 Seaweed and sea-silk yarn, such rich colours!  Image Public Domain It was not that long ago I brought my first small loom home and marvelled at how long it took me to be ready to learn the ancient craft of my ancestors. Mostly it had to do with patience and timing, as right now I am at a time in my life where our children are mostly grown and I have time to be patient and slow with things of great importance. The first shawl I made was one for myself and little did I know how important that first altar cloth would be, nor the stole and the ancestral cloak that came after. It was not until I made a sacred shawl for a dear sister who was coming through one of the most sacred and transformative times in her life that the idea to make her a "Selkie Shawl" came to mind. Since I was unable to be close to her and sit for long afternoons over cups of tea as we usually would when one of us was going through something big and powerful, I decided to throw all my love and all my joy at her finding her way back to her own selkie skin into the creation of a shawl that held the colours of the ocean where she lived, of the stones and sand and of course the colours of the selkie skin. If you are not familiar with the old Celtic tale of the Selkie woman I highly recommend reading it, for the story is easily found with a quick google search. The shawl quickly started to pull in the energies and ancestors of my dear friend and Japanese wool found its way into the shall marking a nod to her ancestors and opened up a new understanding for me about the Japanese way of weaving called Saori which means weaving from the heart, and encompasses the beauty of natural flaws and unique patterns that come when we let go of "trying" and allow the magic to flow in. Saori is a zen word--Sao which means beautiful and Ori which means weaving-Beautiful weaving.  Sacred Selkie Shawl The process of making these shawls or whatever sacred piece that I am working on is truly nothing short of magic, Every-time. I can never predict what might want to come through or how things will turn out when I first begin, but I know this, on both ends strange and wonderful synrocities start to happen the moment we agree to begin the work. And then there was the seaweed selkie shawl..... This sacred medicine shawl has everything to do with this womans destiny calling and sacred path as a herbalist, woman and mother. Some of you may have heard of her, especially if you are from Vancouver Canada and buy herbal products from a beautiful organic herbal company called Harmonic arts. Angela Willard has been interested in seaweed and its amazing medicinal properties for woman's reproductive systems for well over a decade now, so it was no surprise when I picked up a soft skien of yard and read that it was made from seaweed I thought immediately of her!  Seaweed and yarn sit side by side, but who can tell which is which? The yarn is called Sea Silk and it is made here in Canada on the east coast by a lovely company called Hand Maiden. Seasilk is a combination of silk and a product called Seacell which is a brown algae known as Knotted Wrack and commonly found in the Fjords of Iceland. This yarn is some of the softest stuff I have ever laid my hands on and was divine for weaving! This however was just the start of the synchronicities and magic that unfolded as this piece began to come into form... Angela being the kindred spirit that she is, was all in from the start and together we started weaving magic...  Shades of green, red and blue of the ocean are all contained within this weaving... So while Angela was busily packing up a box of seaweed that she hand harvested for me to weave into her piece and she was also finding new depths of inspiration for her own work around bringing the beauty and medicine of seaweed out and into the world as she has started to do so many moons ago..... As I eagerly awaited the box of seaweed, I knew that I was going to need to spin some of my own fibre to be able to create new colours and textures to match those of the seaweed world. So I researched and ordered myself a spinning wheel, and found out that there are so many different kinds of seaweed it was mind blowing. All the while images of the deep ocean and the story of the selkie woman for whom I had already played with a few months prior, started to weave me.... I mentioned this to Angela and her reply was kind of mind blowing .. She spoke about the herbal world and how right now mushrooms are all the fad for adaptogens, and how she had always been drawn to the softness of seaweed, to the female element of it, to the briny smell of the ocean, the slippery aspect of seaweed, and all of the medicinal properties seaweed offers us as women for our health and healing, but is often overlooked by the herbal medicine world in favour of some of the more sexier things such as mushrooms. In that moment I felt more then ever that her work needed to get out and into the world and she in turn was inspired to continue writing her on-line offering course, which as soon as she is done will absolutely be linked here for anyone interested in all of the amazing herbal ways of the seaweed world! Check her instagram though @seaweed_gardens  Angela's seaweed shawl In the meantime, my spinning wheel was delivered to my house and I spent days smoothing it with beeswax and adding my ancestral symbols to the wheel, so that while I was spinning, magic and ancestral blessings were also going into the fibre. My loom also has sacred symbols carved onto it and in this way, I feel the ancient connection to my ancestors and those for whom I am spinning and weaving for....  My spinning wheel with ancestral symbols marked onto the wheel. After that, the shawl I think must have woven itself, for I was in a ma flurry of soaking seaweed and my kitchen table was a mess of yarn and seaweed and the room was full of the scents of the ocean... The shawl contains all the colours of the seaweed spectrum, and there are many!! Red and pink and a thousand gem shades of green, from dark black to purple and even dark shades of blue, they all were there and all were woven into the shawl... I will not say much more, as some things require being kept close to the heart and I have already shared so much of the process, but if you have come over here to read this blog wondering what the process of having one of these sacred pieces woven for you, this hopefully will give you some idea. Each one is different and holds the full essence of who you are and who your ancestors were as well, even if you have no idea about them. I have woven horse hair and clooties, my own hair and others hair, I have woven seaweed of course, but also torn up pieces of precious quilts and fabrics that carry great meaning. Pretty much anything can be woven or sewn onto one of the sacred pieces and I believe that the sky is the limit! I have yarn made of nettles and birch tree fibres, there is rose yarn and dandelion yarn, and yarn from Iceland and Scotland, from India and even Japan, because humans the whole world over have always spun, and woven, it is in our DNA and woven into the fabric of our ancestral lineage. Once the shawl has been created a ceremony is written up, something different for each shawl, and made unique by the person it was made for, and so the magic continues on weaving and growing...  Angela in ceremony with her shawl.
