Well the ritual last night went great. The altar cloth was gold, a color I assiociate with the ancestors, for some reason, I’m not sure why. The sugar bowls my great-great-grandmother owned were on the table and the worshipers bought pictures of their family members who had passed on. At the end of the ritual the participants could come to the altar and speak a few words to their Beloved Dead. The energy was so powerful that at one point a man who was participating cried – I hope it was a cathartic crying. Afterwards we drummed for the ancestors. The only hitch was that in the middle of the guided meditation there was a loud knock at the door, and it was a man asking for money (this was at 9:30 at night!). That’s what I get for living in the ghetto. Over all it was a great night. It was the first ritual I have ever held for the ancestors, so that was nice.
Today I went to the Pokagon Band Pow-Wow in Dowajack with a friend. It was a beautiful ceremony, and it makes me wonder what it would have been like to participate in the grand Hellenic or Egyptian city-wide festivals back in the day. It’s just the nature of our religion that we are small numbers now, but it was not always so. Sometimes I feel a great longing for those old days, even though it is hard to miss something I have never experienced. But then again I believe in reincarnation, so I may very well have experienced it. I believe I spent many lifetimes in Greece and Rome, and I have a few fragments of memories from those times.