12. Genealogical Journeys

Jackie is exploring her own genealogy. She realizes that some of her preferences for music or literature may be engraved in her DNA. In meditation, she receives a snakeskin and all the mystic messages it contains.

In real life, a chickadee hits a house window. Running outside, she is able to help the little bird. In reflection, she understand the message this bird offered to her.

Music By Rahul Popawala

Transcript

The following reading deals with sensitive subjects related to deep-seated traumas and grieving process.

Please be aware.

Chapter 12.

Genealogical Journeys November 3,

2021.

The birthday of my Buddhist aunt.

Tijan Jack Kerouac.

He was my favorite author during my college years.

I kept him close to me for a long time.

He was at the root of my outlook on life,

My love of jazz and travel.

I was also fascinated by his life story.

He's gone from being the icon of a generation to an old alcoholic who lived with his mom,

Recluse,

Lonely and disillusioned with humans.

Through genealogy,

I discovered that the ancestors of my mother's family had lived like the Kerouac family in Lowell,

Massachusetts.

To see his birthplace,

The factory where the family worked and his grave,

Was the only trip to the U.

S.

I ever made.

At the time,

I was taking black and white photographs and printing them in the college's dark room.

When I moved house,

I brought with me this series of portraits and landscapes taken on that trip.

As I discovered that my ancestor had lived in the same area as Jack,

Those photos became imprints of this passage engraved in my own DNA.

I understand better my admiration for Tizian,

The pain I've been always feeling for the French Canadians who tried to build a life the American way,

These almost nomadic people always in search of a better world.

What they found in the U.

S.

Was just modern slavery,

Working in the factories for almost nothing,

Piled up in small houses,

Suffocated in a city.

In these photos,

I'm posing in front of the textile mill with a grimace on my face.

In 1997,

I had no idea that I was standing in front of a tool of the capitalist system that has shattered so many lives,

Including those of my great-grandfather,

My great-grandmother,

And their children.

Yesterday while meditating,

I remembered seeing in the cemetery of Lowell a tombstone with my ancestor's name engraved on it.

It's maybe a sensation induced by my memory,

As I don't have any photographic documentation to back up what I'm saying.

During this one road trip outside Canada,

I was walking the path of my ancestors without knowing it.

As I'm the last here to all these stories,

I feel it's my duty to understand and learn about the additions and crossovers that make me who I am.

It's like remaking my soil,

Or rather learning the name of each organism that makes it up.

I understand better where my affection for some writers or some kind of music comes from.

I've been there before.

November 4,

2021.

New moon.

Meditation on the Four Toltec Agreements.

Be impeccable with your words.

Don't take anything personally.

Don't make assumptions.

And always do your best.

I work hard to apply these four golden rules in my daily life,

Putting in place tangible elements of transformation.

I try to speak more softly and slowly.

I tend to get carried away with my speech and raise my tone,

As if I were talking to an audience when I'm all alone with my lover.

Don't take anything personally.

It's this rule that gives me the most trouble.

I tend to feel attacked,

Denigrated,

Judged,

And not good enough in everything I do.

To toughen myself up,

I've sent my manuscript to various people,

Knowing that what I may say may shock or even disturb.

I try not to expect any feedback.

Very difficult.

And at the same time,

To be aware that people may say nothing or give me unkind criticisms.

I am exhibiting my book,

Not myself.

I'm practicing and learning patience.

For this new moon special meditation,

I sat on a big stone in the garden to the southwest according to the medicine wheel.

I'm in the turtle clan.

I enter my shell.

It protects me.

I lay my eggs in the sand of the earth.

In my feminine universe,

I must anchor myself and grow a network of roots.

It's timeless work.

I repeated the mantra,

I am the universe.

The moss I grew around my heart went up into my throat to line it.

This way my voice will be dampened,

Softer,

And quieter.

While standing still,

The rain started to fall.

I did not run inside the house.

Instead,

I let the water fill and bathe me.

And only when I was full was I able to give back.

For a rare occasion,

I choose me first.

During my excursion into the forest below,

I found a stick to assist my walk and a snake skin to decorate it.

It was my first encounter with the snake woman.

Undulating,

Sensual,

Hypnotic,

Dangerous,

Flowing,

And lively,

She molted in front of me,

Giving me the gift of her skin.

I could read all her history,

Her bottle marks,

And wounds.

Only when she had outgrown it was she able to leave it here on my forest floor.

She told me that in her new dress,

She felt a little vulnerable and fragile,

That she's taking advantage of my habitat to get used to this new outfit,

With no scars,

Free from old stories.

Same as her,

I must practice gentleness towards myself,

Taking the time to get used to my new skin.

November 5,

Dharma Work.

Here is my definition of work in key words.

Meditation,

Creativity,

Making something beautiful out of darkness,

Being kind to myself,

Exhibiting my writings,

Connections with my family and ancestors,

Understanding,

Taking ownership of my own story,

Throwing light on my shadow,

Living with me.

At the end of writing this list,

Just as the sun was coming up and reaching me,

A chickadee hit the window,

Probably dazzled by the strength of the rays.

I saw her fall to the ground,

Squirming,

Her partner perched nearby,

Wondering if she was going to make it.

I grabbed my rubber boots and coat and went outside to meet her.

