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Bones of our Ancestors

Full bellied tomb sits on the edge of a field, green shoots echoing the seasons of re-birthing, the greening of our land. Offerings made and we sink low to the ground and humbly enter this sacred womb-tomb, this temple to the dead, the ancestors of this land. Darkness fills our lungs and we see with the touch of our hand, sink on cold, moist stone. The brilliance of the darkness allows our eyes to stare into the stone of the next world, shifting, moving, and a chamber long forgotten. Apprentice with fully attuned intuition burns the ancient sent of amber, as resin smokes fills and hangs in the air, spirits stirring and dance on its caress of the chambered tomb. As my existence is pushed beyond the boundaries of my nemeton, the sound of rattle shifts our minds, open, flying free, the posture of a young man at the chamber entrance, deep and rich with honour and knowledge of death, of his duty of care to the ancestors. He is the Bone Signer, he who dwells on the edge of existence, he alone who enters the tomb, arranges bones of the dead and sings and keeps their stories alive. This is his realm; this is his existence in this world and the next.  

Our ancestors made us who we are today! Their life, love, wisdom, foolishness, pain, laughter, blood, sweat and tears, their dyeing, brought us here, their decedents, to this place of now. And in Druidry we honour this; we embrace the spirit of the ancestors that still shimmer within dark red-brown, green rich stories of our land, our blood and bone, of this earth. It must be said that this is not just a romantic notion of looking to the past with rose tinted glasses. Nor is it a validation of the Druid’s journey, here and now because of their ancient roots or ancestry, this has no place in modern Druidry. Druidry survives and lives on because of its freedom that allows it to change and flow, and this lies at its very nature, as Nature too ebbs a flows with the currents of change.

            For me my Druidry is rooted in my connection to the ancestors. Those of my genetic inheritance, whose blood I share, whose land I dwell upon. I find the courage to be open to their presence and their dreaming, and listen to their stories in the stone temples, the womb-tombs, the wooded groves of oak and ash and yew, the buildings of London ’s streets! When I seek inspiration and wisdom from the ancestors I reach back into the darkest past of our human perception. When the dead were cared for as much, if not more than, the living. When life was sacredly held by the close awareness and knowing of the magical power of the natural world around them.

            From these early human communities, there were those who found themselves on the edge of their society, their tribe. They where probably both feared and respected for their duties and roles in this society placed them in direct, physical and spiritual contact with the next world; they were the mediators between the existences, between life and death itself. These were the Bone Singers, those who lamented at the death bed, and those who prepared the body and placed them within their timbered mortuary, palisaded structures. Allowing the natural process of decay to occur with crow-ravens devouring their physical existence. Then their stripped bones would have been taken, with full honour and respect by the Bone Singers to the chambered tombs. The community gathering to make offerings, prayers expressing their deep seated grief, born in fear and respect of the dead. The Bone Singer laying out the bones of his ancestors, placing them with true intent amongst the collection of other bones, some are painted with ochre or woad, herbs, plants, leaves and resins are scattered and burnt. He sings and begins to care for the bones of another ancestor, deep seated within the earth womb-tomb.

 Our ancestors knew that death was but a phase in our journey. Just as sacred as the time of birth, death was honoured and celebrated. The wisdom, knowledge and experiences of a person, the sprit, lived on. It is as if the huge ancestral cauldron was kept boiling in the next world, each persons drop of inspiration was added to the existing, overflowing well of ancestral knowing. The loved one was not seen as being dead and gone forever, their spirit lived on, The ancestors are an integral part of society and spiritual belief, and if we re-awaken the knowledge and indeed, find the courage to allow ourselves to be open to the presence of the ancestors, we can begin to facilitate the awakening of our own ancestral memory, to meet the ancestors of the far and distant past, and drink of the cauldron of wisdom, inspiration and healing.

The journey through the ancestral realm teaches us of the reality of death. It draws us in like a vortex that is both frightening and exciting. If we allow once again ourselves to slip through the otherworldly gate to meet the ancestors, we can sometimes as first meet our own inner fears. Insanity, death, darkness all has to be embraced. We need to unlearn our childhood adoption of the fear of the dark; we need to accept our insanity that most can balance within our modern day normality. We need to understand the process of death, not only our own death but also the death of others, the death of the seasons and endings and beginnings in all things. This process for me began by walking in my local woods at the dead of night, allowing all my senses to guide me ‘safely’ through the twisting and winding paths. Here the ancestors of these woods began to become interested in my night time wanderings. I would call to them, to guide me, teach me, to accept my presence in their realm.

 Within Druidry, we honour, accept and build our relationship with the ancestors of those of our immediate bloodline, our own family’s ancestral lineage. Also we build our relationship with the ancestors of this sacred land, those who built the circles of stones, the henge’s and burial mounds, those who once lived and dwelt within the landscape, features formed by their very hands, and indeed the ancestors of our native spiritual heritage, all those who have follow similar ways to us today. Acknowledge the well spring of wisdom, inspiration and knowledge that was more readily available in the distant past of our history, to allow ourselves to be open to the intoxicating liquor of the ancestral cauldron.  By going to meet the ancestors at sacred sites, in green woodlands, caves, caverns and in dreamtime, I have sensed, felt, lived and breathed life. Not to validate my practices but to be inspired in how the ancestors developed their relationships. Relationships with the land, animals, rocks, stones, stream, hill and valleys, each other and their dead, the ancestors and their old gods.

 I am lost, alone and hot tears of what could be fall heavily upon by naked form. The heart quickens, formless footsteps heard behind, in front and around me. The cool darkened earthiness of the night air is tasted with every exaggerated breath of fearful excitement. Crack, rustle and snap my need to get out, my fear consumes me, the shadows speak and then… all is calm, I am held, nurtured in this dark embrace, cold as stone yet warm as mothers arms. I see a fire, warming the huddled shadows, they sing of the night sky, the beauty of the depth of the cauldron, the brutal face of beautiful death, exquisite release. “Let go, flow, be with us of the shadows” like a substance induced vision I float, slip into this bliss, I feel exquisite release, the footsteps filled with ancestral form now, they lead me to a place of where we can see through brilliant eyes and timeless places.

You can choose to have this experience, taking time to prepare and build up the courage to take the first steps. Alternatively, you can be dragged in, kicking and screaming, through pain, illness, death or depression, having little, if any time to prepare and muster up the courage. This is the hardest, this is life changing, and this is my dread inspiration. This is not to say that we must all suffer in order to truly experience the dark realm of the ancestors and to build our connection with them, but at time of “darkness” in our lives we can come close to this realm through necessity and circumstance, however, this journey often results in a connection unlike any other, sometimes a burden that has to be carried, without choice. If we choose this experience then we can gently approach, build up the courage to be open to its power and then knock on the ancestral door of darkness. Just as we can be dragged in or choose to open the door, so too can we be pushed out or the door slammed in our face. Respect, honour, truth and sincerity need to be our watchwords in this realm, our ancestors were in physical form once, and the given experience needs to be balanced and fully understood if it is to be expressed in our physical reality.   

Sample Chapter from Rob's forth coming book - 'Trees, Stones and Bones'

© Rob Wilson 2005

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