My inner Ti-Mazaka would appear to be playing up. I've spent the last few minutes teasing the little mort that lives in the churchyard next door. I've always kmown there was something there in darkest corner of the grounds, where a shadow is cast on three sides by the church building itself and by the trees that mark the boundary of the churchyard on the fourth.
I knew it was a child but very little else until I did some research and found out that a three year old girl from the area had died in the blitz; there's a list inside the church itself of parishioners who were killed in the bombings. As might be expected from someone who met their end in an air raid, she hates loud noises and bright lights, and will often retreat back to the walls and hide next to the stained glass window that depicts the virtue of Charity when a car drives past at night. Sometimes I take her Gede offerings of cola or bread; or on Fet Gede, skull-shaped sugar cookies.
I've noticed that the local children only play in her area of the churchyard; they completely ignore the rest of it. I think she likes the company, personally. Boys play football there on sunny days, and this morning it's a lovely warm day. I've been pointing out of the window singing "Dora's got a boyfriend, Dora's got a boyfriend!" and "Dora and the footballers, sitting in a tree K-I-S-S-I-N-G!" I don't think she minds.
Sunday, 3 May 2009
Tuesday, 28 April 2009
I wrote a poem. Aren't I clever?
I know, I know, it's been ages since I updated this thing. I really need to do it a lot more often.
Today is Tuesday; the day, of course, of the Petro Loa. I've been feeling incredibly tense and worrisome lately (for non-Vodou related reasons so I won't go in to them here) and it was perhaps that which kicked my creative brain into gear. I used to write a lot creatively but some years ago my writing notebooks just fell into disrepair.
This morning the outline of a poem about Erzulie ge Rouge popped into my head. I wrote in almost a stream of consciousness style - I did some editing but not a huge amount; just to highlight some of the themes and imagery by changing a few words here and there. If you'll pardon the pretentious biological artiness it was almost as if the emotions which sparked the poem as well as the nature of ge Rouge herself demanded the words just be vomited up rather than honed and measured. All feedback and comments are welcome!
Rouge
On a stained bed
Through a throat clotted with their spendings
I urged them on while my sister self
Fought mute, the other hiding pale eyes behind lace and silk.
I was a tongue
Useful for the moment but not to keep,
Or trust, or treat.
My children drink pus-thick milk and
It curdles in their mouths. Red lips.
We stutter with broken teeth, glass gleaming in our gums
And scrabble with painted nails at half-healed breasts,
Infection dripping with the hot red flood.
I cannot speak.
A sucking wound – seven stabs of the Virgin, seven curses for the whore
Do they reduce me to this?
A tattered thing, pumping outrage through bloodshot eyes.
My strings of wet hair hide my face. You cannot see
The black clots rise in my gorge.
All you will know is the imprint of nails in clenched palms
And the cut-off words
Drying in a throat still full of their spendings.
Today is Tuesday; the day, of course, of the Petro Loa. I've been feeling incredibly tense and worrisome lately (for non-Vodou related reasons so I won't go in to them here) and it was perhaps that which kicked my creative brain into gear. I used to write a lot creatively but some years ago my writing notebooks just fell into disrepair.
This morning the outline of a poem about Erzulie ge Rouge popped into my head. I wrote in almost a stream of consciousness style - I did some editing but not a huge amount; just to highlight some of the themes and imagery by changing a few words here and there. If you'll pardon the pretentious biological artiness it was almost as if the emotions which sparked the poem as well as the nature of ge Rouge herself demanded the words just be vomited up rather than honed and measured. All feedback and comments are welcome!
Rouge
On a stained bed
Through a throat clotted with their spendings
I urged them on while my sister self
Fought mute, the other hiding pale eyes behind lace and silk.
I was a tongue
Useful for the moment but not to keep,
Or trust, or treat.
My children drink pus-thick milk and
It curdles in their mouths. Red lips.
We stutter with broken teeth, glass gleaming in our gums
And scrabble with painted nails at half-healed breasts,
Infection dripping with the hot red flood.
I cannot speak.
A sucking wound – seven stabs of the Virgin, seven curses for the whore
Do they reduce me to this?
A tattered thing, pumping outrage through bloodshot eyes.
My strings of wet hair hide my face. You cannot see
The black clots rise in my gorge.
All you will know is the imprint of nails in clenched palms
And the cut-off words
Drying in a throat still full of their spendings.
