My Father’s Day Gift from Heaven
A couple of weeks ago, I fell down a rabbit hole on ancestry.com looking for my great-great-grandfather Jones on my mother’s side. Those of you who are familiar with our YouTube channel, Chillin’ with Adam, might recall our visit with David Bowie. David said Adam asked him to come forward because David and I have something important in common. I could hardly wait to hear about it. At 31:35 on the video, we had an EVP. You can hear David say, “Ask me.”
According to David, the first thing we have in common is similar life lessons. His beloved half-brother Terry who suffered from schizophrenia, committed suicide in 1985. Then came the big surprise, “My real name is David Jones. Bowie is just something I made up.”
Based on research on ancestry.com, David “Bowie” Jones and my great-great-grandfather may have had the same first name as well. My great-great-grandfather Jones’s middle name may have been William, which is why he went by “Bill” or “Billy” Jones.
Billy is my dad’s name.
Daddy’s name isn’t mentioned often as his life was a rough one. Consequently, so was ours.
My mother never got to know my dad’s side of the family very well before we moved halfway across the country from where most of his family lived in Tennessee. From the time I was about nine months old, I spent a lot of time with my dad’s family. None of my three younger sisters had the opportunity to bond with our paternal grandparents. They stayed with our mother and her family in Arkansas.
After Adam died, I learned that my paternal grandmother was a reluctant Shaman. Their house must have been on an inter-dimensional vortex as she would occasionally see translucent people walking through her living room. Naturally, it scared her half to death. She would close her eyes and “pray them into the light,” never having mentioned her secret to another living soul. I have to laugh as I think of my four-year-old self watching grandma obsessively sweeping that living room floor. She was going to make sure they hadn’t left anything behind.
In shamanism, assisting individuals who are stuck between dimensions is called “psychopomp.”
Grandmother Williams told me once during a visit with Adam, “I used to love to smell your hair.” When I was a baby, she would sit me in her lap with her face pressed lightly against the top of my head. Neither of us realized at the time that she was breathing shamanism into my crown.
When hints started popping up on ancestry.com I decided to trace my dad’s lineage. I was not prepared for what I would find.
There is a rich lineage of Native American history, Cherokee, Choctaw, Chickasaw, Shawnee, & Iroquois in both of my dad’s parent’s lineages that goes as far back as nineteen generations to the Courts of England, Scotland, & France. I was dumbfounded to learn that I am the 11th great-niece of Rebecca Powhatan. You know her as Princess Pocahontas. Chief Stalking Turkey of the Eastern Cherokee nation, my 6th great-grandfather, is a direct descendant of John Greenwood, a Puritan English Separatist minister who was martyred for his religious beliefs. Greenwood and his colleague, Henry Barrow, broke off from the Puritan church with a radical new belief system that sounds very much like new-age spiritualism. Rev. Greenwood was hanged for his beliefs. Chief Stalking Turkey’s wife, Judy Ward, was a former Lady-in-Waiting for Queen Anne.
By the time the family crest of the Plantagenets appeared on my tree and I learned that I’m the 18th great-granddaughter of Anne Plantegenet of York, the Duchess of Exeter, I was in such a state of shock I’d all but forgotten whose tree I was climbing!
Let me state for the record that though I’d rather be of the lineage of Anne Plantagenet than Jack the Ripper, the last thing I’d want to be is a royal or anyone else who lives in the public eye. When I was younger, I used to say, “If I had to be famous, I’d want it to be as an author.” Keep in mind that when I was younger nobody knew what an author looked like who hadn’t seen their photo on the inside back cover of their book.
My youngest sister, Rhonda would have done a rain dance on the spot. Lol!
Rhonda is dead now and Vicki has estranged herself from the family.
I was so excited to share this news with my sister Karen, who told me to save my breath as she couldn’t be less interested in our father’s lineage. In light of her experiences with him, understandably so.
I’ll save the surprise for after Karen dies. I can’t help but giggle at the thought of Pocahontas, Chief Stalking Turkey, Rev. John Greenwood, and Anne Duchess of York meeting her at the Pearly Gates.
“There’s a good reason your father had such grandiose ideas and was never able to settle down. Charismatic Sous Chef cum Housepainter-Artist-Poet-Wannabee Entrepeneur, Rev. Billy Ray Williams was the perfect combination of Native American oppression and alcoholism; creativity and radical spiritualism imbued with the confidence of Kings.”
My gifts began coming forward right after Adam died. I’ve spent the past ten years trying to make sense of abilities I did not understand. Today I know who I am. The blood of my ancestors, the Conjurers, Medicine Women, Rainmakers, and Wind Callers runs through my veins. It no longer matters that the rest of the family doesn’t ‘get me.’ I come by these gifts naturally.
Thank you, Daddy, for the rich heritage you bestowed upon me in spite of the fact that you died without ever knowing who you were.
Tomorrow, on Father’s Day, the day of the solar eclipse, new moon, and summer solstice, as a shaman and granddaughter of generations of Native Americans, I am going to reach out to my Native American ancestors, all who suffered oppression and genocide, some who were taken prisoner by Confederate soldiers, and others who died on the Trail of Tears. There will be a joyous reunion in heaven as I cross them into the light.
Happy Father’s Day, Daddy. 🥰
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