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 Image taken by Infinite Body Photography It all starts with family and a desire to understand ourselves better, or perhaps to know ourselves differently... I have always been interested in where I come from, in family stories and history, but sadly like many North American's this information has not been easily available to me. The moment my ancestors got on boats and travelled from their homelands of Romania, Scotland, Ireland and England much ancestral connection was lost, and I am not alone in this reality... Most of us who live, work and call North America home and have done so for many generations are not actually, originally from here, our family members once were immigrants looking for a better way, or perhaps escaping poverty, starvation or in fear for their lives. Those who left brought with them many things, deep grief being one of them, grief for what they had to leave behind, for the foods they loved and may not taste again, grief for the family left, their folklore, and the land that gave them a sense of place in the world. They also brought gifts and personal stories and for some of us, these small precious things were lovingly preserved and handed down, but for others, because of so much grief, it was best for our ancestors to just move on and let all of it go...this is the story of what it is to live in a place that is not our ancestral homeland, and of going back in search of ancestral similarities.... This kind of pilgrimage is what I have been interested in exploring since I was 25 and my dear friend and teacher Pookinak an Ojibway woman, lovingly directed my mis-guided projections of longing for the ways of my own ancestors onto her traditions as I looked for a spiritual place to call my own. The moment she told me that I needed to discover who my own people were, it was like a light bulb went off and I started with a flurry of phone calls to my parents and grandmother... At that time however not much information came forward as far as stories go, but I told that this line is Ukrainians from Romania, and I realize now that it was mostly because I did not know the right questions to ask, so it would take me another two decades to fully understand what to ask, and why I was asking in the first place.....  Wearing my ancestral Ukrainian belt. {Image by Infinite body Photography} Each ancestral journey is an extremely personal one, it is after all not just about our ancestral family, it also goes into the deepest depths of our family of origins and explores not just where we come from, but why we are the way we are, and why our parents and grandparents became who they are, and it takes us on a journey that many of us often wish we have not taken at first, because as my grandmother put it when I first started asking questions" Nikiah we come from peasants and poor people--you will not find royalty here!" Not that I was looking for some sort of royal line, but the reality of our ancestors is often not a pretty one, and if we go in with ideas of poetry, then we are going to be greatly set straight! That is not to say that there is not beauty and wonderful gifts to discover, but more to say that the recent history of the ancestors is not pretty no matter where you come from and is more often one of starvation, colonization, oppression, and many, many wars. But I digress, because before I could even set one foot into the door of understanding why I come from a lineage of mothers who all too easily abandon there daughters and fathers with heart disease and a stubborn streak that would shock the most stubborn of political leaders, and also a family with poetry in their hearts and the ability to cook anything thrown a them and make it taste good, I first had to turn to the spirit world, and I had to forgive it all....  Image of my hands by Infinite body photography By the time an ancestral tip to Romania was decided on and booked I had failed at least three times to book something to Ireland which is one of the places my ancestors came from, and had been working with a Romanian ancestral spirit helper for close to a decade. I had also become a beekeeper after she showed me the ways of this line of ancestors as stewards of bees and medicine workers with honey and propolis, and I had learned how to clear my ancestral lines and heal them not just for myself but for others as well.. But all along something felt not quite in place and I understood that it was because I needed to visit the lands of my ancestral peoples, so I was confused as to why Ireland had not worked out yet because it should have been easy, and I found myself in England many times over the years with easy flights over, but not once did it happen, so I gave it up and decided to ask for guidance on where I needed to go first and was told Romania. I now understand why....  Image of grandmother rattle made by my dear friend Denis Gobeil was taken by Infinite body photography. I remember my great grandfather Michael Czutuk like it was yesterday, he was a lumbering old man, with a deep love for pickled anything, but especially beets which my nanny informs me she took a jar to him at his old age home every week, including a fresh jar just the day before he died, so I like to think he was feeling happy and cared for right up until he passed. I remember his sweets and giant hands, and I also remember his funeral as it was one of the first I ever attended. What I did not count on with this ancestral trip to his birth place was that it was going to be so intense, joyful and deeply grief filled...  Image of his mom Bella and his sister Paraska on my ancestral altar. From the moment we landed in Bucharest it was intense, as this is a city filled with many, many dichotomies and peoples, and as we rode in the back of the taxi after a crazy time outside the airport in cigarette smoke filled air trying not to get ripped off, but also not wanting to piss off too many taxi drivers we found one to take us, and he drove fast through the rainy city speaking in broken english and hardly looking at the road. He dropped us in front of an area that looked abandoned in the dark with graffiti everywhere and it was almost impossible to imagine that the nice Airb&B wen rented might be in one of the buildings, and as we stood there exhausted and smelling like stale cigarette smoke we were sure we had been somehow duped... However inside that old building was indeed the nice apartment we rented and indeed by the light of day, the view of the river and parliament shown on-line was there, it was just nestled into what we would soon discover about Bucharest, an edgy and graffiti filled place containing both beauty and ugly.  