Friday, 10 April 2009
Good Friday
You were one, one of the three
One in three must find some peace
You were one, one of the three
I need proof before belief
Oh well, you just knew they'd come for you
So it was suicide, suicide
Oh well, now you've got just what you want
I hope you're satisfied
One of the three, one of the three, one of the three, one of the three
You were one, one of the three
One in three must find some peace
You were one, one of the three
I need proof before belief
Oh well, I guess you're not to blame
For what they've done in your name, in your name
Oh well, it's a shame you got so famous for a sacrifice
One of the three, one of the three, one of the three, one of the three
One of the three, one of the three, one of the three, one of the three
You were one, one of the three
One in three must find some peace
You were one, one of the three
I need proof before belief
You sent forth your lamb to the slaughter
You sent forth your lamb to the slaughter
One in three must find some peace
You were one, one of the three
I need proof before belief
Oh well, you just knew they'd come for you
So it was suicide, suicide
Oh well, now you've got just what you want
I hope you're satisfied
One of the three, one of the three, one of the three, one of the three
You were one, one of the three
One in three must find some peace
You were one, one of the three
I need proof before belief
Oh well, I guess you're not to blame
For what they've done in your name, in your name
Oh well, it's a shame you got so famous for a sacrifice
One of the three, one of the three, one of the three, one of the three
One of the three, one of the three, one of the three, one of the three
You were one, one of the three
One in three must find some peace
You were one, one of the three
I need proof before belief
You sent forth your lamb to the slaughter
You sent forth your lamb to the slaughter
Tuesday, 24 March 2009
A clarification.
To Whom It May Concern,
I understand how it looks. Truly, I do. I only meant to explore the new city centre library on my way home, and not to spend an hour and a half in their giant red armchair with my feet up. You know how it is. These places are dangerous. You know you should pick up the scholarly Ron Hutton volume, but something else catches your eye, you flick through it and you become engrossed, and then you can't put it down until you've read the whole thing.
You're a regular attendee at the Moot I organise, and as I understand it you're looking forwards to the talk I'm going to give next month - the one on Vodou magic in theory and practice. I would like to assure you that I'd already finished writing my talk when you came over to say hello. Honestly. The printout was right there in that folder I had on my lap.
The fact I was reading "The Idiot's Guide to Voodoo" at the time is neither here nor there.
Thank you for your kind attention.
Love,
Nagini.
I understand how it looks. Truly, I do. I only meant to explore the new city centre library on my way home, and not to spend an hour and a half in their giant red armchair with my feet up. You know how it is. These places are dangerous. You know you should pick up the scholarly Ron Hutton volume, but something else catches your eye, you flick through it and you become engrossed, and then you can't put it down until you've read the whole thing.
You're a regular attendee at the Moot I organise, and as I understand it you're looking forwards to the talk I'm going to give next month - the one on Vodou magic in theory and practice. I would like to assure you that I'd already finished writing my talk when you came over to say hello. Honestly. The printout was right there in that folder I had on my lap.
The fact I was reading "The Idiot's Guide to Voodoo" at the time is neither here nor there.
Thank you for your kind attention.
Love,
Nagini.
Friday, 20 March 2009
If the Loa spoke Internet...
Legba – FIRST!!!
Anaisa Pye – WIN
Erzulie ge Rouge – FAIL
Ogoun Feray – Pwned!
Ogoun Badagris – All your base are belong to us.
Met Kalfu – STFU, n00b.
Baron Cimitiere – I are serious Loa. This are serious thread.
Gede - I can has cheezburger?
Baron Samedi – im in ur base killin ur d00dz.
I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry.
Anaisa Pye – WIN
Erzulie ge Rouge – FAIL
Ogoun Feray – Pwned!
Ogoun Badagris – All your base are belong to us.
Met Kalfu – STFU, n00b.
Baron Cimitiere – I are serious Loa. This are serious thread.
Gede - I can has cheezburger?
Baron Samedi – im in ur base killin ur d00dz.
I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry.
Sunday, 22 February 2009
The Vodou Trojan Horse
I'm typing this through a haze of drum and bass soundwaves that are causing everything in my flat to vibrate. I live in the middle floor of a building with three flats, meaning I get noise from both above me (grumpy old man whose washing machine goes into a spin cycle in the early hours of the morning) and downstairs (Burberry-hatted DJ type who sets off fire alarms at 4 am and who plays his music SO GODDAMN LOUD THAT MY REFRIDGERATOR IS ACTUALLY STARTING TO SHAKE).
How does a Vodouisant deal with problems from the neighbours? Of course my first answer is the same one as anybody else would hopefully give as their answer - let them know in a polite but firm manner that ONE MORE BASS LINE MAKING ITS WAY THROUGH MY LIVING ROOM FLOOR AND UP TO MY EARS IS GOING TO RESULT IN SEVERE INJURY FOR HIS STEREO. No, not really. I tried to knock on his door to ask him to turn it down, but he isn't answering. Presumably because he can't hear me above his own din. So, five minutes ago I used a piece of magic I like to refer to as the Vodou version of the Trojan Horse. It's yet to take effect as I doubt he's read the note yet, but let's hope he does so soon.
