My veins rumble with the songs of my ancestors. My clan, long known as the secret keepers, those with the long memory to recall the true stories and the lineages of all men were always close to those who ruled and those who communed with the gods. As time passed they became artists and writers, historians and keepers of the faith. I can see clearly in my mind the image of a great hall, one of my ancestors standing next to a great Chieftain introducing each who enter the hall for celebration with their lineage and the defining moments of both their clan and individual lives. The long memory that stretches across time within the blood, stirring and wakening me to the song I was born to sing.
Absorbed in images of my ancestral home I am drawn deeply into myself. I can smell the snow-laden earth and feel the freezing bite of the wind. Home awakens within me as I hear words in the tongue of my forefathers. I am transported, the wind shrieks as darkness falls and a lone piper plays a lament from the peak to the gathering winter storm my heart aches as I hear his tortured love cry out to the gods, regretting the past, damning the future and all that has been lost yet hope holds keenly in his notes. My tears are filled with a determination that there will be beauty in the sunrise, how can there not in this harshly beautiful existence? Where we fiercely carve out life and cleave to beauty, to love and would give our all for our family and our honour. I feel it as if it were a memory from only a year past; I know it as surely as I know my own hand. My voice opens to the wind, something deep and old wailing, tearing forth from deep within for my history, our known history, what is lost from long before and a future thrown to the winds, ancestry scattered across far distant shores yet echoes of home call, moan and drive my heart and soul wild with longing. I will return. I will walk the old roads to the mountains of my ancestors even though I know I will find yet another road, across the wild and unforgiving ocean, beyond, to the even older home. I can hear the cry of larks and eagles in reply to the piper and I, as the tide changes, I feel peace steal over me … then come the dreams …
Words by errant satiety images by Marcus McAdam
Suggested song Pilililiu / Song of the Swan Bonnie Rideout & Allan MacDonald (Apologies, I cannot locate a free version of this beautiful song).
This is an oddly beautiful amateur avant garde video set to a lovely Bonnie Rideout Piece