She was motionless,

But still breathing.

I took the tiny bird in my hands and gave her a little of my warmth and energy.

She clung to me and I strode her gently,

Glad that Willie hadn't gone outside.

As I tried to see if anything was broken,

She flew off and landed a little further around the house.

It was at this point that I decided to do nothing more,

Leaving nature to its own devices and the chickadee to come to her senses.

The symbolic message I take away is to be careful not to be drowned in by false lights that could drive me into the wall.

Beware of illusions.

In books,

This bird is a symbol of joy and fidelity.

With its black helmet,

It represents the feminine,

The mysterious,

The spirit and the higher consciousness.

It reminds us to practice to see better in the dark.

Some call it the bird of truth.

It's also a fearless and social animal.

It teaches us to render truth more happily in a way that heals,

Balances and opens perceptions.

Truth thus expressed adds joy and pleasure to our lives and the lives of others.

I've just got out to check where she landed alongside the house and she's gone.

I'm feeling really happy.

Have a good life,

Little messenger.

November 8,

2021.

I am no longer afraid to show my true self.

I am not afraid anymore about the discussions my book may or will generate.

I know that I won't kill anything or anyone with my words.

Letting go,

Like the egg my hands lays.

If they didn't let go,

I could never be able to collect those eggs.

They would defend them with all their might.

They would peek at my hands when I would reach out in the nest and spend their whole life sitting defending what came out from them.

My manuscript is just a picture of me taken when I wrote it,

Like an egg.

Once it's in one other hand,

It's no longer my business if it's cooked,

Scrambled or over-easy.

November 10,

Meditation on Aum Dharma Ritam.

The rhythm of the unveiling of my mission,

This rhythm embedded in that of the universe.

My Dharma,

My mission,

My work and the gifts I have received to accomplish it.

Why am I here?

To transform,

To understand,

To heal,

To help,

To care,

To love,

To make peace,

To enjoy,

To express joy and to try to live in happiness.

What are my gifts?

Vision,

Courage,

Discipline,

Writing,

Speaking,

Cooking,

Understanding,

Avant-garde,

Divination,

Adaptability,

Imagination,

Love of nature,

Connection with others,

Respect for life,

Sensitivity,

Creative power and artistic expression.

I cultivate my own bubble.

The armor I had grown over my physical body,

I transform it something lighter so that it takes its place around my aura,

Encompassing my energy,

A bit like an angel or a ballerina encapsulated in a glass bubble with water and snowflakes.

I want to move through life with my own bubble.

This way I can see others and they can see me.

I can reach them with my light,

But they can't hurt me with their toxicity,

Even if they don't mean to.

Every morning,

I sit on my cushion and gently let the snowflakes fall,

Accumulating in a white carpet at my feet,

At my roots.

All this emotional turmoil,

All the intergenerational disturbances,

I watch them fall gently.

The flakes even fall from within me.

The negative residues embedded in my cells,

They fall,

They take the rivers of my blood and are eliminated by my super filters,

Cleansed by the spring water and carried away into the Great Lake.

They are then exposed to the sun to be purified,

To rise to heaven and then fall back down to us to start the cycle again and again.

The sun is slowly rising.

I have offered my book to several people to practice patience,

Read them,

Don't expect anything in return.

My words may not suit some readers or they may have no idea of who I really am.

I may have stirred them up.

Being aware that I'm original,

Fast,

Visionary,

Like the chickadee,

I can fly and crash in a window.

I have to mimic the rhythm of the sun.

I should rise slowly.

I'm in my dark green period.

I am taking root,

Hiding underneath,

Transforming and creating an environment conductive to life.

I'm old,

Eternal.

Nothing can hurt me anymore.

I wear a protective shield and it keeps me from the poisons of others.

Inside,

I remain tender,

Observing slowly.

November 15,

2021.

The moon attracted the waters that are now falling from the sky,

Turning small rivers into torrents.

Tides and atmospheric rivers washing out the coast.

The mountains to the west protected us from the worst.

They held back and emptied the clouds on their flanks,

Receiving the most of the rain.

In the valley,

Land and farm got flooded,

Animals lost their life,

Prisoners of their barns unable to escape the rise of the waters.

Here at the sanctuary,

There's no damage yet,

But the high winds and torrents of rain may come to wash away old ideas and thoughts.

I finally realized that I'd spent most of my life acting in other people's films.

I tried to impose my script on theirs.

I was constantly auditioning for someone or some organization to put me in their film.

That was such a mistake.

As long as I refuse to become the star of my movie,

No one will take me by the hand to make me the heroine of their film.

I wonder what would my movie be if I was for once out of my way.

It would show the power of meditation,

Of self-love.

There would be writing sessions,

Artistic,

Botanical and natural activities.

In my movie,

There will be lots of adventures in the woods.

In fact,

The secondary character is Mother Nature in all her forms.

And if the people leave during the representation,

It's okay.

It should please me first,

Not them.

Other people's films don't belong to me,

It's their life stories.

If I appear in it,

It's as a secondary,

A supporting character.

At no time can I live for them or change their script.

To change this way of thinking is huge for me,

As I always let all the others get served before me.

I am transforming.

I am carving a spot in my own life.

I am becoming my shining star.