iyawo
“when they want to cross the sea, the lake or pond,
people make a bridge or raft - the wise have crossed already.”
siddhartha gautama
asserting neither being or nothing as absolutes
i ply this evening road, my concrete path linking
street & highway to an organizing principle. to a
system of thought & practice; to olódùmaré.
does it mean anything if my gas tank, like my
wallet, is empty; if i am riding on fumes &
precariously paused within blocks of the babalawo’s
house, obstructed by a long slow moving train?
humility is sometimes a bitch. even when glib
prophets proclaim this virtue different from the
shaming. i am convinced that sometimes the
former follows as a consequence of the latter.
my ebo for eşu: ojòwú okùnrín, jealous one who
eats first; abre camino, who sits at the crossroads.
open the road for me, má se mi o, do not undo me,
do not change my yes to no; my no to yes!
my ebo for ori: ori mase pekun de, -- inner spirit,
please do not shut the gate. i yearn for iwa pele &
for that i must inquire of my head first. wa sayee fun
awon omo mi di rere. make my life prosperous!
my ebo for my egbẹ ọgba: i have remembered our
accord & the contract is now being honored. please
enikeji do not withdraw your spiritual protection,
odo re ni mi mbo, it is u that i am coming to,
my ebo for the egúngún: when i knew not the road
to follow, i chose, finally, to follow destiny. may all
of u, my ancestors, elders & spirits east, west, north
& south hear my song. ajuba o, ajuba o!
my ebo for ogún: ogún oni're, onile kangun-dangun ode
orun, egbe l'ehin, spirit of iron, owner of good fortune
& many mansions in heaven, help me on my journey,
remove the obstructions in my path! ajuba o!
my ebo for oşun: oşun oyeyeni mo, so full of wisdom,
most gracious mother, give me the crown that awakens
all pleasure, awede we ‘mo, cleanse me both within &
without; bring me abundance, yeye opo, a juba o!
my ebo to obalúaiyé: omolu ogo mi ano gbogbo gún,
always protect me with your strong medicine. yr voice
sings in my joyful heart: ẹbó fin, èrú dà. igún to gbẹbọ,
èrú dà. offerings received, accepted; the evil, departed!
in the ile, i leave my ordinary life behind. i don the
white cloth. my head is scraped clean & aşe-irrigated.
i am open to the full presence of the òrìşà. there is singing
& chanting. i taste a powerful aşe, bite down on, chew
& swallow spirit food. i wear a crown of feathers. i sleep
on the spot where the father of secrets divines. i am
betrothed to spirit; am the man-bride. the floor is hard &
punishing, mediated only by woven mats.
the òrìşà seeps into my dreams like blood bathing the
head & soaking cloth. bright like the sun is the one who
gave man speech; taught him the ways of coitus & how
to weave with needles. he calms & deepens my sleep.
i awake at cockcrow craving parrot feathers for my crown.
oba lofun is with me, is on me, is infused in the salts,
herbs & colors of the nine ritual baths, in the pure white
chalk that paints me throughout the day, prepares me
to be crowned with the stones & emblems of ọbatala.
at dusk i am seated, an opa in my left hand, an iruke in
my right & baba’s otan, frozen music, resting on my
of the very old. the journey into sleep this night is fluent
save for the rough concrete reminder of the floor & the
futile protest of muscle & bone. it seems that i have never
been truly awake. is it the voice of blake that i hear?
crying “what land is the land of dreams?” what, indeed, are
its mountains, its streams? nay, it is no english poet i hear,
but the voice of baba igbo, the speech-giver & the dream
world is awash in music, the words spoken are sounds &
vibrations, are bundles of information & energy,
are explosions of light, giving dimension to the dimensionless,
the myriad improvisations of awareness, words fissioning
into epiphany, words triggering transformation, leaking from
dreamspace into personal physical space.
moving from cell to cell, imprinted on my consciousness,
recreating my reality, my life stuff, my health, transforming
my internal dialogue & self image, reprogramming the drama
of my existence. i see/hear/feel it all. the clarity is narcotic.
cockcrow again. morning’s pungent breath shocks me back
to consciousness & yet another sanguine bathing begins.
afterwards, i don a new white cloth & receive seven new
feathers for my crown. morning melts into dusk.
an acute, whispering happiness muscles aside my familiar
melancholy; well-being masters conditioned discontent. in the
delicious aftermath of intense spiritual strain, i am given my ita,
embrace past, present & future & look on the face of destiny.
futile protest of muscle & bone. it seems that i have never
been truly awake. is it the voice of blake that i hear?
crying “what land is the land of dreams?” what, indeed, are
its mountains, its streams? nay, it is no english poet i hear,
but the voice of baba igbo, the speech-giver & the dream
world is awash in music, the words spoken are sounds &
vibrations, are bundles of information & energy,
are explosions of light, giving dimension to the dimensionless,
the myriad improvisations of awareness, words fissioning
into epiphany, words triggering transformation, leaking from
dreamspace into personal physical space.
moving from cell to cell, imprinted on my consciousness,
recreating my reality, my life stuff, my health, transforming
my internal dialogue & self image, reprogramming the drama
of my existence. i see/hear/feel it all. the clarity is narcotic.
cockcrow again. morning’s pungent breath shocks me back
to consciousness & yet another sanguine bathing begins.
afterwards, i don a new white cloth & receive seven new
feathers for my crown. morning melts into dusk.
an acute, whispering happiness muscles aside my familiar
melancholy; well-being masters conditioned discontent. in the
delicious aftermath of intense spiritual strain, i am given my ita,
embrace past, present & future & look on the face of destiny.
i am given my elekés, idé osha & a new family. i must now
observe strict codes of dress & behavior as i soak in the aşe
of my òrìşà,, there is rejoicing in heaven & on earth. i am
iyawo, a light reborn in rite & like a little child.
©Joseph McNair
