When I speak with people around our globe about their different spiritual beliefs on life and on death, one thing is clear: most advanced cultures believe in the perpetuity of our energy.
Most believe what makes up our human identity, characteristic, physicality and emotion is highly influenced from an old tree of ancestry.
That we come from our ancestors seems a simple medical concept, but that we carry the energy of our ancestors can seem esoteric.
We may notice physical characteristics such as eyes that run in the family or height or perhaps even our ability at sport or love of cooking.
But how about the uncle who never had a piano lesson and can play by ear.
And the niece whose artistic talents appeared on paper the moment she could hold a crayon.
And the three-year-old cousin who began singing bold and loud for the first time ever – in Italian – at a family gathering.
What type of spirals of energy do we carry within us ?
Or are we on that spiral of energy, changing form each life time ?
Is it time to stop wondering why we do, what we do and accept it is influenced by our DNA ?
While I am a writer and truly love to explore sacred topics and the meaning of life on Earth, I have never really understood it. I could instead have studied law but I didn’t want to argue for a living (erm, that didn’t work). I could have studied healing but don’t really have a love for any particular modality (but have experienced dozens of healing modalities through years of illness). Instead, I write.
But I have never thought I choose to write.
Many years, almost a decade in fact, after I wrote my first book A Little Book of Aloha about the beautiful Hawaiian spirit of aloha, I felt unglued by my work.
Why had I bothered to spend my entire life savings; research and interview hundreds of people; write these books for love and respect; and then deal with an aftermath of what can only be described as betrayal and deceit by the publisher and quite an unfathomable amount of insult and disrespect from others ?
Some of the answer became clear In 2008 when my mother showed me a book her grandfather – my great-grandfather Jo Bes – had written. It is a diary he wrote during his imprisonment in a Nazi concentration camp in The Netherlands. How he hid a book and pen, recording the daily life of his horror without being killed is unknown to us. Without sounding too Anne Frank, this diary was found by extended cousins in an attic and a historical society published it. Each of my mother’s siblings received a copy.
It is a very sad read and I cannot imagine for a moment what it was truly like to be imprisoned in such circumstances. On one page my Great-Grandfather Bes writes about counting the bullets each night … one for each person shot. A nightly massacre.
What stands out is on one of the final pages where he declares his hope for people in Europe to have freedom. It is a diary of horror based on my great-grandfather’s belief in love, freedom and peace.
In learning this, that my great-grandfather wished only for love, freedom and peace: I feel I am extending his work in small ways. I love to write about these crucial foundations of a good Earth and a loving life through my writing about healing, travel, culture, tradition and spirit.
Indeed my life hath elsewhere its beginning, long e’er before I was born.
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