Page 8
August 25, 1999
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The Cultural Diversity series is
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tional and indigenous cultures
and the ageless wisdom held
dear by their people.
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Story
By Frank A . M ills
C o n trib u tin g W rite r
There are many stories about
my ancestors.
There are those times spent with
my paternal great-grand
mother Lane as she tended
her roses; talking with
them, blessing them
with prayers that
1 wish I had
le a r n e d .
And there
was
my
m atern al
grand
m o th e r ,
N a n a
‘B yrne,
le a d in g
me as a
small child
in to
her
gard en
early in the
m orning to
look under the
snowdrops and
buttercups and a
myriad of other flow
ers for fairies, even to set out
a bit of milk or a crumb or two for
them. To this day, I believe that the
fairies found these tiny morsels set
out for them, and know 1 saw a fairy
or two. Perhaps they were in my
imagination, but 1 learned follow
ing my grandm other
through what became “our
garden,” that imagination
is as real as anything we
might perceive with our ra
tional minds.
H
Today I am reminded
as I think back on these
times, how often the sto
ries told to me reminded
my that my name, Frank
Arthur Mills is in itself a
story, a story that must be
lived.
I learned something else
as I listened to the stories
told in my family, 1 became
aware that the teller was
reliving the story, even re
viving the story. Even
though the story happened
to a distant relative or some
grandparent in the past, it
was the story of the teller.
In some mystical way the
teller was making the wisdom of the
past his or her own in the present,
and passing it on to those of us who
listened so that we too could make it
ours and
thus keep it
alive.
Now that I’m older, I’m begin
ning to make sense of all of this.
Our stories are not told to keep
alive the memories of dead ances-
tors but to guarantee the future. My
story - these stories told to me by
my grandparents and others - is not
a collection of past events, but
people, ancestors, living here and
now in the stories found in my spirit.
When I was a child, on occa
sion one of the males in the
family would sing the Oran
Mör, the Celtic Great
(blessing) Song over
the meal. In tradi
tion, the blessing
song sung by the
S co ttish
clan
chieftain follow
ing a banquet.
The Oran Mör is
the Great Song of
Creation
w it h
which the
numinous
c r e a te d ,
a n d
blessed that
which was cre
ated, Creation.
The Oran Mör,
the song of C re
ation, continues to be
sung and in its singing
draws all songs, all stories
- in the Celtic tradition all
stories are songs - to her
self, and then, according to
the myth, sings them to me,
Na’im’s
A IR
of nonsense, at least to the ears of a
small child. Nana Byrne use to say,
when questioned about her hum
ming, “It is the sound which gives
meaning to Wisdom, not the im
posed words.” Or, at least, that's the
way I remember it now. This is a
very Irish, Celtic if you will, under
standing of how words receive mean
ing. If pushed, she might add, “It’s
about giving and receiving bless
ing." Growing up, we kids were fre
quently reminded that blessing is
about holiness and holiness is spelt
with an “i” and a “w” Wholeness is
holiness, and holiness is wholeness.
That is exactly what all families are
about, the continued holiness and
wholeness of family.
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to become by story. This collective
song is nothing else than Wisdom,
numinous Wisdom that has been
given shape and purpose in the lives,
stories, of my ancestors and now
collectively, these wisely shaped pur
poses become my story, my shaping
of divine Wisdom, to pass on. The
Gaelic word is nulrt, which really
has no English equivalent. The nulrt
is the Wisdom Song, that is, the
Oran M6r, my shaping and purpos
ing of that Wisdom, and what maybe
best described as my soul, all com
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lieved passed from one generation
to another.
Nana Byrne, use to hum a lot,
sometimes the humming was a bit
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