“Breathing in, I see all my ancestors in me: my mineral ancestors, plant ancestors, mammal ancestors, and human ancestors. My ancestors are always present, alive in every cell of my body, and I play a part in their immortality.”
~ Thich Nhat Hanh, The Art of Living
Finding our way home
I am German.
I am English.
I am French.
I am Swiss.
I am Cherokee.…
I am Scottish.
I am Irish.
I am from the red, clay hills of Mississippi.
I am from the marshes of New Orleans.
I am a seltzer truck driver.
I am a seamstress.
I am a stevedore.
I am a Bourbon Street musician.
I am a farmer.
I am a logger.
I am a potter.
I am a department store manager.
I am a housewife.
I am a textile worker.
I play minor league baseball.
I play the fiddle.
I teach shape-note singing.
I taught myself to play the piano singing hymns.
And I realize,
I am a hymnal to my ancestors…
And I realize,
the music that makes America’s song
is still being written.
An experiment.
Will it last?
Ask your great grandchildren.
We are all immigrants.
We are all finding our way home.
Written by Lindsay Wilson, January 2017
Lindsay Kolasa 