Words from the Heart

Photo Art: (c) 2017 Rev. Linda M. Rhinehart Neas Daffodils -  symbols of rebirth, national symbol of Wales Searching for your roots can be an enlightening experience.  What I have found over the 30 odd years I have been tracing my family's genealogical journey, is that there is most definitely what scientist call, genetic memory.  Let me give you some examples. My Slovakian ancestors raised and trained horses. They were, what we call today, horse whisperers - people with the ability to seemingly communicate via telepathy with horses. My mother, my brother and my granddaughter are all "horse" people.  (Like cat people, only with horses.) Another example is the love of poetry within my family along with the ability and love for writing it. I had always assumed this came from my Irish ancestors. After all, their name was O'Riordan, which literally translated means, the King's Poet.  While I thought this passion for the written word ended there, ...

For those of us whose ancestors came to the US long ago, the thoughts of those left behind may no longer fill our minds. However, for recent immigrants and refugees, those left behind are a constant presences in their lives. Everyday, I see this in the faces of those to whom I teach English as a second language. Everyday, I walk the tightrope of asking students to share experiences, while praying they do not fall into the PTSD caused by living and escaping the unimaginable. The stories of my ancestors are fragmented at best. I know some dates. I know some facts. I can only imagine the rest.  My mother's father, my Grandpa, was first generation American. Born in NYC shortly after his family arrived from what is now Slovakia. Doing my genealogy, I have learned that the family returned to the Old Country when he was a toddler and returned when he was 14, just months before the start of the First World War.  At that time, Kosicka Bela  (now Kosice) was part of Austria...

Photo Credit: https://goo.gl/images/H0Qtvu Today, I honor the ancestors - those whose lives were taken, yet whose Spirit still lingers from the mountain tops to the valley, from the waterways to the desert.  Today, I celebrate the resilience of the Native people who kept to the Red Road, so that we who came after might learn, might hope, might continue to honor and care for all that Creator has given us.    ANISHINAABEG     Close to the horizon   Under the heart of the Sun  Come the Anishinaabe.  The breath of the Moon guides them.  The circle of their lives is woven  Into All that IS.  Their stories are held in the heart of the Stars.  Their songs serenade the Wind.  Anishinaabe, Anishinaabe.  Children of the Ancient Ones…   Brother Bear, Sister Sky…  Wolf and Eagle still call your name…  Anishinaabe!  Linda M. Rhinehart Neas ©1998 ...

Photo Credit: (c) 2014 Linda M. Rhinehart Neas With the feast of St. Patrick quickly approaching and my book on Ireland still "in the works," I decided to share some of the inspired poems from my time in the Emerald Isle.  Nestled in the Ocean     Tectonic plates slammed together,  creating a land of mountains and valleys  so rich, so green that once there  the soul is changed forever.  Glaciers gripped the land,  leaving behind treasures that  still boggle the mind of those  who study the comings and goings  of stones and minerals.  Fifty-three and a smidgen degrees North  Six and a speck degrees West,  surrounded by wild blue ocean,  covered in heather and peat,  my ancestors lay silent,  part of a historic fabric sewn  in blood, sweat, tears and rainbows.  LMRN © 2014     O’Riordan –The King’s Poet When I was half-past six years old,  the wo...

Frank and Catherine Kasper - East Boston Airport, MA 1928 We are a nation of immigrants. These are the words that President Obama repeated several times in his speech last night.  This is a fact that has colored my life and driven my passion for teaching those who find themselves without the tools to function in the United States. The picture above is of my grandparents.  My grandfather's parents came to the US in the late 1800's from Bohemia/Hungary/Slovenia. (The place name dependent on who had control of the area and when.)   My grandfather was born in New York - first generation American. But, shortly after his birth, his parents returned to Kassabela (the town in what was then Hungary) for reasons we do not know.  In January of 1914, they sent my grandfather back to New York, through Ellis Island, to live with his older brother. A few short months later, Archduke Ferdinand was assassinated and World War I began.  My grandfather enlisted, ...