Remembering Home

To feel you belong to something, to feel you are a part of something bigger than just yourself, to feel connected to others who feel like you, to see a strong reflection of yourself in others, are feelings I believe to be so crucial for a human spirit and their human existence. For me personally, it is a feeling I have been yearning for my whole life. 

My mother is Ukrainian, my father Native American. 

I was conceived in secrecy. 

I was conceived in betrayal. 

I was conceived in dishonesty. 

They say love was there, they thought the love was there, but none of those elements are present when love, true-love, is present. So..

Because this is what I was conceived in, because this is what I was created in, these threads have woven me together, creating a separation in my being. A deep separation. Many do not consider the circumstances of their conception and its life molding powers, but if you begin to consider it and its effects on who you presently are, you may be surprised to see what you may see. We are who our parents are, but we have been created in another time, therefore we have new elements to our being. We are who our ancestors were, but hopefully evolved. We not only carry their blood, we carry their pain, their wisdom or lack thereof, their lessons, their battles, their triumphs, their mysteries, their understandings, their misunderstandings and we pass them on. That is the beautiful weaving of family. Sadly, not everyones weaving is beautiful. Sadly, many weaves have been woven from darkness and the present generation is a reflection of this darkness, this disconnectedness. Unless the standing generation changes the pattern.

If a family evolves, this is what happens. The patterns transform. The standing generation sees where their parent, grandparent veered off path and they say, "I don't want to go that same route" and work at changing this historical pattern. Which is not an easy thing to do and depending on who you come from, what kind of cultural and emotional lineage you come from,  your reconfiguring may be harder than others. So many do not even know their lineage. If a pattern existed for many generations, you are working against a powerful force. It would be much easier to continue the pattern. Yet, it would be only a matter of time before the pattern is no longer a conceivable pattern and it loses itself completely. There are family blood lines who have completely died out. There was no more material to use to weave anything together. 

So back to me and my families weavings..

I have never felt a sense of belonging. To anyone or to anything. Other than myself. Not only do I believe that this comes from the way I was conceived, but I believe it comes from my parents, my ancestors. I could go into the details of my family history, but I will save that for perhaps another time.

Because I had this inner feeling of separation, it seems I have created my life from this notion and created a life of isolation. I didn't see myself in anyone else when I was a child, so I learned and accepted that this was the way it was. And from that understanding, or shall I say, misunderstanding, I searched outside of myself to find myself. Because that is what we all do if we have lost ourselves, or if perhaps we never had ourselves. If we never had that sense of belonging. That sense of community. 

I was raised by my traditional Ukrainian family. I did not look like any of them and I believed I unconsciously rejected their community, my belonging to them to a certain degree. When I was a child people would ask me if I was adopted. My skin, eyes and hair were darker than the rest of my families. I didn't understand it then, but I understood things in a different way from them. I perceived things differently from them. I learned things in a different way from them. I acted and moved differently from them. Them continuously trying to get me on their understanding, because well, this is what they understood to be the way. Not understanding that it was not -my- way. Now that I have somewhat connected to my Indian side, I can understand this, because since this connection, I understand that I understand more like them. Not entirely because I was not raised with them, but there is an understanding so deep in my being that it makes me re-understand the meaning of home. The meaning of belonging.

I remember the first time I met my father when I was 14. It was the first time I saw myself in someone else. This seeing was so powerful! I just stared and stared at him. Wow, I thought. I look like someone! 

