Today I look at the world and I am ashamed. My grandfathers and great-uncles and distant cousins fought in WWII. Some of them were part of the liberation of the camps. Some of them were lost in the camps. All of them gave up a part of themselves to protect their homeland from the cancerous wave of fascism that was tainting the world with it’s poison.
Today, they are all spinning in their graves.
The ancestor altar has been a grumbling mess for months, and I can’t even bring myself to do more than a cursory dusting and replenish their water goblet. They are PISSED. And on this Memorial Day, their brothers and sisters who are being remembered are even more pissed off.
Today I lit my last Justice Candle (note to self, get a shit-ton more wax) and placed it on a long-running spell jar on the working altar. I called out to the ancestors who were being remembered today; those who fought and died and gave their all to keeping us safe here at home. I asked their forgiveness for our failures. I begged them for aid one last time. I prayed that they could somehow make their presence known to the masses and to help the people here at home one more time.
Our greatest battle is yet to be fought, but the skirmishes are growing and the intensity is rising. We need their help and guidance more than ever. They saw combat, and for many it was the last thing they saw in this life. We need their wisdom and extended world view. We need their courage and strength. We need their kindness and sense of duty to their fellow humans. We need to find the heroes within ourselves and acknowledge the fact that only fists can stop fascists.
“The only good Nazi is a dead Nazi. Because they won’t stop even after you’re dead.”