vodou child

in the new orleans airport, i found voodoo dreams by jewell parker-rhodes. although it was published over a decade ago, i'd never heard of it.

after a few pages, i was reading it as if it were going to float out of my hands at any moment.

a few days ago, i purchased the sequel, voodoo season. i've started it, but haven't had time to make too much of a dent.

i am intrigued by parker-rhodes' intimate familiarity with the lwa damballah and the various manifestations of spiritual sensitivity. i hadn't seen so much of myself in a book since octavia butler's parable of the sower.

the fictionalized marie laveau felt like a past life; her great-great granddaughter, marie levant, holds parts of my present one. i'm sure it was no mistake that she renamed the heroine levant, "rising", to counter the earlier la veau--the (nearly sacrificial) calf.

also compelling is levant's connection to her unknown-to-her ancestry. since i began revering my ancestors, i've come to intuit that i come from a long line of priestesses and wise women--african, native american, and european.

understanding that, i realized that i am not as unusual as i believed myself to be.

but i have no proof.

that's probably an advantage to families that stayed in the south: they remained closer to the spirits of the ancestors, the fields they worked, the stories of roots women and hoodoo men.

as much as i love my concrete, i need those stories now.

blending

the indomitable erzulie dantor has introduced herself to me...

considering some prior goddess card readings, i'm inclined to believe that she has emerged as the shadowy sister of my bright, sweet oshun self.

and i have been instructed to embrace the shadow.

looking back, i wonder if she manifested in the fierce self preservation and healing anger i experienced as a teenager.

she may have silently returned when i unconsciously began to seek out my wild woman.

i can see she's reminding me that i possess claws and teeth, that i can fight for what i want--a thing i know but can be very uncomfortable with.

she doesn't care about my nervousness. rather, that seems to drive her ambition to turn me into a skilled, fearless blade-handler.

as she stares me down, i realize that i can calm her, appease--but not subdue.

there's no escaping it; i must merge myself, be whole.

avek tout respe, maman. ayibobo!

you need to hear this.

trust me.

they're calling us back to the fold, y'all. please believe it.

big up to casamena

goddesspace III

long-time readers will be familiar with the evolution and incarnations of the goddesspace. it started out as a sort of eclectic, crystal-centric space devoted to the divine feminine.

phase two was lovely, but short lived. i never really took to the space, and the end of summer ushered in a strange, difficult phase.

so i started again. the initial idea was great, the execution mediocre.

just as i started to birth the space, money got tight and inspiration waned. but as i've been able to give name and form to the shifts i've been experiencing over the last few weeks, the fog lifted and i could finally give the space the time and attention it deserved (i'm sure the new moon energy didn't hurt, either)...

plenty of light, color, and quartz. triangles enhance energy.

feathers...beauty, expansion, warmth; a reminder to keep the spirit light and prepared for flight.

i'm hoping that this one will last at least as long as the first, if not longer.

myspace profile poetry

i emerged from olokun's waters
put one foot on the path, and ogun took my hand...

oya's winds push me forward
like harriet tubman's pistol
while obatala hands me bottles of fortified poland spring water

oshun keeps me laughing and feeds me honey
flashing my image in her mirror
so i can see how beautiful the journey makes me

while damballah sways in the grass nearby
reminding me of the beauty of rebirth

(c) 2006-07 l.a.m.