I wrote my neighbour a note telling him that the soundproofing between our flats isn't particularly effective and asking him to turn the volume down. I then dressed the paper with Bend Over Oil, chanting a little mantra of "not what you will, but what I will" as I smoked it over Baron Samedi's black St Michael candle. I then folded the paper and wrote the number of his flat on the outside, dressing that with more oil for good measure. When dressing names in compelling or domination magic, I put a drop of the oil on my thumb and then literally cross out the name on the paper. If I have the signature of the person that's ideal, but if I don't, then I just write it with any pen I have to hand. It is of course a very basic form of sympathetic magic; symbolically imposing my will on the name of the target.
So why do I call it a Trojan horse? Because people tend to take letters inside their house before they read them. Even if they ignore the notes and put them straight in the bin, the oil is still there is their home; on their hands and their door itself, working away even if it's done from inside a rubbish bin. The magic is there whether they remember the existence of the note or not.
That's actually one of my favourite tricks, and one I gladly pass on to you. It doesn't have to be used just for domination and Bend Over spells; try High John Oil on a memo to your boss before a performance review, for example.
Of course I realise that many people shy away from this type of magic entirely, believing that it's morally and ethically wrong to perform any type of magic which seeks to impose the will of the practitioner on others. That's fine and I appreciate that; but it's not what I believe. I think there's a time, when normal everyday methods fail or just wouldn't work, to use this type of magic. I do however think that overuse of coercive magic is no way to live, especially if it's targeted towards friends or loved ones.
Except if they have a really powerful stereo.
How does a Vodouisant deal with problems from the neighbours? Of course my first answer is the same one as anybody else would hopefully give as their answer - let them know in a polite but firm manner that ONE MORE BASS LINE MAKING ITS WAY THROUGH MY LIVING ROOM FLOOR AND UP TO MY EARS IS GOING TO RESULT IN SEVERE INJURY FOR HIS STEREO. No, not really. I tried to knock on his door to ask him to turn it down, but he isn't answering. Presumably because he can't hear me above his own din. So, five minutes ago I used a piece of magic I like to refer to as the Vodou version of the Trojan Horse. It's yet to take effect as I doubt he's read the note yet, but let's hope he does so soon.
I wrote my neighbour a note telling him that the soundproofing between our flats isn't particularly effective and asking him to turn the volume down. I then dressed the paper with Bend Over Oil, chanting a little mantra of "not what you will, but what I will" as I smoked it over Baron Samedi's black St Michael candle. I then folded the paper and wrote the number of his flat on the outside, dressing that with more oil for good measure. When dressing names in compelling or domination magic, I put a drop of the oil on my thumb and then literally cross out the name on the paper. If I have the signature of the person that's ideal, but if I don't, then I just write it with any pen I have to hand. It is of course a very basic form of sympathetic magic; symbolically imposing my will on the name of the target.
So why do I call it a Trojan horse? Because people tend to take letters inside their house before they read them. Even if they ignore the notes and put them straight in the bin, the oil is still there is their home; on their hands and their door itself, working away even if it's done from inside a rubbish bin. The magic is there whether they remember the existence of the note or not.
That's actually one of my favourite tricks, and one I gladly pass on to you. It doesn't have to be used just for domination and Bend Over spells; try High John Oil on a memo to your boss before a performance review, for example.
Of course I realise that many people shy away from this type of magic entirely, believing that it's morally and ethically wrong to perform any type of magic which seeks to impose the will of the practitioner on others. That's fine and I appreciate that; but it's not what I believe. I think there's a time, when normal everyday methods fail or just wouldn't work, to use this type of magic. I do however think that overuse of coercive magic is no way to live, especially if it's targeted towards friends or loved ones.
Except if they have a really powerful stereo.
Monday, 2 February 2009
An Oshun Pataki
Although I'm not a Santera, I'm fascinated by the Orisha and by their legends or pataki; particularly those of Oya and Oshun. A friend of mine on the website www.ukpagan.com has recently been asking me about Oshun, so I gave her this pataki.
It's a lovely story about Oshun which says that at one point, she fell on hard times and couldn't afford to feed her children. With nowhere to turn to for money, she became a prostitute. The other Orisha found out about this and were horrified, so they took her children away from her. No child of the spirits was going to be raised by a whore!
Oshun went mad with grief. She went to the river every day and wept for her lost children. She never changed her clothes, and wore the same dress every day for months on end. Eventually her beautiful white gown became yellow with age.