Bucharest On our first day it was clear that the people in Bucharest were not culturally the same as the soft english town we had come from in Cornwall, and they often literally scowled and were unhappy when asked for directions or an extra napkin or water at restaurants and I worried that this would be the same for the rest of the trip I had so longed for, and brought my family on with me... However once we met up with our guide and began driving out to the countryside everything changed, the people and the deep knowing that I was home... I understand now that Bucharest like most big cities, is full of people from many different countries, and there were lots of Russians, Hungarians and Polish folks, folks from everywhere really, including Romanians from the countryside looking for work and most of them are not happy, but who am I to say why folks are the way they are.... And so began our journey driving into the Carpathian mountains as we drove across Romania from Bucharest and into Transylvania and finally arriving in Bukovina the birth place of my great grandfather. The deeper we got into the mountains I began to feel a sense of peace come over me, and I sat in awe of the beauty of the landscape and richness of the land... There was a bone deep remembering that started to happen within me, as if I was waking up to the genetic coding within the cells of my body, and things began to feel familiar, especially the smells and foods, which lent themselves perfectly to this cellular awakening....  We stayed in small pensiones that dotted and fit snugly into the carpathian mountains, where the food was cooked fresh daily by the owners and was served in courses starting with soup that was so good we would have been happy with just that for the meal, but it was quickly followed by a small and fresh salad of cut tomatoes and cucumbers with dill and either beans or polenta and of course lots of meat, usually pork. Most, if not all of the food was grown locally and the owners took great pride in serving it to us. Before all this though, the tradition was to share some of the homemade local hooch that would sear the hair off your chest called Palinka which is traditional to the Transylvania Region and made from apples and or plums. Breakfasts were the same, way too much food, and courses of cheeses and meat, followed by the most divine dough pastry things that when filled with the homemade jams were so good we ate too many, followed by strong coffee and usually rolled out and into our day fattened and happy.. It is said of Romania that when god was giving out gifts to the land--things like oil and precious metals, fruit trees and lush fertile soil there was an accident and St Peter dropped them all in Romania, but God said--"Not to worry because the people will not realize what they have" This seems to be the case for Romania as they have not exploited their land the way many other countries have, and even the "tourist" places have not been turned into giant parking lots with chain restaurants and coffee shops dotting the area, rather the tourists are mostly Romanians on vacation enjoying their own land and everything around any kind of tourist area is owned by locals who make their living making home made food, treats and serving strong coffee to those wanting to enjoy. We deliberately avoided any kind of massive tourist area which seemed to be specifically around Bran's castle--which as we learned was not the nicest castle in the area by far, and the prices were double the amount for a smaller cramped space, and besides that Vlad the Impaler did not even own this castle--it is just the one that Bram Stoker decided to set his novel to... Instead we stayed in a small place next to where Vlad was actually born and went inside a stunningly beautiful castle where he actually lived and learned about the actual history of Vlad and many other invaders that seemingly over centuries tried, to no avail to take Romania over.....  Finding myself in others: Anyone who knows me knows that my love language is Gift giving and I have to say, after coming to Romania I feel that this must be in part where this comes form in me, because everywhere we went the people were generous to a fault! One evening in particular we landed late-ish to a pensione and worrying about having some milk for our tea in the morning I was trying to ask for a small amount of it from the owners because I accidentally had bought a yoghurt drink instead of a small bottle of milk at the shop--not thinking, Zahra looked at the bottle and found the word for what she thought was milk and used it--15 min's later they returned with two tubs of yoghurt! Embarrassed and knowing we would never have time to eat it, I tried again to convey what I meant and this time I pretended I was milking a cow. Another 1/2 an hour went by and thinking that we might have to have our morning cuppa black or try yoghurt in our morning tea a small knock came to the door and when I opened it the small older lady of the house handed me two giant bottles equal to 4 litres of milk! Before that though she held them up to her cheeks to show me that they were warm--and I understood--she had literally gone and milked her cow and brought it to us!! With tears in my eyes I gratefully accepted the gift and immediately drank a small glass of the warm delicious stuff.. But the story does not end there! another 10 min's pass and we are finally just getting over the enormous gift she has brought when another knock comes to the door and there she is standing with a plate of freshly made crepes filled with homemade cherry jam! Tears are pouring out of my eyes at this point and I am well beyond words, so we take the plate and saying thank, you thank you, and stumbling over the Romania word mulțumesc {meaning thank you} over, and over devour the warm crepes in stunned joyful delight! There is something deeply soul filling about being given food that means so much and was made by hand from the heart. My heart will be full from this offering for many many years to come...  