The ancestors are here at dinner in the quiet house. I welcome them in with a drink and a wink. They surface in times I need them, or, when I stop to remember. A note to myself to make the shrine, the trinkets of the past that I carry around with me that remind me of them, who they were, what they smelled like, how they carried themselves, what their eyes told me. A small shrine. The ancestors. It’s the only belief that I have, instead of the heaven and hell which can easily be where we all are now, it’s their memories that stay around longer. I can access them.
#143
#143
#143
The ancestors are here at dinner in the quiet house. I welcome them in with a drink and a wink. They surface in times I need them, or, when I stop to remember. A note to myself to make the shrine, the trinkets of the past that I carry around with me that remind me of them, who they were, what they smelled like, how they carried themselves, what their eyes told me. A small shrine. The ancestors. It’s the only belief that I have, instead of the heaven and hell which can easily be where we all are now, it’s their memories that stay around longer. I can access them.