One day the river spirit, Aje-Shaluga, who had watched her crying for the long weeks and months emerged from the water and came to sit beside her on the bank. "Beautiful lady, most loved of the Orisha," he said, "I have heard your grief and tasted your tears as they fall into my waters. The bed of my river is home to gold and jewels, forgotten valuables and trasures. Take them, I beg you, and bring back your children!"
Oshun looked at the handsome river Orisha with his handfuls of gold and shining gemstones, and fell utterly in love. She flung her arms around him and kissed him. There on the riverbank, they pledged their love to each other and made plans to marry. Oshun gratefully took the gold and jewels her fiance offered, and fled to the other Orisha to tell them she was rich once more and that she was to start a new life with the river spirit. They gave her back her children without complaint, and Oshun and her children and Aje-Shaluga lived happily ever after.
Nice, isn't it?
It's a lovely story about Oshun which says that at one point, she fell on hard times and couldn't afford to feed her children. With nowhere to turn to for money, she became a prostitute. The other Orisha found out about this and were horrified, so they took her children away from her. No child of the spirits was going to be raised by a whore!
Oshun went mad with grief. She went to the river every day and wept for her lost children. She never changed her clothes, and wore the same dress every day for months on end. Eventually her beautiful white gown became yellow with age.
One day the river spirit, Aje-Shaluga, who had watched her crying for the long weeks and months emerged from the water and came to sit beside her on the bank. "Beautiful lady, most loved of the Orisha," he said, "I have heard your grief and tasted your tears as they fall into my waters. The bed of my river is home to gold and jewels, forgotten valuables and trasures. Take them, I beg you, and bring back your children!"
Oshun looked at the handsome river Orisha with his handfuls of gold and shining gemstones, and fell utterly in love. She flung her arms around him and kissed him. There on the riverbank, they pledged their love to each other and made plans to marry. Oshun gratefully took the gold and jewels her fiance offered, and fled to the other Orisha to tell them she was rich once more and that she was to start a new life with the river spirit. They gave her back her children without complaint, and Oshun and her children and Aje-Shaluga lived happily ever after.
Nice, isn't it?
Friday, 16 January 2009
Brav Gede is a bad, naughty man.
Or, "Lies Make Baby Ti-Mazaka Cry"
Except that they don't; they make him giggle.
For the last two nights running I've had dreams involving the Loa. Wednesday night it was Badagris, and last night Brav Gede turned up with some sage words for the fet in which I'm participating on Sunday afternoon. At one point he gave me a vision of a piece of French pastry engineering with feathers and decorations that looked like part of a costume from Moulin Rouge and tried to persuade me that his brother Gede Fatras "likes girlie stuff. All fussy cakes." No, Brav, he doesn't. He really doesn't. Monsieur Gede, j'accuse. Later on he laughed uproariously and gave me instructions for a wanga to do with my house, but when I woke up I couldn't for the life of me remember it.
Incidentally, am I the only one who thinks there's a distinct physical resemblance between Brav Gede and the comedian Chris Rock? Its those intense, burning eyes and the slightly screwed-up facial expressions. And of course, Chris Rock could read out his grocery list and it would be funny. Something about his voice just creases me up.
Except that they don't; they make him giggle.
For the last two nights running I've had dreams involving the Loa. Wednesday night it was Badagris, and last night Brav Gede turned up with some sage words for the fet in which I'm participating on Sunday afternoon. At one point he gave me a vision of a piece of French pastry engineering with feathers and decorations that looked like part of a costume from Moulin Rouge and tried to persuade me that his brother Gede Fatras "likes girlie stuff. All fussy cakes." No, Brav, he doesn't. He really doesn't. Monsieur Gede, j'accuse. Later on he laughed uproariously and gave me instructions for a wanga to do with my house, but when I woke up I couldn't for the life of me remember it.
Incidentally, am I the only one who thinks there's a distinct physical resemblance between Brav Gede and the comedian Chris Rock? Its those intense, burning eyes and the slightly screwed-up facial expressions. And of course, Chris Rock could read out his grocery list and it would be funny. Something about his voice just creases me up.
Saturday, 10 January 2009
The obligatory Gede pun.
Oshun is in my drawers.
No, seriously. I'm having a Gede Fatras-style clearout of all the old random crap in my house, merrily tossing things into black binbags (or as merrily as Fatras ever gets, anyway), and I'm starting with the chest of drawers in my bedroom. Honestly, why did I ever think I'd need a million and a half shampoo bottles from hotel rooms? To say nothing of the bits and pieces from Christmas stockings past that have been languishing unused for many years. I have, however, found in my explorations a rather nice red velvet evening scarf that I'd forgotten I owned. Result!