For my young life, that is what I had been yearning for. As a result of not knowing myself, I placed myself in and with groups of people who were like each other, yet I was not like them, but I worked my butt off to make it seem like I was. For a few years my family lived in the suburbs of Long Island, NY, where if you know the suburbs, everyone is alike. Everyone lives in houses of the same stature, drive the same model cars, decorate their homes with the same decorative fixtures, shop at the same stores, raise their children with similar understandings.. not much individuality there. Except for my family. I had a step father, I didn't even know my real father, my mother was worldly cultured, our house was furnished with unique furnishings, we were a spiritual family, at that time I would even say religious, holding prayer meeting at our home, church every Sunday. And I was Ukrainian and Indian. Those kids had no idea what either one of those were and I would get the same skewed face expression each time I'd say it. "Huh??? What is that???" I didn't know... all I knew is what I knew. I knew my grandparents, I knew my mother, I knew my sister, I understood the Ukrainian language, but never embraced it to speak it. I knew like most kids that I didn't want to be different. I wanted to be like everyone else. And so this became my reason for living. Fitting in, no matter what. We moved back to Queens after 5 years of suburban life, and don't get me wrong, those years gave me a safe childhood in regard to environment. A nice house, backyard, friendly neighbors, childhood activities, but it secluded me more and more into my own private world. I learned how to be with myself and escape into my own reality where I was myself, along with all of my dolls and imaginary friends. I would draw continuously, dance continuously with my imaginary dance class, continuously creatively creating my own imagination. It was only with myself that I knew my freedom. Once anyone else came around, I would revert to the little, quiet, shy, passive, me. I was so tiny too. Not like I'm much bigger now, but I was a teeny little thing. Everyone always aww'ing me and babying me making me feel smaller than I really was. And so that is what I believed. Just so you understand, this is not written out of pity for myself, I do not blame anyone for these childhood impressions, I understand that most adults do not live in the present and do not see the impact of their unconsciousness, yet still love the best way they know how, I am simply sharing a part of my childhood from my consciousness of today so that perhaps someone may gain some insight into their own life and also because it is therapeutic for me to share my story. 

So then we came back to Queens and I went into 7th grade. I was excited to be back in the colorful  cultural mosaic of people. This is when I gravitated towards the hispanics, because they were who I felt I looked like the most. I used to tell everyone my great grandmother was Puerto Rican. This cracks me up now! I delved into that culture for a few years with my best friend who was black who claimed to have hispanic blood somewhere too. And then having her as my best friend I was exposed to the black American and West Indian culture which I embraced and tried to claim as my own as well. What a confused child! Lol Mind you, my Ukrainian family was scratching their heads this whole time, asking me who I was. Good question. If only someone could have told me. But then that would have made my journey completely different and I wouldn't be who I am today. And who I am today, I am still learning.

But by today, I have made some connections with the other side of my family. I now have a somewhat active relationship with my father. I have met two half brothers and two half sisters from my father. There's still two more of them to meet, if the time ever comes. I have visited a few Native villages. I have seen them dance. I have heard the beat of their souls. And although I have not lived with them, although I do not personally know so many of them, I do know that I am one of them. When I see them, I see such a strong reflection of myself. When I hear them speak their language, I do not understand what they are saying, but I understand what they are feeling. My father is Pueblo. He is half Santo Doming and half Laguna. Yesterday I went to Santo Domingo feast day. Feast day to my understanding is a celebration of Life. In this celebration, the connection of ALL life is celebrated and they celebrate in dance, in song, in breath, in challenge, in strength. Each song is a meaning of life. Each beat on the drum is a meaning of life. Each movement of dance is a meaning of life. Each formation of dance is a meaning of life. Each beautiful garment is a meaning of life. It is all a prayer. It is all a love. It is all a remembrance. It is all a reminder. Not just to them, but for all who is witnessing. And it is all -so-amazingly-beautiful. I have visited here a few times before for this celebration and each time I receive something new. This time as I sat in my families home, a family who has lived there for generations, who I have never known, I sat with them. On the balcony over looking the whole beautiful plaza. I sat with them in the early morning before the dancing had begun and the villagers set up their seats awaiting the celebration. The dancers still walking in and around the pueblo in their bright, happy, beaming garments of black, turquoise, yellow and white. The singers in their bright colorful array of clothing looking like splashes of paint against the tanned adobe walls with the blue sky as its canvas. And oh their beautiful brown faces.. their dark hair.. the women and their long dark hair... I have not seen the entire world, but I am sure that this kind of beauty is an original beauty. An original beauty that I am honored to be part of. Honored to be from. A beauty that is still standing beautifully despite the crumbling walls around them. Despite the crumbling faith around them. Despite the tragedy around them. Despite the poverty around them. Each year, no matter what, they make themselves beautiful and they come together in celebration of who they are. Even if they are lost within their own lives, I believe that there is a knowing soooo deeply rooted in them that when they are part of this union, they cannot help but to remember who they truly are. 

Even though I am closer to who I am, I am still very distant. There is still so much to learn, to know, to understand, to connect with. But I am here now. With all of my love and desire. 

I am back home, where I belong and I am humbled by my beautiful life and by all those who have come before me.

Thank you for your time,

Sophia

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XzzRDTfK1Lo