What if the patterns playing out on the world stage—and in your personal life—aren’t new at all, but echoes of ancient unfinished stories? In this episode, we explore how unconscious ancestral memories shape our fears, our relationships, and even our bodies—until we choose to meet them with remembrance instead of resistance. This is a journey through ancestral trauma loops, genetic resonance, and the sacred power of completion. Discover how ancestral integration isn’t just personal healing—it’s planetary service.
Takeaway: Our ancestors don’t need us to suffer. They need us to remember.
This episode is for the ones awakening not just for themselves—but for the lineages that live through them. For those who feel the resonance of something ancient—not in their thoughts, but in their cells.
Somewhere in your blood, there was a tower. Built not for beauty—but for battle. A place to watch for what might come.
You didn’t build it. But you’ve lived in its shadow.
What if that tower was never yours to defend?
What if you were born to light it from within?
…
Have you ever had a belief about a people, a food, a place, and had no idea where it came from? Yet you felt it. In a visceral way. Without logic or reasoning. You just knew it to be true.
What if it wasn’t yours at all—but an unnamed resonance passed down through blood, breath, and bone?
Today, I’m sharing some stories that surfaced when I began honoring and unraveling the echoes of my ancestry—from famine to food, war to wiring, and all the unexpected synchronicities that pointed me home.
In episode 4, we talked about healing the core wound through the ancestral field. Today we’re not exploring the core wound, but rather other forms of ancestral traumas that create loops across time and space because it’s in our inherited emotional coding.
This isn’t just about my story. The story is just a portal, an invitation for you to feel your own ancestral codes stirring.
…
We think we digest food, but we also digest energy, stories—beliefs, fears, betrayals. Sometimes, the body is resisting not the food—but the field of information it contains.
The digestive process became a symbolic ritual of the transmutation of ancestral trauma.
My body knew what my mind hadn’t yet remembered. Its rejection of potatoes wasn’t irrational—it was resonant defense.
In this case, potatoes become a metaphor for anything the body has rejected due to ancestral imprint.
The body, the DNA, doesn’t forget. It stores ancestral patterning in the fascia of reaction and rejection. All of that info is available in the morphogenic field.
Of course, not everyone in the family is going to have the same reaction. In Episode 3 we talked about the loneliness of the ones who go first—the ones who can feel and remember first, even before we have words or understanding of what’s happening.
The healing doesn’t happen when we delete the past.
It happens when we sit at its table, offer it salt, and finally taste what it’s been holding for us all along.
Resistance is often the resonance of unresolved stories we are carrying, including those that were never ours, but belonging to those who came before.
Healing doesn’t mean erasing the past and what happened. It means honoring the original story and re-coding it.
True embodiment isn’t bypassing the old pain—it’s cooking potatoes on a Sunday and making peace with a famine you never lived through.
Have you ever noticed your body having a visceral reaction to a certain food, place, scent, or group of people? What might your body be remembering that your mind can’t see yet?
Where in your life are you still rejecting the ‘potatoes’ so to speak?
What part of your ancestral story have you been trying to shun, argue with, or pretend isn’t shaping you?
Some of us embody the role of the visionary as intergenerational correction.
From the Irish ancestry, I carried the archetype of the seer ignored.
Can you relate to the intergenerational rejection of inner knowing? Have you also been that person in your family or community? Do you also see ways that you might undervalue or reject your own gift?
Being ahead of the curve isn’t a badge—it’s a burden, until you clear the field of resentment toward those who couldn’t listen. This is usually less about what’s happening here and now, and more about the resonance from the past.
There’s a wound of not being believed—one that many seers carry unconsciously. Perhaps you relate to that archetype as well.
It seemed personal to me, yet after that session I had a huge inner shift in the resentment I was carrying toward family, friends, strangers who didn’t listen to me or believe me. I realized it wasn’t about me. And it wasn’t about them either.
The resentment wasn’t as much of a personal burden, because it wasn’t really about me, but rather a genetic echo of a lineage that once ignored its own oracles and paid dearly. That was the resonance I was feeling. And that was the story loop I was still living many generations later.
In 2020 and beyond, this has amplified. When the collective traumas intensified in 2020, that activated certain imprints in everyone’s DNA, in unique ways based upon our particular ancestral inheritance. Our ancestors lived through plagues and plandemics, wars, famine, economic scarcity, tyranny and great uncertainties about the future. All of this unresolved trauma is carried in the morphogenic field.
2020 was like a morphic detonation in the human species.
When the collective entered lockdown, fear, tyranny and division, every nervous system became a tuning fork for unresolved lineages.
Each soul carries its own harmonic inheritance—wars, famines, betrayals, upheavals—and 2020 acted as an amplifier of that field, igniting the dormant stories and distortions.
