When we illuminate the road back to our ancestors, they have a way of reaching out, of manifesting themselves...sometimes even physically.

I remember feeling that pieces of me were scattered around the world; I belonged to her, Mother Earth.

The things that come to us easily, our propensities, are carried on a deep subconscious level into our next life. There are no coincidences.

For some, excavating the past isn’t an adventure, it’s more akin to tearing a Band-Aid off an open wound.

Nobody, she felt, understood her-not her mother, not her father, not her sister or brother, none of the girls or boys at school, nadie - except her man.

Our identities are as fluid as our personal experiences are diverse.

To me, travel is more valuable than any stupid piece of bling money can buy