Freshly warm cow milk and handmade crepes -yum! Magic, Folklore and Ancestor honouring: There is an abundance of magic found in Romania, enough to last me a lifetime, and as I continue to learn and deepen into understanding the old traditions, weaving, and songs of these ancestral lands I am finding myself there more and more. A big part of this trip for me was the deep connection that I have been developing with my healthy ancestors in this line for many, many years now, one of which is an old beekeeper grandmother who has been showing me the old ways of sacred beekeeping and as I mentioned above, one of the reasons I got into beekeeping myself almost a decade ago, so to discover that all of the monasteries were actually run by nuns who also kept bees and made their own candles, {you know the ones they sell for pennies to light for loved ones} was a delight! These candles were bought all along the way and many were lit for dead loved ones, ancestors and wishes for dear friends.. I also came home with a precious handful of them for sacred work here. We were also fortunate enough to to be taken around back of one of the monasteries to visit the bees there and see the nuns working, as well as to visit a local beekeeper who was all too happy to sell us some of his honey that had literally been harvested the day before! These things were lovingly tucked inside of my suitcase and brought back for sacred use and ceremony... Again, I am a bit at a loss for words here, and for now have tucked these memories inside my heart from further digesting and processing... If you look at the image below one of them is of two small cups, one filled with the fresh cows milk gifted to us and the other with palinka, both of which were made as offerings to the local land spirits and my ancestors in deep gratitude for our time spent there and the legacy of who I am because of them....  There are so many layers to a trip like this I cant even begin to start talking about them in any kind of meaningful way, other then to say that there were many synchronicities and intense moments, such as a tearful moment shared with the creator of a sacred and wonderful place in Maramures called the merry cemetery where I had a chance to meet the woodworker and artist himself who hand carves and paints all of the famous headstones there, and see his workshop and current work, for which, the whole time we were speaking I kept staring at his eyes because they felt so familiar to me, and finally when it hit me that they looked very much like my fathers eyes I began to cry and then I could not stop.. Briefly I will share this--my father would have loved this trip and the food and the sights as much as I did, it could have been something really powerful to share with him, but sadly he and my mom joined a religion before I was born {JW} that has not accepted me since I was 15 when I left, and they grieved my death, so sadly they have nothing to do with me or my family and have not for a very long time... I have forgiven them for this choice, I did so long time ago, however the grief of knowing that someone is alive and choosing to not engage can sometimes feel more painful then if they were dead--because at least if they were gone there would be no wishing and hoping that things would change--and I have learned over the past 30 years that no amount of hoping will change their {brainwashed} minds. The image at the top of the above collage shows me with tears in my eyes smiling for the joy of the moment and deep grief because of what could have been, but simply is not. Knowing what I do about death and the function of working with healthy ancestors as well as how to work and heal/cross those who are not well I also understand that this deep rift on both sides of my family comes from old ancestral patterns that I have agreed to heal and stop with my line, which means that I needed to deeply forgive and accept in order to become a good ancestor myself as well as for our children so they too can have a good chance at becoming good ancestors. Michael Ctzuk may have been my great grandfather but he was my dad's grandfather and I know there was deep love between them and many many similarities, I know that having spent my first 9 years on a hobby goat farm with chickens and pigs was my fathers dream, and all of the things that I too cherish about living off of the land {I have had bees and chickens at one point--in the city no less} and cooking/canning my own food is shared with these two men and the women who birthed them and on and on all the way back through the line of my Romanian/Ukrainian ancestors. The grief runs deep here, and I let my tears fall many times and was deeply held by my family as they embraced me and wiped my tears and allowed me to talk about it all as much as I needed to come once again to peace... My beloved husband Sohrab even cried a little with me, for he is so close with his family I know he cant even begin to imagine what it is like for me, but he loves me and I know it hurts him to see me sad and grieving. Our daughter held my hand and wiped my years and offered me some tea and sat beside me holding me, and never once moving or shying away in discomfort and I could see and feel that her steadiness in holding space is going to be one of her greatest gifts.  The healing of lineages is grief filled and yet powerful work. There were many profound moments, too many to recount here, but there was one special place that is still sitting dearly in my heart and that was our time spent inside of an ancient bear cave, however I have decided that will require it's own long post at some point...so stay tuned! What I have taken away from this deliberate time spent in Romania was a deeper understanding of the country itself, the history of many wars, invasions and peoples travelling through it, and finally of communism and its affect on the country before it too was overthrown.... The poeple here are rightly proud of what they have, because most everyone owns a home and property taxes are very low, so each family have a home with a garden and fruit trees, especially those who live outside of Bucharest. I know I have not mentioned much about two things that tend to come to mind when folks think of Romania and that is Vampires which I touched on a little above and the Romani people here derogatorily refer to as the Gypsies... So I would like to say a bit about this... It is important to understand that the poeple referred to as "ROMANI" or Gypsies are not Romanian--because these are two different peoples from very different areas of the world! "The Romani are an Indo-Aryan ethnic group who live mostly in places such as Romania and all over Europe and the Americas and originating from the northern Indian subcontinent, from the Rajasthan, Haryana, and Punjab regions of modern-day India. Genetic findings appear to confirm that the Romani "came from a single group that left northwestern India about 1,500 years ago". The fact that so many of them settled in Romania is a coincidence and does not make Romanians, Romani by default.... The one thing that I learned also was that not all of them are poor, many many of them are very rich and we passed through as rich area of the Romani people in the mountains and their houses are spectacular! These people made their money due to hard work and the skill of working with metals, mostly making the most elaborate and wondrous roofs, ones that we saw all over Romania, but most especially evident for the Romani people because their homes looked like temples!  