Today I Visited My Ancestors’ Burial Mounds

Growing up in Wisconsin, in the United States, there was an abundance of American Indian sacred sites, reservations, and burial mounds.

Entrance to one of the few remaining burial mounds of my pre-Christian ancestors.

As a child, I loved to visit these areas and had a great amount of respect for them. They were beautiful, powerful, and influential to me. I always felt that these places were indeed special and a solid connection to the past, but not my own.

My heritage is German and there is also an abundance of Germans living in Wisconsin as well, so we have established our own areas that we consider special and sacred. My family arrived in the United States in the 1840s and we have lived in the same 40 Square mile area ever since. Until now.

We have returned to Europe.

Even with this established 150+ year history in the United States, I never felt at home. I have felt, and I still feel, very American merely detached to the place (or the land) where I was born. I am proud of our Nation I fought for it in the Afganistan war, but the truth is something deeper was always missing and I noticed that when I saw the sacred sites of the American Indians.

This missing connection, I have found here in my ancestral homelands of Northern Europe.

Today, I live among the spirits of my ancestors and our native land. I have lived here for two years and she still whispers to me in the wind and I hear the call of the raven that my ancestors have heard for thousands of years.

The smell of split German hardwoods burning in my fireplace triggers memories so old, that I know they are ancient. And I know this because before living here I have never smelt this particular smoke. It is unique, it is ingrained in my ancestral memory.

This land is sacred to me and there is a connection to it that can only be felt through the blood of its native inhabitants. Sadly, most of its native inhabitants today have long forgotten, but I have not.

I always felt shame and remorse for what happened to the native people and their culture in the Americas, and now in my adulthood, I know the same genocide happened to my people too. 1000 years of "willful” conversion, is what we are taught, but sites such as these remind us of the suffering and brutality that brought Christianity to Europe.

This burial site is located 5 miles from the Danish border and even though they have done a nice job of preserving and rebuilding the site they still fail to share the complete history.

What the sign doesn't say is that those stones weren't moved they were built into churches on top of the sacred sites to force the people to forget who they are and forget their connection to the land and the ways of their ancestors.

But not me.

I may not know how to practice my religion the way my ancestors did but our Native spirit is alive in me. It called me back to my native lands and it begs me to preserve her for my descendants as well. Our history was written by male Christian priests so much is lost to their interpretation and censorship.

I am no longer blinded by the light gods of the Middle East, I see my ancestors path and do my best to honor them by walking it as well.

I was only able to visit this ancient site for a few moments today, but the feeling of connectedness to the past is stronger than ever.