Last fall, I needed all the help I could get. My marriage was over, my husband moved out, and my old wounds were burning anew. I felt out of control, and I was trying to understand how my life had unfolded so swiftly and disastrously. How I had royally crashed and burned my life as it was. Ashes like these are a humbling experience.
Armed with the desire to move to an ashram in Rishikesh and never return or go to clown school in France (I’m not kidding), I followed the advice of my therapist, instead, and worked on taking care of me--something I was miserably out of practice with. I let my friends have me over for nurturing dinners, I listened to Jamila Wood’s new album non-stop, I drenched myself in Jack Spicer and Rilke, and I let my mom help me put clean sheets on my bed, I got a prescription for Wellbutrin, I drew Tarot, I meditated every day, and I saw Karen, my therapist, every week. And yet, there were answers I sought and support I needed that I couldn’t seem to find.
I had never done anything like “call in my ancestors” before. If someone had uttered that phrase to an earlier model of me, my Baptist upbringing would have me screaming “I rebuke you in the name of Jesus” and that would be the end of that.
But here I was, broken open and yearning for a perspective beyond my own limits.
It was October. I could feel that the veil was thin. I’d always been sensitive to energies and knew that my grandma was never far away, as well as some other ancestors, energies and guides. But, I’d never done any sort of ritual to welcome or connect with them before. I wasn’t sure exactly where to start.
I knew, though, that I was seeking to let go of a life constricted by fear and scarcity and limited by permission. So, I made my ancestors a cup of tea.
Before bed one night, I made a big pot of Montana Gold rooibos tea, lit some candles and journaled, envisioned white light around my house to make sure any energies I was inviting in were beneficial. I filled two extra cups with tea and left out a plate of cookies. And said simple prayer. I went to bed. Nothing happened of note.
Three days later, it was a gorgeous fall day. One of those stunning days that sometimes happens in the fall in Minnesota, where the sky is a turquoise expanse and the trees parade the streets in rust and gold and rubies. I got home from work, leashed up my husky and went for a walk. And I could feel right then that I had an energy with me. And I knew without a doubt who it was.
Four years prior, my husbands brother died via poor mental health and alcoholism and completed suicide. It was a dark season riddled with sorrow and rage. Ben had been a person of nearly mythical proportions, playful, bright, and beautiful. Outrageous and outrageously loving. He owned thirteen bikes, he was in at least three bands, he wore very VERY short shorts. He was like no one else. It was during that season of loss that I took on the emotional load for everyone else and drowned in it.
Walking down 11th Avenue that afternoon, I felt suddenly that Ben was there. I felt a warmth on my shoulders that was something different than sunlight, something more akin to a flood of energy, like I had stepped into a current of liquid light, floating, even as my feet stayed on the sidewalk. My husky was trotting over fallen leaves ahead of me, seemingly unaware that I was having a spiritual “woah’ moment. I looked around making sure no one noticed anything odd happening to me--like I didn’t suddenly grow bat ears or turn green or project the image that “Hey that lady is talking to dead people in her head!”
Which is precisely what I was doing.
“Hi Ben,” I said nervously.
“Heyyyy.”
“It’s really you? I’m not hallucinating?”
“Nope. I’m here.”
“Holy Shit.”
I hadn’t experienced anything like this before. I giggled and dove right in. I quizzed him about the next plane. Where was he? What was it like? He said there were many realms and they were like rooms one after another after another, that the place he was in was limitless. I asked him for forgiveness about all the ways I messed up, that I loved his family and Chris and did my best to take care of everyone, but broke myself trying. I told him I forgave him for leaving us and about how painful it was for so so long after he died.
It went on like that, speaking to him and strolling in the sun.
Finally he said, “I’ll do whatever I can to help you.”
“Thank you,” I replied.
And he was gone.
I could hardly breathe. I looked over my shoulder. I looked at the little houses I passed, and I felt my feet on the ground. And, I had a feeling that could only be described as pure peace.
Over the next few weeks I’d connect with my grandmas, my great grandma, my ancestors. Some of them sassy, some calm, some more distant, some close, some chatty, some quiet.
I started to move myself from a space of feeling alone and isolated, dissipated and falling apart, to knowing that wherever life took me I could always access the support I needed from my bloodline and my kin. I got more and more comfortable and less and less sheepish calling in support and guidance.
We are all so much more supported than we know. Our loved ones and ancestors, while they aren’t all-knowing or perfect, are in Source. And they can be a vital force for healing forwards and backwards in time.
They can help us remember who we are and what we are here to learn.
An Evening Ritual for Connecting to Your Ancestors:
Ground yourself. Take five minutes to center yourself and breathe. Light a candle in the center of your table and feel your feet settling into the ground.
Cleanse yourself and your space with sage or rosemary, focusing on doors and windows--openings. Envision a shield or membrane around your home inviting in only beneficial energies.
Pour several cups of tea and leave out some snacks on your table, like cookies or a family staple. Or pour a couple cocktails- see a cocktail recipe suggestion from my blog below.
Then say a simple invocation like this one: “My ancestors and loved ones, I welcome your presence here. I seek your guidance and your support, to learn from you and step into my power and purpose. I seek healing and connection to Source. You are welcome at my table.”
Share in the food or drink you set out. Drink the tea. Eat the cookie. Sip the cocktail. Journal out your intentions for connecting with your ancestors, and let yourself recharge with the ritual.
Blow the candle out and get a good night’s sleep.
Your connections and messages will come in the way you receive them, whether by dreams or messages, symbols, or knowing. Be patient and don’t second guess yourself. Like anything, using psychic gifts or accessing other energies is a practice that you’ll get more adept at as you return to it.
I create cocktails based on the moon cycles with my friend, Kirstyn, on our blog Moon Mixologies. Our goal is to create minimal and accessible magick that promotes community and reflection. We think this cider recipe would be perfect for use in an ancestor ritual, or shared in a cold backyard with a friend during the full moon and this time when the veil is thin between this world and the next.
We wish you a meaningful Samhain and hope this season can help you remember who you are and what you are here to learn. We would love to meet you over on our instagram, @moonmixologies. Take good care.
Lavender Apple Cider (serves 2)
For the cocktail:
8 oz. fresh apple cider
4 oz. apple brandy
1.5 oz. fresh lemon juice
1 oz. lavender simple syrup
For the garnish:
2 slices of lemon
Dry or fresh lavender buds
Make the lavender simple syrup. Combine 1 cup of water, 1 cup of sugar and a tablespoon of fresh or dried lavender buds. Bring to a boil, simmering until sugar is dissolved. Remove from heat until the mixture cools. Strain the lavender buds, funnel into a sterile bottle and refrigerate to store.
Using a small saucepan, heat the apple cider to a low simmer. Remove from heat. Stir in lemon juice, simple syrup, and brandy. Pour into mugs and garnish with a thin slice of lemon and a sprinkle of lavender buds.
And so it is.
To create mocktail magick: replace the brandy with additional apple cider.