My new found love for weaving and my old love and deep appreciation for textiles feels as old and ancestral as the hills and I am aware that this probably not only comes from my Romania side but also the Scottish and Irish and probably even the English ancestors and their blood that runs through my veins, but I can say this, there has always been something magical and mysterious to me about the elaborate symbols that find their way onto the decoration of eggs and the embroidery found on the belts and blouses and altar cloths that grace most every home in the Ukraine and Romania. In fact I literally could write an entire post solely on the sacred meanings of these symbols along with the great may images I took during our time there of the houses painted with these symbols and looms and weavings I saw.. however this is already a very long post even for me!  Holding an old Distaff with hemp wound on it, a local spinner and images of the many textiles, eggs and beautiful things I brought back with me. This ancestral pilgrimage exceeded all of our expectations and will stay with me for a very long time to come, in fact since arriving back there have already been a few sacred nods my way as I read over an old journal filled with journeys with my ancestral grandmother and realized that just before I left she held out a small jar of fluffy yellow flowers and told me to look for them in Romania... During our time there I had a moment in a giant field of sunflowers where I wondered if I had seen these small flowers wrong and that perhaps they were sunflowers, only to realize that I had not seen the fluffy yellow flowers in my journey wrong, but that they do indeed exist and these small yellow flowers are sacred to the Romanian people at mid-summer, so although we had missed the festivities by only a few weeks there was so much for me to learn about there sacred flowers and their herbal and folkloric meaning... These flowers are called Sanziene. "Each year, on the 24th of June, Romanians celebrate the pagan holiday of Sanziene. Along with the Fates, Sanzieneleare part of the big and charming family of Iele - gracious fairies with magical powers. Unlike the most of Iele, Sanzienele are always good and kind to humans. It is said that on the night before their day, they use to fly over meadows, smelling and touching the wildflowers, enriching them with special healing properties. Sanziene is also the Romanian name of a wild yellow flower, commonly known as the Lady's bedstraw, frequently used in ancient healing potions. Sanziene’s Day has its own specific rituals, mainly focused on love spells. In some regions, especially in the countryside, it is common that the young girls to play the role of Sanziene. One of the girls is chosen to represent Dragaica, the most powerful Sanziana. After she is dressed in white and embellished with golden wheat spikes – the symbol of Sun and Summer - she must gather all the other girls into a big circle and dance. Then, they all go collecting Lady’s bedstraw flowers and create beautiful wreaths. In some regions, the girls throw their wreath in water while chanting their wishes of love. In other parts of the country, the wreaths are thrown over the house; if the wreath stays on the roof, the girl will marry soon, if not, the girl still has to wait."  Romania gave me many precious things, sacred salt from a salt mine we visited, honey and juniper, she offered us experiences and literally the milk and honey of the land there and most of all I carry home with me a deep and wild memory of the sound of sheep bells in the morning along with the sweet chatter of birds on a rich and fertile land that rightfully so should be cherished and kept away from the capitalist eye, so that it can remain in the same way it has for hundreds of years, because the truth is, to visit Romania is to step back in time, where the ancestors are close and the people kind.....
My blood and bones will never forget what it was to eat, sleep and play there if only for a short time... Thank you my ancestors, thank you land spirits, thank you mother Romania.... Nikiah  "Weaving is a profound metaphor for understanding the of the universe and our place in it. Through the physical process of weaving we gain a better understanding of the world, and how we as humans are woven through it." Susan Barrett Marrill My longing to to create using textiles goes back to my childhood, but lacking any kind of patient and loving mentor to guide me, my trials with knitting and crochet were all in vain. To be fair, I could and probably still can make a very looong scarf, but the world of patterns and pearls and days of hats and sweater making were not in the cards for me. For a long time I blamed it on being left handed, but know way too many "lefties" that knit up a storm for that to hold any water... However the loom for me held some sort of a deep ancestral memory, and I had been using the metaphor of a tapestry we could look at in order to see our ancestral connections and the holes/gaps within, in my workshops and my healing work for years. So by the time I sat down with my unboxed pieces of loom parts and started to lovingly spread beeswax onto them, and then to assemble them I was determined like I have never been before to learn the ancient art of weaving. There was pure joy and bliss mixed with excitement, and then complete and utter terror that I might now be able to figure this out, but figure it out I did, and jubilation followed! "We are bound to our bodies with the fragile threads of earth. Our skeleton is a loom on which every system is strung and woven with our blood." SBM My first little woven piece was dedicated to my ancestral altar and it was filled with all sorts of tears by the time it was finished followed by great emotion. At this point I decided to make one more piece and then to sell my first little loom so I could move several sizes up to one that could create a larger sacred shawl with. One that would become dedicated to my ancestral work. However, it was not as easy as all that...... The journey took me deep into unknown territory, and in many ways forced me to review my entire life as I wove my story into a shawl that would carry the bones of ancestral meaning for me... But I may be getting ahead of myself here....  Boline to cut the cords... I once read that the warp of a loom, {which are the threads that are strung vertically to create the foundation for any piece of fabric to work} represent our values and morals, our belief system, and these are bedrock on which or lives are built. They are hidden from view, one has to get close to be able to see them. These are usually only shared with family and friends that we love and trust. Creating a strong warp is the most important part of the weaving, because without it the rest of the creation will not work. The Weft however is what we see, it is the patterns of our lives and the beauty we create from it, it is what the outside world also sees, and so as important as the weft is, without a strong warp or foundation, it all falls apart! Keep this in mind if you choose to read further about the journey...  