To return to my original subject, I like to put a big piece of wrapping paper in the bottom of the drawers and sprinkle it with perfume before packing it full once more. Last time had a clearout I used Rose Croix by Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab. This time I'm using Oshun, by Conjure Oils.
Mmm. Pumpkinny.
No, seriously. I'm having a Gede Fatras-style clearout of all the old random crap in my house, merrily tossing things into black binbags (or as merrily as Fatras ever gets, anyway), and I'm starting with the chest of drawers in my bedroom. Honestly, why did I ever think I'd need a million and a half shampoo bottles from hotel rooms? To say nothing of the bits and pieces from Christmas stockings past that have been languishing unused for many years. I have, however, found in my explorations a rather nice red velvet evening scarf that I'd forgotten I owned. Result!
To return to my original subject, I like to put a big piece of wrapping paper in the bottom of the drawers and sprinkle it with perfume before packing it full once more. Last time had a clearout I used Rose Croix by Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab. This time I'm using Oshun, by Conjure Oils.
Mmm. Pumpkinny.
Tuesday, 16 December 2008
Nagini's Random Vodou Observations, #526
Serving Erzulie ge Rouge will result in unexplainable cuts appearing on your fingertips.
Florida water REALLY HURTS when it gets into the unexplainable cuts appearing on your fingertips.
Florida water REALLY HURTS when it gets into the unexplainable cuts appearing on your fingertips.
Wednesday, 26 November 2008
Top Ten, Vodou style.
You know you're a child of the Gede when…
10. You can swear in three languages, and know obscene hand gestures in at least two more.
9. You consider hot peppers as one of the four food groups…
8. And you describe Nando's extra-hot chicken marinade as "pleasantly tangy".
7. You don’t know a single clean joke.
6. You would probably sell your soul for a hand-tailored suit.
5. You actually have sold your soul for a hand-tailored suit.
4. During Night of the Living Dead you were rooting for the zombies.
3. At Halloween, you've run up to someone dressed as an undertaker with your arms outstretched, squealing "Daddy!!!"*
2. No matter how old you get, hearing about other people's explosive diarrhoea is still funny.
1. Your bar tab is the size of the national debt.
With apologies to David Letterman.
* Yes, I actually have done this.
10. You can swear in three languages, and know obscene hand gestures in at least two more.
9. You consider hot peppers as one of the four food groups…
8. And you describe Nando's extra-hot chicken marinade as "pleasantly tangy".
7. You don’t know a single clean joke.
6. You would probably sell your soul for a hand-tailored suit.
5. You actually have sold your soul for a hand-tailored suit.
4. During Night of the Living Dead you were rooting for the zombies.
3. At Halloween, you've run up to someone dressed as an undertaker with your arms outstretched, squealing "Daddy!!!"*
2. No matter how old you get, hearing about other people's explosive diarrhoea is still funny.
1. Your bar tab is the size of the national debt.
With apologies to David Letterman.
* Yes, I actually have done this.
Thursday, 20 November 2008
Insanely catchy Vodou music
I was googling for information on the Loa Mambo Dayila the other day, and instead came across the website of a fabulous Haitian lady based in New York who, with her band The Nago Nation, writes and sings songs for the Loa.
Her name's Manze Dayila, and she's well named. She seems to sum up for me what Dayila is all about - not the prostitute part, obviously, but that of a beautiful and artistic woman who does anything necessary to survive. She refugeed from Haiti on a leaking boat when she was a heavily pregnant 19 year old, and is now firmly entrenched in New York's music scene. She's not only gorgeous, talented and with huge force of will, but she also busks on the subway while dressed as Gede, fighting off rappers who try to steal her stereo. How cool is that?
You can listen to or buy her debut album "Sole" (I think that means "Freedom" in Creole) on CD Baby. Here's the link: www.cdbaby.com/cd/manzedayila I particularly love "Change: the Barack Obama Song".
Her MySpace page is here: http://www.myspace.com/manzedayila
I'd also like to add that I'm incredibly covetous of that lovely red dress covered in golden veves she's wearing on the cover of the CD and on the MySpace page. What can I say... when you serve either Freda or Dayila it all comes down to fashion in the end.
Her name's Manze Dayila, and she's well named. She seems to sum up for me what Dayila is all about - not the prostitute part, obviously, but that of a beautiful and artistic woman who does anything necessary to survive. She refugeed from Haiti on a leaking boat when she was a heavily pregnant 19 year old, and is now firmly entrenched in New York's music scene. She's not only gorgeous, talented and with huge force of will, but she also busks on the subway while dressed as Gede, fighting off rappers who try to steal her stereo. How cool is that?
