Feeling the Ancestors
They live in the air we breathe,
in the whispers of pine needles
or rain patters on leaves
swaying high in a eucalyptus tree.
Life circles around in
the wail when a tiny head
pushes between bloody legs,
angry at sudden life,
or in the anguished scream
of a man who just lost his wife.
Laughter and celebrations are wrestled
from the talons of hunger and war.
Nurses and nursemaids
coax courage from the wounded
for another try, a last-ditch effort
before another dream dies.
Grief and joy alike must be anointed by tears.
We remember lessons we never acknowledged
as they flow into our present experience.
Everything has been lived before.
Thank you, Ancestors.
Someday,
we may be the wisdom flowing
through another’s veins.
~ Barbara Snow ~
Poetry Inspired By Three Wise Women
Joss Burnel, Priestess Mystic, Wild Woman
Witches Of The Craft® 