Seven Generations

As a facilitator at Rising Circle Ranch, I’ve deepened my understanding of who I am and the influence I carry. Being part of the transformative circles I’ve had the privilege to sit in has fundamentally changed me. During a workshop with Liz Gilbert and Tererai Trent, we were invited to reflect on seven generations of our ancestry. I squirmed in my seat, my eyes narrowing in apprehension, unsure of what I might uncover. This theme resurfaced during the Midlife Mastery workshop with Lori Schwanbeck, where she encouraged us not only to connect with our hearts and bodies but also to see ourselves as part of a lineage of resourceful individuals who faced challenges. She urged us to view ourselves as part of a larger unfolding—a story shaped by those who came before us. Could my ancestors be a resource for me?

Reflecting on my ancestors often stirs feelings of shame. Colonization is violent and horrific, marked by the dominance of one culture and the subjugation of others. For the past 30 years, I’ve worked to confront the legacy and ongoing impact of colonization. Some branches of my family tree undoubtedly bore the rope of the “strange fruit” Billie Holiday sang about. When I looked back, all I saw were atrocities—not the resilience of those who survived. I didn’t believe I needed to see them as resourceful survivors until I realized I did.

One night, not long ago, I lay in bed, wrapped in a blanket of anxiety. A harsh reality I was unprepared to face forced me to confront emotions I’d buried for decades. These emotions, left unexamined, were raw and undeveloped, not at all ready for exposure. They surfaced so suddenly that I experienced the spiritual equivalent of the bends. The night was agonizing, and I desperately sought relief, but each attempt only led me back to a feeling of dread. I felt helpless. Just before dawn, exhausted, I did something I had never done before: I prayed to my ancestors for guidance. I acknowledged that behind me lies a lineage of resilient people who’ve faced challenges—perhaps they could show up for their living descendant. I managed to fall into a brief sleep. When I woke, as the first light of dawn broke, I had a newfound clarity.

This clarity, the way out of my pain, came during my sleep. Upon waking, I understood that I was the one keeping myself trapped in a prison of my own making. The prison of expectation, resentment, inadequacy, and jealousy was of my own construction. I realized I could walk out of that prison at any time; I was holding myself hostage. I woke up knowing that I am truly free. This insight, which felt like exactly what I needed to move beyond my pain and live freely, might have been the result of asking my ancestors for guidance—but it’s hard to say for certain. Still, something else happened that early morning that deepened the mystery.

I wear a dependable quartz watch that has never required winding and has worked flawlessly for five years. That morning, after waking with newfound clarity, I noticed my watch had stopped at 4:50 a.m.—the moment I had finally fallen asleep and received the message. I reset the watch, and it has ticked steadily ever since.

The ancestry work introduced to me at MEA is not only about looking back at the seven generations before me but also looking forward to the seven generations to come. I hope to be a resource for my children, grandchildren, and their descendants, even when I’m no longer physically present. I accept the critical lens through which future generations will view me. Like my ancestors, I am a product of my time. At my core, however, is a burning desire for love, peace, and prosperity for all people.

This desire reaches forward to the seven generations yet to come and extends back to the seven generations behind me.