You can listen to or buy her debut album "Sole" (I think that means "Freedom" in Creole) on CD Baby. Here's the link: www.cdbaby.com/cd/manzedayila I particularly love "Change: the Barack Obama Song".
Her MySpace page is here: http://www.myspace.com/manzedayila
I'd also like to add that I'm incredibly covetous of that lovely red dress covered in golden veves she's wearing on the cover of the CD and on the MySpace page. What can I say... when you serve either Freda or Dayila it all comes down to fashion in the end.
Wednesday, 19 November 2008
OLD. SO VERY OLD.
Happy Birthday my olde friend
It seems this horror show will never end
Any moment's your last breath,
Here's to another day closer to death.
The cake is on the table
And it is awfully bright
'Cause there's so many candles on top.
But you are so decrepit,
Your chest so tight,
When you blow them out your lungs are gonna pop.
You cannot complain
Each time you feel a pain,
Though you have arthritis and gout.
'Cause when you start kvetching,
All your teeth fall out.
So have another cigarette,
Have another beer,
Raise your glass to one more year (GONE!)
Happy birthday my olde friend
It seems this horrorshow will never end
Any moment is your last breath
Here's to another day closer to death. - "Happy Birthday my Olde Friend", Voltaire
Yes, your snakey narrator was 30 years old on Sunday. Horrible thought, really. I haven't really celebrated yet, as such. My party plans for the forthcoming weekend have been somewhat curtailed by an impromptu visit by relatives, but I'm going to be organising something as soon as I can.
I spent much of the evening of my birthday itself in Erzulie Freda mode; reclining in a very deep bath with an Amandopondo bubble bar from Lush and a glass of sparkling wine. (As much as I'd like to use the word champagne, my inner wine buff refuses to allow me to do so).
As soon as I poured the wine and before drinking any myself, I took the glass through to my altar room and thanked my spirits, splashing a few drops on each of their altars. Even though the vast majority of my Loa don't normally drink bubbly, I felt they were all happy with the offering.
I got to thinking while I drowsily sipped the rest of the glass, watching steam rise into the candlelight, just how much of the events and lessons of my life may have been down to the Loa. I've always found it a fascinating question; how much of our nature do we owe to our own will and how much is granted to us by the Loa who walk with us? The answer I've come to is that we are not responsible for our natures, but we are responsible for our actions. This is something I'm sure to come back to in a future entry.
To all the Loa who walk with me and who do not walk with me; to all who have touched my life over the last year and who are yet to touch it, I thank you. Originally I planned to write a paragraph for each Loa , detailing the role they've played in my life; but I was just told in no uncertain terms to delete it - that couched in however guarded terms it was still too personal and it should remain between me and them. So for that reason, I'll just offer a list of names and my deepest and most loving thanks. They know exactly why I've named them, as do the deities from outside the Vodou pantheon who I've included here.
To Papa Legba, to Grand Soleil. To Met Agwe, to La Sirene. To Maitress Mambo Erzulie Freda Dahomey, to Mambo Dayila. To Silibo. To Anaisa Pye. To Ogoun Badagris, to Ogoun Feray, to Ogoun Shango, to Ogoun Sen Jak, to Ogoun Balindjo. To Gran Ibo. To Kalfu. To Erzulie Ge Rouge, to Erzulie Dantor. To Baron La Croix. To Baron Cimitiere. To Baron Samedi, to Maman Brigitte. To Baron Kriminel. To Brav Gede, to Gede Nibo, to Gede Fatras, to Gede ti-Mazacca. To my ancestors.
To Oya. To Shango. To Yemaya Okoto. To Oshun.
To Sulis.
To Nemesis.
To all who I've named and who I haven't named, I thank you for your presence in my life, for helping me reach the grand old age of 30 and for the blessings you have given me. Special mention also goes to the wonderful Vodouisants I've met over the past few years. As with the Loa, they know exactly who they are. Ache!
Nagini
It seems this horror show will never end
Any moment's your last breath,
Here's to another day closer to death.
The cake is on the table
And it is awfully bright
'Cause there's so many candles on top.
But you are so decrepit,
Your chest so tight,
When you blow them out your lungs are gonna pop.
You cannot complain
Each time you feel a pain,
Though you have arthritis and gout.
'Cause when you start kvetching,
All your teeth fall out.
So have another cigarette,
Have another beer,
Raise your glass to one more year (GONE!)
