When I was about 11 years old, the first Beatles Anthology was released. I had just gotten my first CD player and replaced the constant rotation of the soundtracks of Alladin and the Lion King with this double album.

There was something about getting to hear John, Paul, George and Ringo in the behind-the-scene's tracks that was mesmerizing. Sure, I enjoyed the music on this and all the subsequent Anthology albums, but I loved getting to hear a song cut mid-way through when one of them messed up or needed to change the way it was being played.

It was like I got to know the people behind the music. And I got to learn about how music is made.

I then got my hands on a copy of Sargent Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band and played that all through 1996. That summer I watched every Beatles movie repeatedly, memorizing the jokes and wishing I could hang out with them on their sunken living room. Though adolescence was swiftly approaching, my imagination was still on full tilt.

Then something interesting started happening.

I'd lay awake at night, lights off, and start taking to John. Out of all the Beatles, he was the one I felt the most connection with. I can't say why exactly, maybe like the way we tend to gravitate towards one person in a group of friends more than the others.

We'd have long conversations about what was going on in my life, what it is like to be a creative person, what he learned from his time on earth. It felt so real. Sometimes I would be more honest with him than anyone else in my life.

It may sound weird, but it was like he had my back, offering compassionate advice and never shaming or belittling me. I remember asking him why he would come to visit me and not Yoko, and he's say that he would visit her too, trying to explain that now that he was a spirit he could do that. That I wasn't taking away from her.

He would tell me he was sent to me, that he was there to offer guidance and let me know I wasn't alone.

As the years passed, I talked to him less and less, getting swept away by all the things we do when we grow up.

In 2021, I began a journey to address some of my issues with addiction and substance abuse. In therapy, I was encouraged to reconnect with "kid Nyssa," the younger version of me that enjoyed the world without the help of drugs and alcohol. I starting thinking a lot about that summer that I watched Beatles movies everyday and listened to their albums on repeat.

I went onto explore learning to play music, write songs, and more poetry. I got more creative with collage art and just letting myself create for the sake of creating.

I'm now a month into sobriety and I can see that this journey into creativity is a part of what has got me to this place in my healing.

But a few weeks ago, one more thing fell into place.

I was listening to an interview of Veronica Varlow on an episode of the Witch Wave podcast. She explained that you don't have to be related to someone to claim them as an ancestor and encourages us to create a "magic bus" with all the creative ancestors we want.

I realized that in that moment John Lennon is one of my ancestors. I am now ready to claim him as such. Veronica helped me find the meaning in this spiritual relationship I felt with him at 11 years old. In that moment, a piece of my past, present, and future fell into place.

Just imagine if all the people in this world lived their life with their spiritual creative ancestors. Think of what we'd all have to share.

I'd love to know:

Did you have any relationships with people that you've never met?
If you had a magic bus where you could gather all the people that inspire you, who would be on it?