead and grief.  

Day of the Dead is one of those holidays that has grown more and more mainstream with non-Catholic, non-Latino people creating altars, painting their faces, hanging up decorated sugar skellies, and dancing into the night.  That isn't happening because others want to become or appropriate another culture, but because we are all hungry to honor our dead. We want to celebrate our ancestors. We want to walk with death, rather than hide our grief and whisper to our dead in the still of the night. It is only in recent history that the dead were hid away from us, or that we were protected from the dying, the dead, and grief. All cultures from Europe to Asia to Africa and the Americans, cultures honored the dead.

My niece said to me a few years ago, "We come from a long line of witches, right?" And I laughed. It depends on how you define witch. When I call in the ancestors before circle, I call in all the healers and mystics in my lineage. But I also come from a long line of storytelling artists and mystics, bawdy women with good heads on their shoulders, from cooks and musicians, teachers and writers. But the drunks are there too, the ones that acted badly at that party once. They are the same. Because the ancestors were human. 

This is the medicina they bring forth—their humanness. And not that anyone wants my opinion on this, but this is the beauty and awe of the stories of Buddha and Jesus—their humanness existed, their flaws, their character defects and defaults, but still they sought to heal themselves then others. They found a path of spirituality that helped them and passed it on. This is also the lessons of our ancestors—that they were human and had a story, which is now part of your DNA. (Epigenetics is a really cool rabbit hole to go down)

Día de los Muertos gives me a time to honor all the ancestors as well as my daughter. I love to collect the stories of my family. The ones that make you go, “What the…oh my goddess.” I love to know their names, see their faces, try to imagine their lives and then think of the lesson they learned and want to pass on, or listen for them to tell me.

A few years ago, Vanessa Codorniu  held an ancestors journey at Alta View Wellness Center. I journeyed to Central America, where my family is from, and saw them all there. My mother’s Abuelita Isabel with the curly hair and my ancestors with Mayan noses and headdresses and painted skin.  Sitting in front of all of them, Vanessa asked us to talk to them. And so I did. I remember asking about my health and my weight and why I haven’t been able to lose weight. And my ancestor stepped forward and said:

You are the wishes of all your ancestors. 
Your body is revered by us because you are the child that is not hungry. 

When we do ancestral healing, this is what we do. We dialogue with our ancestors. We reframe. We understand. We humanize. We integrate. We break patterns. We forgive. We allow their wounds to be our wisdom.

So Day of the Dead, I create a space for my ancestors and my predeceased ancestral daughter, hang a painting of her and me that I painted in the early days after her death and another of my ancestors, the ones that whisper to me in my sessions. I put calaveras and bright colors all around the altar as well as food, water, flowers and candles. In my mother's native Panama, my family walks to the cemetery to have a meal with the dead. They decorate the graves and commune as a family. Those weeks with my Día de los Muertos altar is not simply a time to grieve, but a time to celebrate life. When we honor our ancestors, we acknowledge the wisdom they have given to us in life and now in death. 

But my ancestors were awful people. What do I do?

You can say, “Thank you for letting me be the breaker of awfulness.” (Instead of awfulness, you can replace that with breaker of our family trauma, pain, abuse, addiction, etc.) When we reframe our ancestors, put them in their historical, trauma, and family context, we can find wisdom, even if it is learning from their sins. Sometimes the deep grief of lives not lived, or their actions can move through us. We can cry for our family lineage. We can cry for their victims, for ourselves, if we were the victim or them as a victim and victimizer.** This ancestral work is about healing and releasing. We are fully in Scorpio season, and it wants to move through us. We get to be the conduit for compassion, love, grief, release and rebirth. And yes, we get to acknowledge the awfulness of our ancestors too. You can grieve that there was no wisdom to be passed to you.

We can  transform grief to gratitude through this process. Not for having lost, but for them having lived at all.


