During my hermitage, I’ve done so much thinking about the ‘bloodline,’ that is known well to some, and to others a concept that isn’t easily grasped. It’s fair, because the bloodline is not concerned about genetics, gender, race, orientation, or a cross of any of them.
It is deeper than conceivable notions, in fact I don’t know of any folklore or practitioner who has seen the bottom of this vast river. All of the Gods known and forgotten are tied to this, and pull whomever to it. It can skip ‘genetic bloodlines,’ and kin – a ‘magical bloodline,’ can run cold as it veers towards another (even if each and every ‘predecessor,’ is not genetically related!). Many have touched the waters, and they are neither known by blood nor marriage, but can contact one another through the Red River.
It isn’t the new-agey concept of ‘all is united,’ thinking. It can drown you faster than you think into bouts of insanity. It is dangerous waters to tread because it can consume you from the inside out.
However, that eerie call can’t be denied by those who hear it. I’ve met many who say they have but haven’t, those who think they can mimic it in their heads – but once heard it is never forgotten; and strangely, it can’t be put to music. It’s beyond human fingers, and our concepts of music and sound. But the sound rings in our ears none-the-less.
The bloodline can bind seemingly unrelated people into kin. It can break you. I have no faith in ‘genetic only bloodlines,’ because of their superficial frailty; as well as the fact that the bloodline may never call any of them, or all of them – or only one, adopted or birthed.
A fellow practitioner who walks with me as equals to the shore will be kin to me, regardless of what they look like or where they came from – because I know I’ll meet you again. We may take something different from the Red River, but I know you’ll hear the call again – and I’ll meet you at the shore.