Who Are We in This World? What Would Make Our Ancestors Proud of Us?

A story about the benefits of looking away from the ever-swirling news cycle and asking ourselves who we are

I am back

I know you are wondering where I went, and I thank you for wondering.

No, I did not fall off the end of Earth. I was helping others, and helping others, pushing through, pushing through, and I hit a wall. Having hit a wall, I went very deep on the inside, into a cocoon, to think about who I am in this world. I was so deep on the inside that I didn’t even follow the results of the elections for a few days. although I find it exciting that  Bobby was nominated yesterday to head the HHS.  I pray that the universe conspires to hand him this job and help him keep this job!

The reason I had stepped away from talking and from the entire hamster wheel of BREAKING NEWS was that a few months ago, something happened,  I felt like the ground was pulled from under my feet. I was in such a deep shock that I spent a lot of time rethinking everything I thought I knew.  I wailed to the skies and choked on tears for several months, piecing myself back together from parts. And I only write when I have something to say.

 Whenever I had a breakthrough, I would write a story to share what I learned. I hope my stories were useful to at least some of you!  I generally try to only use words that feel real. I try not to send things that don’t feel real to me. Not the trendy hopiium, or the OMG BREAKING NEWS, no, no, no, please, not me.  And so, when the words stopped coming, I didn’t force anything and just went on the inside. Perhaps one day I’ll write something about whatever had transpired, maybe, I don’t know. I don’t know if I want to think about it again.

And it passed. And it’s a new day.

Real unity

What is coming to me right now is a new understanding of unity. Real unity, not fake unity. The kind of unity that takes work and growth on every end. Not a talking point, not an act of saying “namaste” while squeezing our unsatisfied teeth but an act of trusting ourselves, an act of being secure and relaxing into a sense of belonging here on Earth and in the universe. A way of looking at others and seeing them from a place of knowing ourselves, seeing them through our radiant, honest, observant, compassionate, honored heart (not idealizing them, not denigrating them, just seeing them as our fellow travelers doing their best, just like we are). And walking away if it becomes too much but still seeing in them our fellow travelers doing their best, just like we are. Yeah that’s a loooooooot of work.

Now, I am well aware that there is an opinion that “unity” is a psyop,  I was there when that sentiment came about, it hurts my heart to comment on it, we all choose what we like, exercising our free will is fair.  As far as I am concerned, our power is on a different planet both from our sincere screams of pain and from our echo chamber taglines. Taglines are a part of the psyop, yo! In reality, we are all but travelers in time and space, and yes, a small number of travelers choose to be thieves, but most are trying their best to do what feels right, and there are no harsh divisions, no normies, no covidians, all of us have blindspots here or there … and of course, there are lots of psyops (hey, our entire civilization is a psyop!) but it is far more complex than most stories about the CO of the day.

New times

Something has changed. The air feels sweeter. The world is entering something new (and politics has little to do with that, although it may eventually follow suit). I think we are coming home.  I think that we need to grow our hearts more than ever, and send “divide and conquer” straight to the toilet, where it belongs. It is tough sometimes to talk to someone who is in pain while also being in pain, it’s a very tough thing to do. But we ain’t gonna win through a yelling match, so…. Tough or not, if we are to fly out of this Russian doll of psyops, we are to grow our wings, and connect our wings to our hearts.

I am also thinking that now is a very good time to ponder our ancestors and our family history, and pray to understand where we come from and how we can elevate our souls.

I think our Ancestors want our attention and love, in a positive way. I think they want us to honor the beautiful parts of our cultures and to stop clinging to the parts that have done what they had been meant to do, and can now transform into something new.

I think that now is the time to go deep into our ancestries, feel the mystery, ponder how many places we may be coming from. (Speaking for myself, being Russian, I probably have ancestry from all over the Eurasian continent… and if we go far enough, it probably goes way beyond.)

What I am feeling is that our Ancestors want to be seen and acknowledged—and they don’t want us to linger in pain and grief. They want us to heal and have a new, sweeter life. They want us to breathe and feel free. Like a parent who wants their child to thrive and excel, they want us to thrive and excel. They want us to know them, to honor them,  to stand on their shoulders, and to grow forth.  I think they want us to be free … free like children who’ve never been hurt. Hurt is no longer serving us, we can let go.

I think it’s a time for us to look at each other and accept that we are all here to hear and be heard, to see and be seen, to love and be loved.  All of us. All of us. All of us. We all have important stories to tell!

My people

As I was thinking about where I have come from, I realized that our feelings of the past come in and out of sight, depending on how energy flows. In my own life, some things about my people have been on the forefront of my thinking and hurting in me, desiring to be “fixed,” and some were never a part of my visible feeling of life.

