Recording available: lost-pages-canticle-of-orisha.mp3
Standing at the sacred crossroads, I hold the way through a door that does not exist, calling, calling, with the voice of the hidden ones to the Ori. Oshun and Osun, they tend the paths upon which you tread and many twins more dance the world in which you wander.
Olorun and Nana smile as you toddle and sing, mother and father, sun and moon, creators and creation, together, same and in it, bound. Oya and Shango shake the air and yet you are held safe, close, cherished and protected. Obatala and Yemaja long ago warded you and in the midst of Ogoun and Babalu Aye you walk without fear.
Raise your palms to the sky and howl, Oxossi with feral grin is prowling, but Orunmila whispers in both directions and this meeting, you salute rather than snarl at one another. Bathed in Omiero, blessed as the saints, your whispers and all things… hopes and fears, suffering and delight, they rise and are channeled here, into forever.
How long must you wail of separation and loneliness? You to whom, for whom all things are enjoined? How blind must a soul be to stand encircled and embraced and scream for solitude? Hush, hush, little ones, dry your eyes, for fate is but a dream and life is yours for all taking. For all your shivering, yes, even in the midst of your deepest and most despairing cry, you are loved, held and protected, guided, guarded, and graced.
When shadows rise to cloak you, smile for the touch of forever, the empty spaces in which all things are one.
When grief or sorrow meet you, swim deep and be not afraid to swallow, take into you that which you fear will overcome you and make of it strength and steadiness.
When pain or its twin, pensiveness find you, bow to the transitory truth of them, and bid them farewell even as you greet them, hold the power of this truth and in it, be at peace.
All the universe is made of you, by you, for you… give no space to that which would deny it, and dance your part free, fast, and wild… for the spark of you is a quickening, giddy thing and it is for your eager flickerings that the gods themselves smile.
Proximity is not permission. Access is not authorization. Identity is declared, not assigned. Even * said, “I am.”
Fair Warning: I’m nice until you’re not… FAFO.
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