Happy birthday my olde friend
It seems this horrorshow will never end
Any moment is your last breath
Here's to another day closer to death. - "Happy Birthday my Olde Friend", Voltaire
Yes, your snakey narrator was 30 years old on Sunday. Horrible thought, really. I haven't really celebrated yet, as such. My party plans for the forthcoming weekend have been somewhat curtailed by an impromptu visit by relatives, but I'm going to be organising something as soon as I can.
I spent much of the evening of my birthday itself in Erzulie Freda mode; reclining in a very deep bath with an Amandopondo bubble bar from Lush and a glass of sparkling wine. (As much as I'd like to use the word champagne, my inner wine buff refuses to allow me to do so).
As soon as I poured the wine and before drinking any myself, I took the glass through to my altar room and thanked my spirits, splashing a few drops on each of their altars. Even though the vast majority of my Loa don't normally drink bubbly, I felt they were all happy with the offering.
I got to thinking while I drowsily sipped the rest of the glass, watching steam rise into the candlelight, just how much of the events and lessons of my life may have been down to the Loa. I've always found it a fascinating question; how much of our nature do we owe to our own will and how much is granted to us by the Loa who walk with us? The answer I've come to is that we are not responsible for our natures, but we are responsible for our actions. This is something I'm sure to come back to in a future entry.
To all the Loa who walk with me and who do not walk with me; to all who have touched my life over the last year and who are yet to touch it, I thank you. Originally I planned to write a paragraph for each Loa , detailing the role they've played in my life; but I was just told in no uncertain terms to delete it - that couched in however guarded terms it was still too personal and it should remain between me and them. So for that reason, I'll just offer a list of names and my deepest and most loving thanks. They know exactly why I've named them, as do the deities from outside the Vodou pantheon who I've included here.
To Papa Legba, to Grand Soleil. To Met Agwe, to La Sirene. To Maitress Mambo Erzulie Freda Dahomey, to Mambo Dayila. To Silibo. To Anaisa Pye. To Ogoun Badagris, to Ogoun Feray, to Ogoun Shango, to Ogoun Sen Jak, to Ogoun Balindjo. To Gran Ibo. To Kalfu. To Erzulie Ge Rouge, to Erzulie Dantor. To Baron La Croix. To Baron Cimitiere. To Baron Samedi, to Maman Brigitte. To Baron Kriminel. To Brav Gede, to Gede Nibo, to Gede Fatras, to Gede ti-Mazacca. To my ancestors.
To Oya. To Shango. To Yemaya Okoto. To Oshun.
To Sulis.
To Nemesis.
To all who I've named and who I haven't named, I thank you for your presence in my life, for helping me reach the grand old age of 30 and for the blessings you have given me. Special mention also goes to the wonderful Vodouisants I've met over the past few years. As with the Loa, they know exactly who they are. Ache!
Nagini
Thursday, 23 October 2008
Promises, promises.
Ok, so maybe Fet Gede was too long a deadline for me according to certain Loa.
I've spent most of my time as a Vodouisant working with the Gede, Nago and Rada spirits, and while some of them are certainly quick to act, I'm finding a whole new type of physical dynamism and speed in the work of a Petro spirit with whom I've been building a relationship in the last few weeks.
Yesterday I told her I would make her that new Veve card to attach to the back of her altar. Time, as it is wont to do, got away from me and I never got round to doing it. I don't think she was very pleased with this, because I spent literally hours trying to get to sleep last night. It was as if she was constantly reminding me that I'd said I was going to do something that particular day and hadn't delivered on it - and she wasn't going to let my day end until I'd done it. At 3:45 am I finally admitted defeat and got up, wrapped myself in my dressing gown and sat down in front of my altars with card and a variety of blood-red pens and pencils.
She's a harsh Loa, I won't deny it... but sometimes we need a push to get ourselves going; whether in the magical or mundane world. When I blearily fixed the card to the back of her altar space, I got the distinct feeling she was pleased with me. I splashed the card with florida water to cleanse it, and then on impulse allowed a droplet of the sweet smelling cologne to fall onto the deep red heart-shaped lips of her wanga doll. I could swear she smiled at me; and that the fierce red eyes I'd affixed earlier in the week flashed with pleasure rather than anger. It was 5 am before I went back to bed, and I finally slept soundly.
Nagini
I've spent most of my time as a Vodouisant working with the Gede, Nago and Rada spirits, and while some of them are certainly quick to act, I'm finding a whole new type of physical dynamism and speed in the work of a Petro spirit with whom I've been building a relationship in the last few weeks.
