breaking into salsa on the down or moving the accent from bantu “1” to arara “2”, stirring up the cancion, coming on like a searing heat, the juvenescent couples burn a flirtatious encuentro, replete with pelvic thrust & coital brush, boy chases,girl avoids -- then waits to be caught. hips creating flowing, wave-like eruptions, flowing with the hoarse stacato voicings of the caja, mula y cachimba, the yuka drums reeking of congo, of palo mayombe or the batas, okónkolo, iyá & itótele, sacred to şango, after he exchanged ifa’s tablets with sage orunmila for the great gift of dance, para convertirse en la divinidad
de la danza; if brazen young hips & feet, or youthful swinging arms & tossing heads could sing un alarde canción, they might boast ofinventing romance on a sultry miami night.
the despairing african, spurned by his gods, angolan, antillean or otherwise, who pined away until only the sound of his coughing death remained to ride the currents of time --a sound which lapped & soaked the trunks of ancient
trees like a mighty swollen river;
became embedded in the resonant
woods which thru’ some efficient
cause became spanish shipping crates
or small dresser drawers awaiting the passion-pounding of magical hands to free them from their
utilitarian disguises; to become the
box-like cajón, whose dark rhythms,
the festejo, lando, socabon, pregon, zamacueca, & alcatraz, seduced, then caressed the whimsical charango, mandolin-made from the tortoise or armadillo shell & together invoked the mermaids.
whence came u, spirit? ¿de dónde vienes? to possess the song, el cante jondo, the dance, baile flamenco y de estilo flamenco de la guitarra? to billow & engorge the spinning skirtswirl of the bata de cola?
are u fellahmengu percussing the wind? a palma clapping, golpe stomping peasant spirit? a morisco hiding among the gypsies? or are u epiritu sephardi flamante taking the head of this hispano- arabic bailaora,
spinning her so magically around. see her zapateado, her two feet, legion, a drum roll, el redoble de los tambores, this duende, like the compás, speeding up, slowing down, speeding up again, propelling her thru the sequences of a misterioso, a passion play!
the tortoise made hermes exclaim “u are a joy to me,” steal its pretty tortoise shell & turn it into a lyre. the four-eyed goat made eşu declare “u will not see what i do!” he made ebo & exposed the goat a liar.
a christmas tree decorated…
the heathen vainly cuts a forest tree, adorns it with silver & gold, & fastens it with nails to appease the gods! eşu scoffs at the christian who knows not that to live free of privation, one must please the gods.
a finger pointing to a line in an open book…
fingerpointing is prerequisite to reading words when vision is weak or distracted; one cannot scan a line of text without losing his place. eşu needs not fingerpoint to impute blame or make one lose his place or face.
frost-covered trees against winter skies…
frosty trees, dark, gloomy skies, the freezing cold & snowfall, repeating patterns all & specific to winter. eşu, like the human mind, is often cold & repeats tiresome patterns; punishes us today for misdoings done tomorrow!
through bankruptcy, society gives to an overburdened individual the opportunity to begin again...
tis not society, but eşu, who finds the line delineating this & that; blurs it. finds the divinely pure & clean; sullies it. finds the lowly & abandoned; lifts them up; rewards & confounds the foolish & the good.
a hen scratching the ground to find nourishment for her progeny...
the scratching of hens not only finds seeds & the occasional worm to feed their young, but cleans off the magics laid down on the ground by enemies. those who befriend eşu are seldom troubled (or for long) by enemies.
a formally dressed elderly man stands near trophies he brought back from a hunting expedition…
the old man longs for the jungle, to humble himself again in the arms of the wild. he looks upon his trophies as emblems of a deep, terrifying vision of love. eşu reveals unfathomable levels of soul knowing.
a human soul seeking opportunities for outward manifestation ...
every incarnate soul should be grateful for the gift given it, thankful that eşu has opened the way for it to come again; thankful to ọlọrun who has given it a new body, breath & destiny!
in a circus the bareback rider displays her dangerous skill ...
this rider has iwá-pẹlẹ, has balance & coordination & can ride the steeds of change without equipment to compensate for errors, has made ebo to eşu; has developed good character. all good things come to those with good character.
a powerful statesman overcomes a state of political hysteria...
he fed his ifá a ram & a he-goat as his awos, the sons of wind, thicket, trees & ropes, advised. he knew that he would prevail in any crisis so long as he fed his ifa & eşu, & listened to the advice of his awos.
