As I was writing this post, I was reminded of one of my favorite tracks by Dead Can Dance from their 1996 album Spiritchaser, released on the 4AD label. Track 2, "Song of the Stars," resonates deeply with me on both a spiritual and shamanic level. Its haunting rhythms and ethereal tones make it my song of the week.
The Quest for Spiritual Ancestry: A Journey Through Memory, Trauma, and New Beginnings
And so the quest continues. With each astral journey to a distant land, each vision, and every tug at my heart, I learn something new about myself, my spiritual ancestors, and where I will ultimately end up.
This ongoing journey isn’t about connecting with my genealogical ancestors but rather my spiritual lineage—those who fill my life with purpose, meaning, and curiosity. It begins circa 1943, in the final seconds of a past life as a middle-aged German woman who died during an air raid bombing in World War II. That death echoes across time, replaying through the tragic events of my current life.
Indirect Reminders of the Past: Fireworks, Lockerbie, and 9/11
The journey started innocently enough. I was four years old, standing on the balcony of my parents' penthouse in South America, about to see fireworks for the first time. Instead of wonder, I felt horror. The colorful explosions in the night sky didn’t seem magical—they felt disturbingly familiar, like bombs tearing through the night.
Fast forward to 1988: the air disaster of Pan Am flight103 over Lockerbie. Watching the aftermath on television, I unraveled. The images of crushed homes and fiery wreckage felt deeply personal, evoking the same visceral terror I’d felt as a child. My body responded as though I understood precisely what it was like to die in such a way.
In 2001, the events of 9/11 unearthed another layer of trauma. I became obsessed with the mechanics of the World Trade Center collapse, replaying footage in a futile attempt to desensitize myself. I couldn’t explain my morbid fascination—it was as if I was searching for a lost fragment of myself in those falling towers.
Remembering Through Hans
"Unterglieschness" – A poem written, performed, and executed by Lavavoth Stuart in 2020. This piece reflects a pivotal moment from my childhood, when, at age 11 during a family vacation in Sarasota, Florida, I experienced a sudden download of a past life in Germany. The word Unterglieschness came to me spontaneously, later revealing itself as a blend of the German words unter (below; under) and gleich (same), combined with the English suffix -ness to convey "under the sameness"—a profound reference to the homogenization and oppression of the Nazi regime. Remarkably, at that time, I had no exposure to German language or culture, making the experience both unsettling and deeply transformative.
In 2010, Hans guided me through past life recall sessions via altered states of consciousness, dance, and shamanic journeying. These experiences revealed why these traumatic events had such an overwhelming hold on me.
I learned that I had been a middle-aged German woman living in an urban area in Nazi Germany. In my visions, I saw myself in my flat, hearing air raid sirens as Allied bombers approached. For reasons unknown, I didn’t seek shelter. Instead, I hid under a table in my sparse kitchen. The vision ended abruptly, but I understood I had been crushed and burned to death when a bomb struck my building.
Hans refuses to reveal the exact location of my death, but Hamburg often comes to mind. Processing this dark chapter of my spiritual ancestry remains a challenge, even after years of writing and reflection.
Surfside: The Trauma Reawakens
The collapse of the Surfside condominium in Florida reopened the wounds. Watching footage of the building falling into itself, I felt an insidious weight, as if I were reliving my death all over again. Like the World Trade Center, I replayed the collapse in slow motion, trying to piece together fragments of my past life and uncover the roots of my trauma.
Redefining Ancestry
To me, ancestry is more than genetics; it’s about spiritual lineage. My spiritual ancestors include the spirits I share past lives with, like Hans, and those tied to the lands I’m drawn to. As Keziah (2022) explains:
A spiritual ancestor is someone connected to you, your practice, or your religion in some way who is not necessarily connected to you in a genetic sense... This can be a spirit, notable person, or folkloric figure tied to your culture or the land of your ancestors (Para. 6) [1].
By honoring this spiritual lineage, I partake in an ancestral migration—moving toward new lands and uncovering new connections with spirits yet unknown.
Summer Goals and the Michigan Journey
This summer, I’m leaving Vermont after 30 years [2] and beginning a new chapter. My goal is to document this journey—writing weekly posts about my search for a home and traveling to potential sites to film the land and its energy.
Next week, I’ll travel to northern Michigan, about an hour south of the Upper Peninsula, to view a midcentury split-level home on 10 acres of land. The house needs significant repairs, but once restored, it could become a sanctuary for many years to come.
The house has already begun to haunt my dreams, its siren call beckoning me. If Hans[3] gives his blessing, I’ll make an offer. Like my previous home—a neglected Victorian farmhouse filled with ghosts—this house feels alive, its spirit occupants waiting for a caretaker.
The realtor has given me the lockbox code, allowing me to explore freely. If all goes well, I’ll perform a dance ritual in the house and woods to connect with its energy and determine if it truly wants me there.
The Call of the Land
This journey is more than a search for a house. It’s a continuation of my quest to uncover and honor my spiritual ancestry. Each house, each piece of land, becomes a portal to another chapter of my story, a connection to the unseen forces that shape my path.
As I move closer to leaving Vermont, I embrace the unknown, trusting that the spirits and ancestors tied to the lands I encounter will guide me to where I’m meant to be.
Notes
[2] Actually, I found my sanctuary on nearly 25 acres of forested land in Vermont, a place where the whispers of the trees and the presence of unseen guides have become part of my daily life.
[3] which he did last night after doing a Tarot reading when he moved my hand to the down-facing Ace of Wands card
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