Yesterday I told her I would make her that new Veve card to attach to the back of her altar. Time, as it is wont to do, got away from me and I never got round to doing it. I don't think she was very pleased with this, because I spent literally hours trying to get to sleep last night. It was as if she was constantly reminding me that I'd said I was going to do something that particular day and hadn't delivered on it - and she wasn't going to let my day end until I'd done it. At 3:45 am I finally admitted defeat and got up, wrapped myself in my dressing gown and sat down in front of my altars with card and a variety of blood-red pens and pencils.
She's a harsh Loa, I won't deny it... but sometimes we need a push to get ourselves going; whether in the magical or mundane world. When I blearily fixed the card to the back of her altar space, I got the distinct feeling she was pleased with me. I splashed the card with florida water to cleanse it, and then on impulse allowed a droplet of the sweet smelling cologne to fall onto the deep red heart-shaped lips of her wanga doll. I could swear she smiled at me; and that the fierce red eyes I'd affixed earlier in the week flashed with pleasure rather than anger. It was 5 am before I went back to bed, and I finally slept soundly.
Nagini
Monday, 20 October 2008
All change on the altar front
For me, October is a month in which there's far too much to do.
I make it a point of honour to have all personal debts - spiritual or material - paid off by Fet Gede, and with characteristic procrastination on my part I've left it to the last couple of weeks of the Vodou year to get things done. Aside from one major promise to Ogoun Badagris which I've told him is not going to be carried out until he gives me the resources to do so (The local Vodou contingent is giggling right now, because they know what I'm talking about. I can't hear them, but I know they're doing it.) I've got several small but pressing jobs to carry out.
Given Fet Gede is the festival of the dead I've got several changes to make to the altar which houses Baron, Brigitte et al. While none of these are actual promises that need keeping by November 2nd, it would be nice to at least make a start on my Gede To-Do list by then. I need to redraw the Veve card that hangs from the back of their space, and I'm on the lookout for a St Rosalia card for Brigitte. I've found the Gede are easily the most idiosyncratic and whimsical family of Loa, so when I say I need a miniature metal wastebin for the altar and ideally a little Oscar the Grouch toy around which I can tie a black ribbon, I hope nobody will think I'm a heretic.
I've promised my resident Petro Loa some major improvements in her space, with a new veve card and a total of three knives on her altar by the end of the year. I'm still planning how to decorate the handles of those knives, but while I'm working on that I've made some alterations to her wanga doll. I've given her a lovely red net shawl, and placed a tin-foil knife in each hand and in her belt. I've replaced her somewhat googly red bead eyes with ones made of red foil ribbon; far more glittery and atmospheric! I'm quite pleased with the effect and I hope she is too.
Last but never least, I've got to finish making my Anaisa altar. I've only recently come into contact with this lovely Metresa from the 21 Divisions tradition, but I'm smitten. I'm on the lookout for a lovely golden-yellow altar cloth, a yellow hand fan and some St Anne images.
Check back after Fet Gede - I might post pictures of the completed altars!
Nagini
I make it a point of honour to have all personal debts - spiritual or material - paid off by Fet Gede, and with characteristic procrastination on my part I've left it to the last couple of weeks of the Vodou year to get things done. Aside from one major promise to Ogoun Badagris which I've told him is not going to be carried out until he gives me the resources to do so (The local Vodou contingent is giggling right now, because they know what I'm talking about. I can't hear them, but I know they're doing it.) I've got several small but pressing jobs to carry out.
Given Fet Gede is the festival of the dead I've got several changes to make to the altar which houses Baron, Brigitte et al. While none of these are actual promises that need keeping by November 2nd, it would be nice to at least make a start on my Gede To-Do list by then. I need to redraw the Veve card that hangs from the back of their space, and I'm on the lookout for a St Rosalia card for Brigitte. I've found the Gede are easily the most idiosyncratic and whimsical family of Loa, so when I say I need a miniature metal wastebin for the altar and ideally a little Oscar the Grouch toy around which I can tie a black ribbon, I hope nobody will think I'm a heretic.
I've promised my resident Petro Loa some major improvements in her space, with a new veve card and a total of three knives on her altar by the end of the year. I'm still planning how to decorate the handles of those knives, but while I'm working on that I've made some alterations to her wanga doll. I've given her a lovely red net shawl, and placed a tin-foil knife in each hand and in her belt. I've replaced her somewhat googly red bead eyes with ones made of red foil ribbon; far more glittery and atmospheric! I'm quite pleased with the effect and I hope she is too.
Last but never least, I've got to finish making my Anaisa altar. I've only recently come into contact with this lovely Metresa from the 21 Divisions tradition, but I'm smitten. I'm on the lookout for a lovely golden-yellow altar cloth, a yellow hand fan and some St Anne images.
Check back after Fet Gede - I might post pictures of the completed altars!
Nagini
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