Soul of the Ancestors…

“We forget that the soul has its own ancestors.”
~ James Hillman

I recently entertained my long-held curiosity and sent away for one of those DNA kits – and admit I was a bit surprised at the results. It seems much of the helixal threads that make up this woman found their way here from the Emerald Isles that lie in the cold seas of the north. And ay, I do believe it may be so.

It is said that our DNA has memory … the memory of our ancestors and of the lands they walked. I think perhaps it is true. When I was little girl living at home, I remember being thoroughly fascinated – and quite in love – with a ring my Father wore. I had no clue as to why … I only knew that I thought it was the most wonderful of rings. Magical in so many ways, it seemed. Small and gold, with a carved brown stone in the middle … nothing fancy to my eyes … but for some reason I was thoroughly enamoured with it. The only time I recall not seeing it snuggly holding on to his little finger was when he was sleeping or doing some dirty work around the house, and it was at those times I’d slip into his bedroom, open the wooden valet that sat atop his dresser … gaze into that stone, and then quietly slip the ring onto my own finger. There was something in that ring that drew me, that called to me.

My Father and I did not have a good relationship – matter-of-fact, it was quite difficult and harsh – and we parted ways in 1971 when I was put into foster care. We didn’t see or speak to each other until thirty-two years later, when in July of 2003, we decided it was time to reunite … and I nervously made the three hour trek to his home in central Pennsylvania. My knock on the door was answered by an elderly white-haired man who stood stoop-shouldered in front of me. So much smaller than I’d remembered, and a man I barely recognized until my eyes traced down the length of his arm … and there, yet still, it was as it had always been: That glimmering bit of brown and gold wrapped around his little finger. It was, quite literally, seconds between the meeting of our eyes and my seeking the ring. Instinctive, immediate, unthought.

My Father died a bit over two years later, but just a few weeks before his sudden passing, he sat on a footstool next to the chair I occupied and said: “Here, I want you to have this…” as he pulled the ring from his hand. He’d had no idea of my love for that little piece of gold … we’d never discussed it, and I know he never saw me trying it on when I was young. He didn’t know the magic that ring held for me, or that it had whispered my name for over 45 years. And then he went on to tell me a story: That ring, he said, wasn’t his. No, it was his oldest brother, Lowell’s. A brother who was a decorated soldier killed in Africa in WWII. But that ring wasn’t really his, either. No, rather it belonged to his fiancé’s family ….… in Scotland.

I did a bit research in the years that followed my Father’s passing, and learned that it’s a signet … an old ring designed for sealing envelopes with wax … and bearing the MacKinnon family crest, or badge. Handmade of gold, there is no jeweler’s mark – making it difficult, if not impossible to trace to where it was crafted – but into the sardonyx stone is carved a boar’s head with deer shankbone in it’s mouth, and beneath it the words, “Audentes Fortuna Juvat” … Fortune Favors the Brave. It most likely came from the Isle of Skye.

********

Long before I had my DNA done, and learned of the extensive and ancient Celtic background in my family, I fell in love with a ring from Scotland. For no logical reason. And looking back now to when I decided to come home to NY State … leaving behind stunningly beautiful western landscapes of red rock and wide open spaces … all I could say to my friends there was that I wanted to go home to the hills and the water, and to the mosses and grasses and ferns and forests … to the green. To the green. It was the green I missed most of all. Do our chromosomes carry memory from ancient lands and ancestors? I think so. Yes, I truly think so. And perhaps one day my journeys will take me over the seas to the most green of all Isles…..

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