As I started the process I realized that I wanted my ancestrally woven shawl to be soft so it could hold me though some upcoming shadow work, but wool {which I seem to be allergic to} is the common choice for these kinds of weavings so it took ages for me to make a final choice, taking into considering texture, strength and feel. And finally I came home elated with soft organic textured cotton yarn in deep grey and black colours feeling grounded and with several hours before dinner I felt ready to begin. Because I knew that the warp of this shawl needed to be strong and solid, I took my time setting up, measuring and understanding the pattern and what I needed to do to warp my loom, and then it began.. Time faded away and I felt that spacious time out of time feeling as I warped the loom, and soon I was feeling the yarn in my hands, the softness and texture, like a new child I was full of excitement and things were going well. To warp a loom for a pattern of this size it should only take on hour, but this one took me three. What I did not realize is that cotton breaks much easier, and no matter how strong my yarn was, cotton is cotton. I also quickly realized that I should have had the shop girls make me balls from my skeins because I did not have the proper equipment to do the job, and halfway through I needed to tie another ball on, but it tangled and broke and my foundation was beginning to look like a bunch of broken threads with tied knots holding them with a bunch of pooled and tangled yarn spread all around. It was not long after this that I realized that the first half of my shawl was deeply representing my own early childhood life.... The foundation was broken, but I gritted my teeth and carried on, because nothing was going to stop me making this shawl {plus I paid a LOT for this yarn!} I was forced to trust the process, to trust that even though there were breaks and knots it would all work out, and soon enough the tears came, and added their own healing to the foundation of the first half of my shawl. My tears felt like the ancestral pain not only of my own broken foundation but the broken foundations of all my ancestors going back, the ones I had been working on healing for the past three years, the ones I have come to love and understand, it was all there is the broken-ness of my first warp.... And then it was finally ready, and I began to weave....  Serpent on the bone woman The first half was a slow process, but slowly I wove and healed all of the broken spots, slowly I remembered my life, seeing it through the eyes of the tapestry I was weaving, and the metaphors were deep and rang true in a painful, powerful and healing way... Eventually, I could see what the foundation was actually stronger then I thought and that it was holding strong, and more importantly, the imperfections it caused were actually beautiful, and soon I was smiling and laughing out loud through my tears.... I felt that I was honouring all of the ancestors that went before me by sticking with it, and I started to feel their steady hands behind me, guiding me in what needed doing to make it strong and beautiful!  The second half, much like my later life was easier, I was more resourceful and had learned what not to do, I also had more tools so the job was faster and flowed all around.. I felt confident in what I was doing and soon I was playing around with different textures and wools and I could see the beauty of what I was creating, it was weaving medicine. I began to think of my beloved husband and our two children and they were woven into my shawl, and soon enough I remembered all of my work with red and not by chance, that very week I was gifted an entire spool of beautiful deep red yard for weaving with, so it went in too... And finally it was done! Two halves of my life, my ancestry, my family my life... Pulling the last piece off the loom was cathartic and I wish I had thought to capture it on film, but I was caught in the moment, and as soon as I had it in my hands I was holding it close to my heart and getting ready to sew both halves together...  Once a weaving is finished, it is said that one must wet it to bind the fibres more tightly together, some say to hand wash it with gentle soap, while others say just wetting it is enough.. but my ancestors had other plans, and instantly I heard "Take it to the river" and I knew exactly where the shawl needed to go and just exactly what to do..... But first the bones...  Choosing bones for my Bone Woman shawl... As a bone collector and bone thrower I have been working with bones for well over a decade, and the spirit name given to my by my ancestors reflects that. So I knew intuitively that this shawl would not be complete without carrying some of my most sacred bones. These were threaded with care and love and strung onto each side of the shawl, and as I worked steadily I understood this to be my Bone Woman shawl, guided by the bone mother in one of her many forms. Some may know her as the Calleach, and others may see her as Eriskegal the shadow sister/side of Inanna, some see her as Baba Yaga... For me the bones were directed by my ancestors and guides, and of course the bone mother... The last and final step was to take her to the river.... I have decided not to share much from that time, but it is my hope that these images speak the words for the process of standing in the cold river, feeling the current pulling me and submerging my shawl as a form of deep initiation {for us both}....   My Ancestral Bone Woman shawl now smells like moss and river water, the tears that once stained her cloth are now washed and cleansed by the current and she has been dried by the sun. She makes small clicking sounds as I walk, her bones clattering off of one another in the most wonderful way..... I wear this shawl proudly for it holds the reminder of my life lived, of the ancestors who have gone before me and for what is yet to come... For now though, there are more tapestries asking to come through, but a good long break seems to be what is needed, for the moment at least...  image created by Infinite Body Photography All of the images that I appear in were taken by Jenny Ann Holden of Infinite Body Photography. Her work is driven by her own connection to the land and her passion to capture the beauty of what it means to be human.