When  I was a kid, the hurting part was the war with the Nazi and all the atrocities that the entire generation of my grandparents had to go through. I spent too much time thinking about what I would do if the Nazis were in town. I had dreams about (and I wasn’t too proud of how I acted in my dreams, but I learned from that).

Then later, the feeling that came to the forefront was about the pains and the suffering caused to my people by the Bolsheviks. Among other things, I learned  a couple of years ago that not all of my family came from peasant serfs, I learned that I had family members who were merchants and who faced great cruelty after 1917. And in fact, the Bolsheviks were cruel not just to the merchants but to the regular peasants as well, breaking promises, crushing dreams, stealing cattle, tricking parents to betray their children, creating new generational pain.

Which is to say that after growing up in the late USSR and believing what I was taught, I made a u-turn about it in my teens.

Then at some point, I started feeling the pain of the forced conversation of my people to the Orthodox faith 11 centuries ago and the pain of the forced conversion of Tibetans to Buddhism 17 centuries ago. For some reason, I feel both.

But then there are blocks of history that have never ever entered my conscious thought.

For example, a couple of weeks ago, I was talking to my dear friend Steven Newcomb, a brilliant Native philosopher whose work on the System of Domination I am willing to promote all day because it’s that good—and as we were talking Steve asked me, “Do you know that the English word ‘slave’ comes from the word ‘Slav’?”

No, I said with much surprise, and forgot all about it right away because I was thinking about other things.

Yesterday morning, that thought percolated up in my mind.  

When I looked, I learned that a very long time ago,  Slavs were sought-after “slaves,” and Slavic captives were  sold in the markets of Western Europe,  North Africa, and the Middle East—aaaaand, as it usually  goes with human trafficking, local rulers were no strangers to throwing their compatriots under the bus and selling them into slavery to foreigners, long before it became custom for Russian feudal owners to own local “slaves” or “serfs” of their own. (If you want to read about it, here is some of the story.)

Did it impact my family? I don’t know. Do I have blood relatives in Western Europe, in the Middle East, or in Africa, as a result of slave trade? I don’t know. Strange how we, human beings, have visible feelings about what’s in  front of our eyes, and don’t even think about the things that aren’t in front of our eyes. That history has been emotionally bleached out, I never thought about this in my life!

Methinks, if we go far enough in time, not only do we come back to the same set of parents who lived a long time ago but we also find many things we have never thought about.

Like I said, when I was growing up, the collective emotional focus was on the war with Hitler and on the suffering that the Soviets experienced on a massive scale from 1941 to 1945. I spent a lot of time thinking about the Nazi and  imagining what I would have done if I were a child during the war. I tortured myself with stories about the war.

And yes, at school they taught us about serfdom in Russia and about various revolts but it was not an emotional thing, just something from history textbooks. That was all but dry stories about the past (serfdom was abolished in Russia in 1861).

1917 (the year when the Bolshevik revolution took place) was a big emotional cut-off. It was a case of “before an after,” only post-1917 stories mattered, nothing else did.  

My great grandmother was born at the turn of the century. When the Bolshevik revolution took place, she was a young married woman.

By that time, the peasants in her village were doing fine, owning land and cattle, growing food, not desiring revolutions—and, to the best of my knowledge, they even had fond feelings for the old feudal lords since the latter were treating the peasants well and giving them gifts that the peasants enjoyed.

And then came 1917….

I think that the bloodbath created by the Bolsheviks reset some energy somewhere and hid the emotional memory of what had happened prior to 1917.

I have no information about my family prior to very late 19th century, but I am their child all the way. I am a leaf on our tree, I am their blood, I am their hope.

I say, I honor my Ancestors going back to time immemorial, the ones whose blood runs in my veins.

I am your child. I acknowledge you, I respect you, and I pray to hear all the messages that you want me to hear for my highest good.

I am here because you brought me here. I thank you for bringing me here. I like it here.

A million ancestors

They say that if we go twenty generations back, each of us potentially may potentially have as many as a million ancestors whose blood runs in our vein. A million people walked this Earth for each of us to be here!! And even it’s not a million—due to the “pedigree collapse,” we carry the blood and the memories of a lot of people. And we are their hope.

If we go back in time far enough, we’ll see that we are all related in the most immediate, literal, biological sense. So when people degrade each other based on ancestry, they degrade a part of themselves. Time to wise up, no?

(the quote is from my earlier article, you can read it here)

PS. Look out for the link to the Friday paid subscriber call in the chat, I will be posting it in a sec.

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