THROWING THE BONES. A TRUE STORY.

“They say she’s a very good writer, she is very good at what she does, but she doesn’t write anything...”

What about my career?

She gathered the bones in both hands, shook them, and tossed them on the floor. She giggled a little.

They are complaining. They say she’s a very good writer, she is very good at what she does, but she doesn’t write anything. She’s not writing.

Of course, they know.

And my love life?

She gathered the bones in both hands and tossed them. The women are protecting you. You are like a child looking out of the window at the other children playing outside. And they won’t let you out.

Then she performed a visual I’ll never forget.

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This slim, lovely, brown-skinned woman with a chiseled face, buzz cut, and long, elegant hands held out both index fingers and thumbs to form the bottom of a square, stuck her face between the window frame she created with her hands, and cocked her head to the side. Her eyes spoke sadness and longing. The South African afternoon sun poured in at an angle through the small window frame positioned eight inches above her head and landed in three heavy slices on the wall behind her, like a graphic design completing the picture.

A few moments passed.

A mirror.

My reflection.

I swallowed back a deep sadness I didn’t expect and kept my composure.

She continued.

The men available to you do not measure up. This is tribal. Your ancestors will protect the tribe. These are not your recent ancestors. They won’t allow you to marry any man that cannot uphold the tribe.

Gut punched and quiet, I looked away from the screen where she sat waiting. An hour hadn’t passed, and I wanted to get my money’s worth. I sat trying to think of something else to ask. Here I am in a direct question and answer session with my ancestors, I thought to myself, and I can’t think of anything else to say.

My mamma. I’m concerned with raising my daughter without my mamma. I don’t have her to talk to. How do I raise a girl in this world without my mamma?

She nodded a little, gathered the bones in both hands and lifted them slightly, poised to toss them again. She stopped.

I just heard a voice; I didn’t even have to throw the bones.

Just talk to me. I’m right here.

Stunned again. I blinked a few times, then a few more.

I thanked her, quickly ended the zoom call, and went downstairs. A small light peeked out from under the bookcase in the corner. I got down on both knees to fish it out. It was before 6 a.m. in the US and there was nothing but silence and darkness, inside and out, except for this flameless, plastic tealight with a natural looking flicker. I stood, stared at it for a few seconds, then smiled. The sadness melted away with every breath.

Ok, mamma.

Ok.

I don’t completely understand how my mamma could nurture me from the other side, but I know. She was present. She held me close. She answered my question.

I haven’t felt the need for another reading since.

Imagine you are give the opportunity to engage in a question and answer session with a chosen ancestors. What are the questions you wish to have answered today?

If you engage in any type of divination practice, take these questions to your ancestors. What do they have to say in response?

If you do not engage in divination, simply meditate or reflect on the questions you’ve written. You can choose to think of this as a character building/uncovering activity. Based on your understanding of yourself and/or your lineage, how might they respond?