Honoring ancestors in animist traditions often feels like tending a living bridge between worlds. Deep in Yorùbá lands, the Egungun festival dresses dancers in vibrant, flowing masks and cloth, turning the village square into a stage where forebears dance back into memory. Libations of palm wine or water spill onto the earth, each drop a whisper: “You’re not forgotten.”

Household altars pop up almost everywhere. A crackling candle flickers beside framed photographs, bowls of rice or freshly picked flowers. In rural Japan, Obon lanterns drift down rivers come August, their soft glow guiding ancestral spirits home for a brief reunion. Meanwhile, in Mexico’s Día de los Muertos, sugar skulls grin cheekily beside pan de muerto and marigolds—proof that the living and the departed can share a fiesta.

Across China’s Ghost Month, families leave out garlic, rice, and ghost money for wandering ancestors, setting paper boats ablaze as seaside offerings. On Australia’s Arnhem Land, songlines carve ancestral tales across the horizon; clan elders sing them back into being, calling on Dreamtime spirits for guidance in modern land-rights struggles.

Communication isn’t one-way traffic. Dreams often serve as direct lines: a late-night vision might deliver warnings or words of comfort, relayed at dawn to community diviners. In Amazonian villages, shamans ingest tobacco snuff or ayahuasca to journey into spirit realms, negotiating with ancestral guardians of the forest. Even the rustle of leaves or a sudden birdcall can be read as an elder’s greeting—or a cautionary tap on the shoulder.

Today, digital altars flicker on screens. Diaspora communities scattered across New York, London or Paris set up Zoom vigils on All Souls’ Day, sharing incense smoke via scent cartridges and pouring virtual libations. Activists at COP28 echoed those ancient calls, inviting indigenous voices to remind world leaders that Mother Earth—and her ancestral network—demands respect.

Across continents and centuries, these practices stitch the past into the present, proving that when it comes to honoring those who came before, animists know it’s always a two-way street.