My Ancestor Defied The King and Was Violently Killed
It's surprising what you discover when you do the research
My journey of faith began with a brainwashing of Catholic proportions.Â
When I looked into my ancestry, it seemed logical. A dark history of blood rituals was the norm. No wonder I was fascinated by Stephen King’s novels as a youth.
My blood ancestors include 3 nuns and a priest who defied the King of England. He was drawn and quartered as a result.
This great-great-grandfather was a Catholic priest when it was illegal to practice Catholicism in England.
Thus the killing.
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From an early age, I was immersed in a collection of ceremonies and rituals.
Eating the body and blood of a man, celebrating the sacrifice of a life, becoming a soldier for your God, and sacrificing your individuality for the betterment of your family and your community were several of the most important ones.Â
I was devout, pious, and quite prepared to follow the rules. At one point I was ready to become a nun, following the tradition of two of my aunts.
Those roots went deep. My grandfather always said, ‘You’ll find the blood of the family lines at the bottom of the barrel.’ When I went searching, that’s what I found.Â
But there were little voices inside my head, asking questions.
Why were there different religions?
Why didn’t everyone follow the ‘one true god’ that I was taught about?
Why were members of one faith mean to others simply because they didn’t believe in the same things?
It became problematic for me when I realized how different it was for women in the church. My questions weren’t welcomed. It created a rift between my faith and my heart. So I left the church, breaking with a long tradition.
Leaving was scandalous. I felt like I had to walk through shards of broken glass to gain my freedom. For years I followed my need for experimentation and a powerful quest for understanding.
Now I’m at peace with my choices and understand how important faith is to others. I don’t need others to believe what I believe, and I don’t feel the need to make them explain their choices.
I believe in music, nature, and the power of the universe.
I believe I am as deep as a river, and as big as the sky.Â
I believe in the interconnectedness of the cosmos.Â
I believe in respect for all of life.
I believe we are here to learn how to manifest and create.
I believe in oneness awareness.
A Symphony of Musk and Dusk
Forests fill with jazzy notes
and then with mournful wailing blues
as booming dirges echo through
the deepness of their roots beneath.
Dendrites of the forest brain
extend their slender tendril’s reach.
Their feelings transfer through these nerves
electric pulses snap and surge.
I tip the bucket on the earth
the peelings slide into the pile
where grains of coffee spill like seed
as corn husk papers rustle skirts.
I see the strings of angel hair,
they mix with ashes from the stove
as stardust softly slips inside
mingling with mold and lime.
They warm the feet of forest trees
in holy mounds that give the roots
the nutrients that grow them tall
so they can meet their destiny.
Inhaling brings a memory
of childhood visits to the farm,
where chocolate with a hint of pipe
and sawdust sang a melody.
The complex notes a symphony
of musk and dusk and smoky moss.
We will bring that treasure here
as an offering to the forest gods.
My mind is in my body.
My heart is in the universe.
If you enjoyed this poem, check out my book, We Swallow Light. It’s an exploration of events in a past life and a refreshing take on overcoming pain and the joy of finding love.
Interesting stuff here, Tree. I was raised Catholic as well, and drew my line in the sand at age 14. Getting answers was frowned upon because those I asked felt it was a challenge of faith to answer them. I should just believe. Interesting how this works. The more you want to know, the greater the sin. So, I left. The ending was innocuous enough. I was sleeping over at my aunt's house on Saturday and we all marched over to the nearby church Sunday morning. For whatever reason they were accepting donations, envelopes and such right inside the entrance, like a box office. Pay as you enter. This created an immediate change for me - that I was indeed paying to get in. That was the last mass I attended. Funny how things work out in the end.