My ancestors are the foundation of my spiritual practice. Those of you who know me for my role in Modern Minoan Paganism may find that surprising. But religion starts at home, literally: even the Minoans honored their ancestors, with communal feasts at their tombs.
I've written about holding onto the ancestors as a foundation of sanity in the crazy world, and about seeing them in the mirror when I look at my own face. A few years back, I even embarked on a project to recreate the breads my grandmothers baked every day as a way of honoring them. These are the acts - ordinary acts, all of them - that anchor me in what's real and what's truly valuable.
So when I read Bryan Hewitt's latest blog post, his words really resonated with me. Where can we find both steadfastness in the face of chaos and hope for the future? Bryan suggests we stop and smell the flowers. What those flowers stand for might surprise you. Here's his post:
Blessings upon the ancestors, on whose shoulders we stand.