*You can read more about El Día de los Muertos at this History Channel link. Just a quick correction, though, we celebrate it in Panama and throughout Central America, so it is not only a Mexican holiday.
** In the Body Keeps Score by Bessel Van Der Kolk , he talks about how PTSD sufferers from the Vietnam War often recounted the trauma they inflicted on others as the trauma they could not heal, because there is no outlet for talking about the awful things they did during war. I could go on a rant on why this is, but suffice to say, when we train people to dehumanize their enemy, we set them up for massive trauma.
PPS. I have some great things coming up and you can check them out here

PPS.  you can listen to my podcast with the Tarot and Earth Medicine of the month right here at Anchor or on Spotify.

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belonging + be-longing

it’s been a while…that’s not from lack of love. In fact, every week, I put my weekly love letter to you on my To-Do list. When I write to you, my heart takes over, and even when I’m promising myself I’m not going to go deep, suddenly, there I am talking about that thing that I didn’t want to talk about.

It’s that way with this work I am called to do too. We want to stay light and shallow, but Spirit has a way of asking more of us, demanding we get honest and authentic right now. Presence, in fact, is just being where we are and honoring that walk.

I revisit grief this month, as my close friend lost her battle with cancer at age 45. Grief is this deep global, ancestral and cultural experience too right now, as we move through October—the month of collective honoring of the dead, and then on the heels of the hurricanes, earthquakes, fires still raging in the West…with all the natural disasters, racial violence, the shooting in Las Vegas (hell, the shootings every day in the US), with our own private and personal tragedies, we must sit with this extreme discomfort. I have no special magic trick for doing this work, except to just do it. Just sit and weep. Talk about how uncomfortable you are. Write long poems about injustice if you must.

I did this in August when I traveled to Niagara Falls, NY, to spend the day with Marybeth Bonfiglio at a writing workshop called Of Blood + Belonging. It was so good. I mean, so good. We explored the ancestors and this deep cultural grieving we are all going through. We cannot shift, raise our consciousness, ascend without pain. It is painful to let go of unhealthy ways of being—when we quit coffee, we get a headache; when we quit racism, misogyny, anger, violence, we get protest and violence and discomfort. When we hurt our environment for centuries, we get an Earth in revolt.

Marybeth asked us to ask how we belong, and how we be-long. And I thought about this so much since then, as what I see in the news and in the media sometimes makes me feel very Other. But that is not what I do anymore. I reject Other. I want to be Of. I want to be in your tribe, and in the tribe of all, even the ones who hate me. And so I wrote this:

I belong to the Earth. I belong to the morning. I belong to the Moon and her mysteries. I belong to the group of misfits and outcasts that belong nowhere with nothing, moving towards the abyss in the sacred dance of the wounded. I belong to Shadow and Light and Shadow again. I belong to the darkness that mines my suffering, my sins, my losses to bring light to another in the depths of the valley of hurt and grief.

I belong to all people, to all the people who don’t belong anywhere. I belong to the tribe of the untribed, to the citizens of the liminal spaces, that walk between life and death, between whiteness and brownness, between hetero and homo, between sober and drunk, between American and Immigrant, between the worker and the master, between the singletons and the twins. I belong to the exiled. To the runaways. To the orphans. To the unmothered and untethered. To the betrayed and the betrayers. To the spies and the sell-outs and the druggies. I belong to the Vultures who circle overhead, transmuting the rot, eating away the parts of us that no longer work.

I belong to the ones who are afraid of death and afraid of life, and manage to make that sacred. And I be-long, I mean, I long to be of the fearless, those that fear nothing and no one, who fear the boundaries which keep us from recognizing we are one. But I belong to the afraid who do it anyway.

Sometimes anger and bewilderment is our starting place.

This is what my work is about—creating a circle of seekers and misfits. I have some amazing classes coming up. I want to share them with you. In my circles, my center is about helping you process all this, and belong somewhere, even if it is among those that belong nowhere. There is space for doubt and for discomfort. Join me.