I come from a long line of prostitutes. This is a sentence I am often heard sharing within the circles of women I work with, and startling as it sounds, it is the truth, a part of my personal ancestral truth and pathway. My ancestors were also warriors and farmers, herbalists, midwives, beekeepers and so on, but to date some of the deepest most painful ancestral healing that I have been tasked with in this lifetime has been healing the wounds in my mother-line from prostitution, rape and the destruction of sex as a holy act. Imagine it like a long line of matryoshka dolls running down through an ancestral line, each one fitting into the next, each ancestor affecting the one after, all the way down the line-like ripples on water.... However, contrary to the kindly concept of matryoshka dolls, when a former ancestor does not cross over into the land of the dead taking their rightful place with the rest of our ancestors, they stay here trying to reconcile their lives through us--thus in a way encapsulating us much like a matryoshka doll.  How does this happen you may ask? Well in the most simple terms, this can happen when someone dies a sudden, tragic or otherwise unreconciled, and the ways this can happen are too numerous to list here. In ancient times this was understood at a basic level, and there were people in each village or area to deal with these kinds of deaths, a sin eater or healer who was known to work with the spirit world, a shaman or curandera who would work to reconcile the person and support them in their crossing over process should it become a problem. Over time, as these people died out, the ways were lost, or in many cases they had to go into hiding for fear of their lives. The memory of how to work with the living and the dead became something to be feared, something that was avoided because of it being too painful or because those who were called to do the work were unsure of how to do it anymore..... What happens when our ancestors do not cross over can become a problem for us the living, and in many cases we just simply assume it is a part of who we are, part of our familial make up. For some of us, our family stories may sound as bit like this: All the men leave us, or drink too much all the women in our line are infertile, or suffer menstrual problems, or have gallbladder issues, they yell too much/ or are verbally abusive, physically abusive, they can never keep a job etc.... Over time these patterns begin to show up in our own behaviour, they come out in how we in how we treat ourselves and those we care for, and do not really reflect who we actually are. The unresolved life of our ancestors and the pattern that their death caused it in the first place basically gets passed down as baggage for us, the future generation to lug around, and this can affect our lives, deeply. In some ways, what it feels like is similar to the matryoshka doll, we feel as though we are covered in something we can't explain, something we can't break free from, like we are inside an invisible force, stuck. For all the therapy and work we do on ourselves we just can't break free of the pattern, and over time this can cause sickness and disharmony in our lives. These patterns are a tricky bunch though because they can feel as normal as breathing, they often feel like such a part of us, we no longer can even sense them, we assume this IS who we are. This is because when it is an ancestral issue, we are literally born with it, so when it comes to sensing into the pattern we often can't see it, because we literally know no other way!  In my practise, ancestral patterns often come to the forefront of what I see first when the spirits begin showing me where the pain first started in a client. When I first started out in my shamanic work, I was surprised by this, but now I see it as a natural part of the flow between the living and the dead, and a part of what my personal gifts are in the shamanic realm. My understanding of how important it is to find reconciliation and clearing for the living and dead has become a big part of what I do. Of course this could never have happened if I were not who I was, coming from a long line of farmers, beekeepers, herbalists and yes prostitutes and having worked hard to see that my own ancestral loved ones were cared for so that they could become helping ancestors, not ones that hold me or my children back. My work as both a birth and death midwife has also shown me the beauty, and pain, that both life and death has to offer us, and it is because of having seen both doorways opening and closing that I feel so close to this work as a pat of my ancestral pathway..... I played the powerless in too many dark scenes, I was blessed with a birth and a death, and I guess I just want some say in between... Ani Defranco  This work is something that I will be expanding into more in the next year or so, as both a workshop offering for those who are experienced shamanic journeyer's, and as small writing pieces such as this post.
Locally for those who come to see me in my shamanic practise ancestral healing is something that often comes through. If you are interested in what Ancestral healing looks like THIS LINK is a good starting place. May all your ancestors be helping ones. In spirit and love Nikiah  I have long been interested in Indigo and Woad especially since Woad in particular is connected to my more recent Scottish ancestors and given that Blue is a very important colour in the animist tradition I was trained in. Indigo, the colour of the sky and water and the source of deep alchemical magic and revere across most of the world! For some time now I have been gathering the ingredients and dreaming about what I might do should I set up an Indigo vat--mostly I had visions of deep Indigo drums, perhaps a shawl and of course the initiation into Indigo as seen with the classic "Blue Hands". Interestingly enough it is said that in India those with Blue hands were considered not of a lower caste as one might think, but rather if you were a dyer that knew the secrets of Indigo blue dying and had the tell-tale blue hands much respect was given! I am notoriously known for my love of the colour Red and it's deep connection to the divine feminine, but blue has captured my heart and ancestral soul for the moment, so it was fun to combine both loves by setting up my Red Tent and Indigo vat side by side for the day!  