daughter of Margaret,
daughter of Patricia,
daughter of Margaret,
daughter of Eliza,
daughter of Mary,
daughter of Betsey,
daughter of mothers of Ireland unknown...
My ancestor work has evolved over the last decade. I used to only climb the family tree via names and dates, hopscotching over holes and unverified truths. But I started getting a lot of e-mails from people who were adopted, thinking that it meant that ancestor work wasn’t possible for them. And, while I didn’t know any other ways of doing it at the time, I felt certain that the ancestral energy was available to everyone.
I spent time seeking new pathways, studying new ways of revering the ancestors. Only I didn’t want to just honor them. I wanted to work with them. And I found it easier to think of them as a stream of energy, like a highway anyone could get on.
That work led me to looking inward and backward while standing with my feet in the present. As I sank into my bloodstream, I wanted to know what ancestral DNA had passed through the generations into my breathing body.
What bits of my ancestors are alive in me?
What echoes of actual ancestral soil sing out in my blood?
What is remembered,
even when still shrouded with things unknown,
lives on within us.
[All photos screenshots from my ancestry.com results. The brighter colored area within the country is where my DNA most resembles deeply embedded generations of DNA, so is likely where my people most lived.]
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