a man revealing to his students the foundation of an inner knowledge upon which a "new world" could be built…
“learn u the efficacy of patience for such is as constant as heaven & earth. patience requires forbearance & resistance to the temptation of vengeance. leave vengeance to the divinities who will intervene on the side of righteousness!
having passed through narrow rapids, a canoe reaches calm waters...
what human suffering may come is but the dark before dawn. forbear & be patient, child of earth, temptations reveal yr weaknesses, but to resist them makes u strong. eşu tests & tempers yr mettle.
a dentist at work...
eşu works the permanent parts of our lives, the bony sub- stances & soft inner pulp -- parts under threat like decaying relationships -- filling holes, straightening or repairing that which is broken or taking them out.
a path through woods rich in autumn coloring...
from too old to work & too young to die to reaping entitlements given a life lived well & the stories,traditions & knowledge borne & told, eşu, the crotchety old time tester, rewards those who make sacrifices.
pelicans menaced by the behavior & refuse of men seek safer areas for bringing up their young...
my errant thoughts have abandon their nests, leaving their eggs to be trampled or exposed to predators. where will they find new nesting grounds & solemn sancturary?
iba eşu, please open that road.
a hindu yogi demonstrates his healing powers…
"arise... approach the great beings & know the truth!" eşu demands we know the truth within existence, the reality beneath appearance & the immortal which gives meaning to our mortality. In this way shall we be healed!
o perennial prostrate herb arrayed in white ray or yellow disc flowers, growing pertly on stem’s end, unbranched & sprouted laterally from a creeping root.
what turn of fate brought u to these intricate, prehensile juvenile hands, which one day may fashion clay creator-like, or wield a knife assassin-like, but today
attached to a wistful, moonstruck african boy sitting close-eyed &
pomba gira beneath yr sway i have fallen, not once but many times,drawn to u like a shark to blood in the water, yr comeliness, a solicitation, a knowing brush of a playful hand against my
tumescent need; u who are spouse to the first among òrìşà,
the one who goes whither he pleases, is bound by neither law nor rule, who flows against destiny through the cracks & crevices of fate, along the seams separating parallel worlds &
multiple realities, over the precipice of human folly; whotests us at every crossroad & punishes us today for what we may do tomorrow – do u really exist apart from him or are u just one of his many paths?
i invoke yr aid, pomba gira, because i cynically know u will help the truly desperate. when no other òrìşà will answer the plea, yr patronage is always for sale & u always get paid in advance.
u have led me to wives & lovers convinced thati was the magical piece missing from their lives; that i could & would complete them. they would dazzle me with incomparable enticements to keep
me from leaving; to keep me fromseeing what they were hiding – those potent secrets best kept away from prying eyes:
a father’s salacious abuse piled on an innocent who kept the faith & family secret – the serial violations visited on an innocent so very desperate to belong;
or the innocent tricked into fellating a trusted family friend while in his care; who with fearful infirm purpose received a perverse prize for good behavior.
or yet again the innocent, abandoned on a refuse heap beneath a blanket of flies; who seeks self worth in real life pulchritudinous jackpots & episodic debauchery.
or lastly, the innocent exploratory body play among siblings that turned terribly serious & sexual; underscored by the death of one & the overwhelming neurotic guilt of the love-addicted survivor…
& of course i saw them, these secrets; learned about them. these wives & lovers had a salubrious need to tell their secrets to me & i heard over their whispered confidences eşu’s raucous laughter. had i just listened
to them, they might have healed on their own, might have purged themselves in nonjudgmental ears; drained the poison of the past from their deep emotional wounds. might haveforgiven those who caused them pain;
might have forgiven themselves.but i couldn’t leave any of it alone; i had to help. i had to dress my need to control in therapeutic whites & tell them what to do. i had to be right at their expense & play upon their guilt. some I drove screaming into the night; drove all of them all away.
how many times have i come back to u, pomba gira, with my thirty pieces of tribute & the same supplications that hope for a different ending? are u truly a sacred harlot or merely the hand of eşu squeezing my scrotum?
can u translate my sexual indiscretions into a series ofgreat mystical rites or do u expose me for the fool i am?are yr breasts, so round, so plump & firm, the enticing,passion fruit of love or merely eşu’s prurient tools to plunge me into
debauchery’s murky depths. can those lips of yrs that so glibly lie, mouth the sacred mysteries i crave i? is yr well of delight a redemptive revelation or a cauldron of concupiscence?
are u a divine sexual road in disguise or just a metaphor for human hubris at best?