The virus wasn’t the disease. The idea of the virus was the tuning fork. And the tone it played was what resurfaced what each soul still carried unhealed.
The visionary—especially the seer ignored—isn’t a prophet of the future, but a correction calling from the past.
I felt it early. I sounded the signal. And just like how my Irish ancestors didn’t listen, I felt the sting of dismissal.
But that time—I stayed present with the feeling. I watched. I prepared. That’s pattern correction. It’s morphogenic repatterning.
Every trauma your ancestors didn’t resolve stayed in the field as a repetitive loop. A narrative waiting for a harmonizer. And maybe that’s you in your lineage too.
In 2020, my response could’ve seemed like an overreaction. While others saw chaos, I saw the pattern. Not because I’m smarter or better—but because I’m encoded to remember.
If you saw it early on too, you probably tapped into a similar ancestral story. Even if the rest of your family didn’t believe you. That’s okay. You were the one who remembered first.
Every stored famine, every memory of tyranny and war, every silenced warning and ignored wisdom in my lineage pulsed through me—and that time, I listened.
And that’s why I’ve been speaking about the Plandemic of Disconnection.
Humans are rapidly losing the ability to connect at a neurological, emotional and energetic level. We are more defensive than ever—fight, flight, freeze and fawn—and when we are in defense mode, our attachment system is offline.
Our nervous systems are being reprogrammed for the first time in 200,000 years of human history.
We are co-regulating more with devices than with other humans. And the technology runs on a binary code of 0s and 1s, just like our nervous system. We aren’t just creating and programming technology in our image. It’s also programming us.
This is most clear among the youngest generations whose nervous systems never experienced life or connection without devices. What kinds of relationships will they have when they grow up?
I see the pattern and I may appear to be overreacting. But I know I’m listening to my lineage. And this time, without those layers of resentment and distortion. This time, I can hold coherence in the field.
What felt disproportionately intense for you in 2020 and after?
What ancestral pattern might that be echoing?
Did you feel the urge to warn, to prepare, to withdraw, to stockpile, to flee, to fight and resist?
These aren't just reactions. They're ancestral recurrences. And we don’t heal it by doing the same thing.
We each came into this life holding a code fragment—an unresolved note in a larger ancestral song. And moments like 2020 aren’t meant to break us. They’re an invitation calling us back into the music.
And if we dare to sing a new note—the whole lineage harmonizes behind us and ahead of us.
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So anyhow, what I saw in that vision wasn’t an external enemy like the Russian invasion that was shown in the Turkish series.
Yet suddenly… the series, that session with my ancestors in the Caucasus Mountains, my DNA, and these particular ancestral stories all began to overlap.
So I looked up the Caucasus Mountains on the map.
Turns out, they’re in the northern part of Georgia—the country, not the state.
So I reached out to my Georgian friend, who lives in a Western European country now.
She got excited and started sending me photos of the mountains of her homeland—images that, weirdly, felt familiar to me .
And then she asked me why I was asking.
I told her about the ancestral integration session I did. She was blown away that I could’ve known this.
And then came the towers.
She sent me pictures of medieval watchtowers in a Georgian region named Svaneti, built on family lands and other places, so people could see invasions coming. She told me about all the invasions and also the warring between clans.
That’s what I had seen in the vision.
A line started playing in my mind: “All along the watchtower…”
That lyric that had always struck a chord in my body. Not because I liked the song or even know who the artist is. But it was as if my DNA was resonating with the theme of the battle.
Built to surveil and defend. Programmed by trauma to expect betrayal, invasion, violation. A reactive nervous system encoded into architecture.
How we hold what we “have.” How we possess space. How we fear the invasion and live in a state of defensiveness, ever-ready to fight. How we react when someone crosses a boundary—often a much bigger reaction than what’s happening right now.
Because it’s not just about now. It’s about the emotional blueprint passed forward in our lineage.
And the true medicine comes not from “taking it back by force,” but from redefining what it means to hold or own anything at all.
Stewardship.
Not just of land.
But of energy.
Of lineage.
Of relationships.
Of wisdom.
Of words.
Of the silence between breaths.
When we shift into stewardship, the watchtower becomes a lighthouse.
And the battle dissolves.
So I ask you to reflect, not with judgment but with curiosity and compassion:
What in your life have you been trying to ‘possess’ instead of lovingly steward?
What towers have you inherited—habits of defensiveness, hypervigilance, territoriality?
What would it take for that tower to become a lighthouse?
…
So I started listening more.
Not with my ears.
But with my cells.
What were my ancestors asking for?
What could I do for them—not just for me?
And listening is how we start to remember.
This is the deeper lesson of what it means to steward instead of possess. This includes our lineage, our DNA, or ancestry.
