distant voice heard at the corner
blame it on the wind
front door blown open
can’t keep accusing the weather
giggles behind you
the spirit in you knows
Eshu must be fed first
hungry as a child
bring some candy
mischevious man
pour rum in gulps at any crossroads
old now
light his cigars
omi tutu, axé tutu, onã tutu, ilê tutu, tutu Laroyê 1
quick now, keep up
Eshu works all corners, all doors, all paths
pour palm oil greedily
wherever two streets come together
and if you are lucky
days later
your dream will have you in the kitchen making café
walking out with small white cups of espresso
while Eshu runs between your steps
there is a party happening tonight
and Eshu is happy about it, has come early
look down
grab a hold of him
marvel at his wild face near yours
love the wilderness living within him
let him wrap his legs around your waist
let him hug you hard
his hand possessively at your neck, fingers in your hair
if Eshu is with you none are against
welcome Elegua welcome
1 fresh water, the spirit is fresh, the way is fresh, the home is fresh, Eshu is fresh.
Showing posts with label eleggua. Show all posts
Showing posts with label eleggua. Show all posts
Monday, January 30, 2012
Tuesday, July 05, 2005
the ocean sends her hello - and with her plenty of change
mmm mmm mmmhh
I got home Sunday evening and unpacked my bags, left huge piles of California all over the living room and washed all my clothes. I took a shower and washed all the rest of the California air and smell away. Tangible stuff washes out anyway.
The coordinator for the VONA writing sessions, Diem Jones, sent an email today to close our time at VONA, reiterating what he'd said when we closed the session on Saturday morning : our lives would be different now. He spoke not just as people of color moving back into a white-dominant world but artists moving back to a world often without creativity/appreciation.
He spoke of attendees of the past who've changed their lives once they've gone to VONA, moving away from home or to the San Francisco area, completing manuscripts, separating themselves from people or things that didn't support them, finding new partners.
I cannot wash off the beauty of the women in my writing group : Robyn, Teri, Onome, Spenta. All incredibly talented and with such a bright light in their faces. They are powerful.
I'm electric. Thinking again about how I ended up in Willie's class by some misguided luck due to electronic communication (Eleggua handles this, no? The orisha of communication and open doors knowing I needed a self-test...), I cannot imagine another way now of having my writing come together. When I typed out a couple of the poems I'd written throughout my week at VONA, I could feel my mind recalling the different ways to set a poem on the page, considered word choice, included concrete images and figurative language. All conscious choices. The act of writing, however, was collective memory tapping my temples. Damned, I didn't know how incredible it could feel to be harnassing some bull of an idea and know that, all along, the creature was lovingly waiting for me to see it.
I got home Sunday evening and unpacked my bags, left huge piles of California all over the living room and washed all my clothes. I took a shower and washed all the rest of the California air and smell away. Tangible stuff washes out anyway.
The coordinator for the VONA writing sessions, Diem Jones, sent an email today to close our time at VONA, reiterating what he'd said when we closed the session on Saturday morning : our lives would be different now. He spoke not just as people of color moving back into a white-dominant world but artists moving back to a world often without creativity/appreciation.
He spoke of attendees of the past who've changed their lives once they've gone to VONA, moving away from home or to the San Francisco area, completing manuscripts, separating themselves from people or things that didn't support them, finding new partners.
I cannot wash off the beauty of the women in my writing group : Robyn, Teri, Onome, Spenta. All incredibly talented and with such a bright light in their faces. They are powerful.
I'm electric. Thinking again about how I ended up in Willie's class by some misguided luck due to electronic communication (Eleggua handles this, no? The orisha of communication and open doors knowing I needed a self-test...), I cannot imagine another way now of having my writing come together. When I typed out a couple of the poems I'd written throughout my week at VONA, I could feel my mind recalling the different ways to set a poem on the page, considered word choice, included concrete images and figurative language. All conscious choices. The act of writing, however, was collective memory tapping my temples. Damned, I didn't know how incredible it could feel to be harnassing some bull of an idea and know that, all along, the creature was lovingly waiting for me to see it.
Tuesday, April 19, 2005
eleggua
Woah, que noche y que manana!
I had a productive conversation last night with La Deb who, even while smiling / blushing / nervously looking around the room, tells it straight up and still carries her softness.
Then the world opened up and Cliffy reached out to me via the phone, finally calling me. I worried a lot about her because we hadn't talked, and because of the discussions we didn't have in the week she stayed with me. I also missed so much of her. I'm actually eating more egg just to finish the two dozen she bought for our house just before she left to visit her mother. Small reminders.
In the week we suffered through together, I lit a candle to Eleggua (trickster, orisha of the crossroads, directly responsible for communication abilities) and spent most of that week looking at the image of Santo Nino with my eyebrows low, wondering if I had opened the door of a trick on myself.
Ya Vez moving was an opening and I remember smiling at Eleggua, realizing the curious way paths are opened. I don't know all the reasons Ya Vez moved, but I do know that it helped having Cliffy in the house. I cannot thank Cliffy enough.
And I know that Cliffy's love and her leaving, equally, let me feel free again.
I used to think I wanted equality in a relationship. Much like the gay struggle for marriage, no? Fuck equality, I want liberation. And I'm not alone in my struggle. My sexy friend Vandilla could be a UN peace mediator between warring countries, he's been dealing with his forever/never partner in negotiating coupledom for an eternity now.
As it is, jotos are the caretakers of this country. Just here in Austin, every day on the news, some government official, humane society director, hospital official, non-profit development director or fast food manager, watches over their part of the city, shows up on the television and my gaydar wakes up. Queer POC come equipped with the need to heal, the need for freedom.
But, like learning a second language, the translation of that freedom becomes equality, something much smaller. Equality = placement at the same level as a perceived norm. Liberation = a way of being.
I had a productive conversation last night with La Deb who, even while smiling / blushing / nervously looking around the room, tells it straight up and still carries her softness.
Then the world opened up and Cliffy reached out to me via the phone, finally calling me. I worried a lot about her because we hadn't talked, and because of the discussions we didn't have in the week she stayed with me. I also missed so much of her. I'm actually eating more egg just to finish the two dozen she bought for our house just before she left to visit her mother. Small reminders.
In the week we suffered through together, I lit a candle to Eleggua (trickster, orisha of the crossroads, directly responsible for communication abilities) and spent most of that week looking at the image of Santo Nino with my eyebrows low, wondering if I had opened the door of a trick on myself.
Ya Vez moving was an opening and I remember smiling at Eleggua, realizing the curious way paths are opened. I don't know all the reasons Ya Vez moved, but I do know that it helped having Cliffy in the house. I cannot thank Cliffy enough.
And I know that Cliffy's love and her leaving, equally, let me feel free again.
I used to think I wanted equality in a relationship. Much like the gay struggle for marriage, no? Fuck equality, I want liberation. And I'm not alone in my struggle. My sexy friend Vandilla could be a UN peace mediator between warring countries, he's been dealing with his forever/never partner in negotiating coupledom for an eternity now.
As it is, jotos are the caretakers of this country. Just here in Austin, every day on the news, some government official, humane society director, hospital official, non-profit development director or fast food manager, watches over their part of the city, shows up on the television and my gaydar wakes up. Queer POC come equipped with the need to heal, the need for freedom.
But, like learning a second language, the translation of that freedom becomes equality, something much smaller. Equality = placement at the same level as a perceived norm. Liberation = a way of being.
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