On the Nature of Bloodline Memory
We are memories. A genetic strand of remembrances passed down from generation to generation as far back as the first forefathers and foremothers of each bloodline. So you see, the book of one life, of your life, is but one chapter in the library of your primordial helices.
The mere concept of you, the you now, and the you that you will become stretch back through the recesses of time. Traces of you echo across many continents and foreign lands. Whether the record keeper or historian caught a flicker of these lives that preceded yours may be a mystery, but seeds of you existed before your name was written in the Book of Life.
How far back do you go? How far back do you know? Whether Ancestry or 23andMe, the dusty animal skinned histories or oratories and family lore, there is a part of you somewhere out there in the world waiting to be remembered. We each have a rich tapestry of memories tightly wound within us. With age it unravels ever so slowly till we are bursting at our extremities, and rattling with voices whispering unknown stories.
These whisperings grow, and we like Oedipus fight against the restraints of our manicured and integrated lives to follow the siren calls beckoning. The dulcite tolls at once déjà vu yet distant. And at some point in the meandering accumulation of our existence we get snapped back, at whiplash speeds, the bloodline calling us back to a beginning. A reckoning to Self. That mirror through which we projected and imitated life is turned inward without warning.
I wonder, when was it? The day you woke in a cold sweat, heart like a locomotive running the length and breath of your rib cage, prickling the pores of your skin. When was it that you first felt the dis-ease within your own being? The tapestry of memories within you slowly unraveling, pushing out against pupae, cocoon, and chrysalis. That tightness manifesting in irritability, lack of creativity, desire, direction, purpose, calling forth a fracturing that threatened the wholeness of identity.
You are becoming, and yet you do not know what. Each daybreak you try to tape the pieces together with self help salves, accolades and accomplishments, and exotic or not so exotic elixirs. We repeat our own chapter as if these words could free us from the bloodline. And each night we are snapped back, head and heart plunged into the dark depths of the rushing waters and histories of you. It is an unwelcome information overload. The calling doesn’t grow louder yet somehow seems more urgent today than yesterday.
Some of us resist. Cobbling and hobbling our way through a rote replication and recitation of a life. We tiptoe through the years when there were giants who bore our futures upon their shoulders as far back as ships sailed the oceans. They toiled under hot skies, through famines, and wars, and genocides, and love, and heartbreak, and shackled hands, and sore necks under soured souls, lips burst with the taste of asphalt and blood.
Yet you fight that rich tapestry of you, that was actually a long lineage and legacy of we? Defiant, you try to forget, as if by forgetting you can somehow purge what you perceive to be a tapeworm tapestry of memories draining you of all joy. But that tapestry makes us stronger, holds the sacred scriptures and talismans that unlock within us a higher power and purpose. Before you know it a day will come when the whispers grow still, and hidden passages materialize before your mind’s eye. The foundations of the world, laid before you were a twinkle in the microcosm of the universe, becomes clearer, like an oasis appearing over the rolling deserts of time.
That which you now seek has been given permission to seek you in return. You have made your way through many difficult times, and will conquer many more fortified by the magical generations of memory and helices fortifying your path through every valley and shadow. Now, what you hear is a sweet melody reverberating all around you. Now you are in rhythm with the universe, and you have never seen or heard or tasted such beauty nor felt such piercing clarity.
There is no perfect whole or perfect world or perfect bloodline or perfect history, only a new seeing without prejudice, without judgement, and a new way of being and acting aligned with deeper intention and purpose.