Possession is genetic supremacy, entitlement and pride. Or the flip-side of possession is the disempowerment of loss and defeat.
This is the energetic distortion at the core of colonization, genocide, ethnic cleansing, war, and spiritual elitism—even relational dynamics of control.
Stewardship is listening, attuning, presencing, caring for with responsibility, honoring and reclaiming.
Possession says mine.
Stewardship says entrusted.
…
After processing the earlier part of our conversation a bit, my Georgian friend told me she’d lost everything as a child when Russia invaded in the 1990s.
Her family fled. Left behind their home, the elderly, all the places they loved, and all their belongings, including her piano. She was 11 at the time.
She hadn’t played since she was a child. Because it hurt too much.
The piano was bundled with a general sense of loss—a loss of something like a territory of a country she couldn’t go back to. A sense of powerlessness and no control over what happened, as if it wasn’t even possible to play any more because the piano was linked to an insurmountable sense of loss.
But more recently, when she turned 35, she decided to buy a piano.
A month later, a piano teacher opened a shop 5 minutes from where she lives. So my friend started taking piano lessons again.
In fact, she’d sent me a video of her playing a Bach piece just a couple weeks before this conversation. She told me that the song was meant to be played with four hands, and that her teacher would be playing the other part.
And the wildest thing?
Her teacher is Russian.
And who knows what her ancestral story was—why she left her homeland for Europe, ending up just blocks from my friend. But somehow it’s all connected.
My friend bought the piano just after overcoming big fears and liberating herself from a black hole of a relationship. She got a new job, a new apartment, money started flowing and she was traveling. She even got her drivers license and was doing things that had been on her bucket list for years.
Once she had broken through these limitations of fear, she was ready to play the piano again.
That’s when she realized that the sense of loss was an illusion. She could return to that inner territory anytime she wanted to, simply by sitting down where all the keys to the kingdom were at her fingertips.
The piano wasn’t just an object lost in war—it was a key to the unplayed song of her soul.
When she sat to play again, she wasn’t just learning Bach. She was remembering herself.
The return of the music, through the restorative relationship with a Russian teacher, dissolved the polarity that used to define her in opposition.
These are the quiet moments of ancestral and planetary healing.
Not in promised ceasefires or peace treaties signed on stages—but in simple acts of return.
When an exiled child becomes a grown woman and chooses to reclaim her joy—not by erasing the past, not by solving the problem, not by becoming an anti-Russia activist, not by fighting the past, or rebelling against it… but by making music through it.
That’s what completion looks like.
That’s how trauma loops dissolve: not with force, but with grace.
This isn’t just her story. It’s a mirror of what’s possible when remembrance becomes integration.
It’s the cellular, historical, sacred work we’re all being invited into.
The ancestors aren’t asking us to stay in pain to honor their suffering.
They’re asking us to hear our own tone and play again. To live what they couldn’t. To feel where they were not allowed. To make peace where they couldn’t.
Because the truth is—our ancestors don’t need us to fix what happened.
They need us to carry it forward differently. That’s how we honor them.
And in doing so, we restore the harmonic remembrance in their honor. Bringing peace to our ancestors. And for the benefit of future generations.
Ask yourself: What part of me stopped playing when the war began?
And what if now—you’re the one who gets to bring the music back?
…
All of this… The potatoes, the famine, the Caucasus Mountains, the fences, the piano, the music… It’s all part of a much larger remembrance.
Because what’s happening in the world right now—the wars, the discrimination, the hatred, the fear of the other—isn’t new. It’s all the continuation of our ancestral stories.
Ancient wars repeating.
Ancient betrayals echoing.
Ancient grief trying to find a way to be felt.
And each of us, whether we realize it or not, is living inside those echoes.
Sometimes we’re replaying the exact same role. Sometimes we’re rebelling against it.
But either way—we’re still caught in the looping, until we choose to meet it consciously. That’s where we discover there’s ancient wisdom in the wound.
That’s what generational integration and ancestral field alchemy offers.
Not a way to fix the past. But a way to complete it.
A way to say: “I see you. I honor you. And I will carry this differently.”
And when we do that—something shifts. Not just in our minds. Not just in our bodies. Not just in our families. But also in the collective field.
Because integration isn’t just personal. It’s planetary.
And the most radical thing we can do now isn’t to fight harder or try to convince other people who’s right.
It’s to listen deeper. To feel what our ancestors weren’t allowed to feel. So we can stop repeating the resonance of these stories unconsciously.
Repurposing the old watchtowers and becoming lighthouses for future generations.
You can get access to my FREE Daily Embodiment guided meditation here to help you learn how to presence the sensations and feelings in your body, which is the first step to healing and integration. This is where my inner work began.
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