Ok so here is the run down--basically Woad and indigo are the same, AND....woad and indigo are different, how is that for confusion!? What is the same about these two is that the compounds in the leaves, when extracted, both produce blue pigment called Indigo. From what I understand Woad is easily grown in Europe, thus the history of use there, and Indigo although referred to as the colour produced, is also a plant grown in more tropical climates, and the Indigo that is gathered from these plants is deeper then what one is able to obtain from Woad. I imagine that a more lush tropical climate must be the reason for the compounds that create the blue colour of Indigo to be deeper then the Woad grown in Europe, but that is just a guess... The introduction of Indigo to Europe came by way of Asia is the middle ages they say as early as 1140, and initially it was was sold in hard lumps and used as an ingredient in paint for artists. It was not until the 1500 that it started to be imported and used for dye which made woad dyers quite uneasy, however it seems that the use of woad for dye was slowly departed from as the darker colours of the more tropical Indigo were discovered. It is said that where woad is a slow blue Indigo is fast, but the truth of the matter is this--both require deep alchemy in order to achieve any kind of lasting colour! "In Europe and in the British Isles, when woad was the only affordable blue, processing began with the crushing and composting of leaves. The mixture was shaped into balls dried for storage and transport. Inside the balls, a tiny secret was at work: a bacterium, Clostridium isatidis, thriving in the interiors, using up the oxygen, beginning a transformation by fermentation that led to blue pigment. Woad, the plant whose deep blue pigment was used as a warpaint by the ancient Britons to frighten their enemies, is to be farmed commercially in Britain for the first time in 500 years. Large-scale production of woad, which was most famously used by the warrior queen Boudicca, finally died out in the 16th century when cheaper dyes imported from India made it uneconomic." Source Woad has long been connected with the Icenci tribe and it's famous leader Boudica who was said to have painted her face with paint before going into battle, and we now know that woad is also antiseptic and may also have been used to heal battle wounds! The thought with painting the face Blue was to frighten the enemy by having a fierce face done is a colour that would have been hard to achieve anywhere else. of course back then Urine would have been one of the magical ingredients needed to turn the green dye blue....  I could write an entire book on the ancestral connections between the magical dye and each country it was used in, fortunately there are many other wonderful and amazing books that have already done so... From what I can understand the myth and magic of this alchemical dye has literally been found most of the world over, and ancient history shows that not only was it used for dying fabric, but also it was used for tattooing in Japan, for burial shrouds in Egypt, in trade as currency from Africa to to Central America and on and on... and it certainly not just contained to my personal European ancestors--so if this colour has captivated you as much as me chances are your ancestors used and wore it too! Indigo was used to ward off evil spirits and the secrets of it's facinating alchemical process were guarded fiercely by those who would eventually pass them down through the family line, or sometimes passed through secret ritual and ceremony from one dyer to another in the line. Because I am always interested in finding my own ancestral links and understandings I was fascinated by the use of Woad as a colour of warriors and in domestic use for dying wool and clothing as well as the idea of dying drums this colour for use in ceremony. It is said that the ancient Celtic Picts used woad for drawing on their bodies before battle and I found a fascinating book "Finding Blue" which goes into this history as well as giving a recipe and images for doing just that {see images below} but I have also read that this is not dependably accurate and so the search continued until my understanding-although not exhausted, has come full circle in that I now see that this line of my ancestors were an extremely adaptable and creative peoples {sounds familiar} and somewhere in it all lays a speckle of truth-and I am sure that speckle was Blue! To this end I decided to ask my own helping ancestors directly and see what they had to say for it all, as they were also a pragmatic people who did not tolerate fools easily... In the end I felt my connections deepened and I was shown a drum dark as ravens wings and used for a very specific purpose in death and grief work, which I have yet to make, as it will take more time, ceremony, and thought on my part before I even begin, as these kinds of things are not to be rushed in any way. However, before all of this I enjoyed a few full days of dying and made a few sacred drums for sale which I have finally listed up in the Drum Shop.  And so it was that given the dog days of summer I found myself dreaming of blue--perhaps it was the long blue skies or finding myself with a bit of time off, but either way I wanted to set up my Red Tent in my back yard for dreaming and working in, and for my daughter to have friends over to sleep in and before I knew it a few days were set aside for Indigo dying and an invite was sent to all women wishing to pop by and dye some old clothes or just visit... I had dreams of dying several drums the deep dark colour of Ravens wings and since spirit seemed to be pleased with my plans I went ahead and prepared both hide and fabric for the big day!  I prepared two Indigo Vats for the day and was glad that I had attended an Indigo Social the week before as it helped immensely with the process, plus it was there that I found out that the Indigo I was using came from India and was harvested on a full moon--this made my spirit happy! The day found my teenaged daughter joining us which was also a delight and many friends dropped by for a few hours at a time enjoying company and being creative together, which I believe sits at the heart of woman's work, priestessing and supporting one another in the most of organic and natural ways--gathering at the Red Tent to work with our hands. And so it was that my love for Red was combined with Blue, with women and the ancestors-- there is not much more that this spirit worker would want for.....  Resources for those who want to learn more: Indigo-Egyption mummies to blue Jeans By:Jenny Balfour-Paul History of Woad The Secret History of Okinawan Tattoos Finding Blue By Catherine Cartwright Jones Indigo--In search of the colour that seduced the world By Catherine McKinley Dyeing with Indigo By: Elizabeth McTear  |
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© Copyright 2016. By Nikiah Seeds. Ancestral Healing, Red Drum Making, Ceremonies, Mystery School. Vancouver, BC.
Living and working on the unceded Indigenous land belonging to the Coast Salish peoples, including the territories of the xʷməθkwəy̓əm (Musqueam), Skwxwú7mesh (Squamish), Stó:lō and Səl̓ílwətaʔ/Selilwitulh (Tsleil-Waututh) Nations.
Living and working on the unceded Indigenous land belonging to the Coast Salish peoples, including the territories of the xʷməθkwəy̓əm (Musqueam), Skwxwú7mesh (Squamish), Stó:lō and Səl̓ílwətaʔ/Selilwitulh (Tsleil-Waututh) Nations.