Joseph McNair
Autumn in Orí
Orí’s summers were beastly hot and her winters were wet and mild. In mid-summer sweltering temperatures soaking one’s clothing in perspiration were all too common, while winter was marked by chilly mornings and heavy rains from remnant tropical storms blowing in from the sea. Occasionally, the city flooded.
It was near the end of a climatically mild autumn, with a wet winter rearing its hoary head. The life of young Shango, master blacksmith, Spirit of Lightning and avatar of the new path was of late a vortex of life-changing events.
A few months shy of his twenty-first birthday, the young master smith, a self-aware Orísha born into this world under unusual circumstances, with his Orisha memories in tact, in three short years found himself propelled out of the quiet village of his birth into the bustling city of Orí, a matrix of destiny; an illusory looking-glass world of industry, commerce and romance -- whose laws, customs, premises and operations, whose assumptions and practices he had to learn to become habituated to when he sallied out into its everyday life.
Shango’s memories spanned an infinite number of lifetimes and dimensions. He was an Orísha, an elemental force, a pure energy of awareness, a matrix of power, a higher harmonic of a human being and an attribute of Olodumare, the Great Mystery. When mankind was young, the Oríshas were assigned to human beings as guardian spirits, to teach them and watch over them. They would incarnate into human bodies to be near their charges.
The Oríshas found the human vibration an irresistible intoxicant, and under its spell they could forget who they were and play at being gods and goddesses who would act out the basest of human behaviors. In that illusion, they became so dependent on their human hosts that they sometimes forgot their essential relationship with the Great Mystery, Olodumare.
They became embroiled in rivalries, deceptions and contests for power among themselves. The more they did so the more separate from the Great Mystery they became. They forgot that they were not separate from humans, but a different frequency of the same fundamental vibration.
They forgot that they were an essential part of the human's inner self that needed only to be awakened and when awakened, human and Orísha alike could realize oneness with the Great Mystery. Thus human experience corrupted the Orísha. They forgot everything about who they really were except for their powers. They became like their charges, often taking on the worst of human characteristics.
Shango, in many of his earlier incarnations, though supposedly the embodiment of Olodumare’s justice, became vengeful, profligate and capricious – or so the legends, handed down from generation to generation portrayed him. In one life, it is said that his lust for magical power caused the wholesale destruction of his family. Most of the legends concerning him portrayed him as an insatiable lecher who would cuckold even his own brother.
But often hidden by the profane is the profound. For the secret of Shango’s magic is the power to quicken. He is the blinding flash born of the interplay of positive and negative ions, of the break down of the electrical resistance in the air. He is the most spectacular meteorological phenomenon and the most common severe weather event to affect people directly.
His power is manifested in the physical world in 30 to 100 cloud-to-ground flashes each second or about five million flashes a day – bolts hotter than the surface of the sun, releasing the brilliant blue-white heat that causes the very air to explode and send shockwaves radiating from the strike path.
In the spiritual world, his is the power to burn up or burn away the dross of character defects and personal inertia. His is the motive force to propel one towards ultimate life purpose, to accelerate personal growth, expand awareness and wisdom and hasten "at-one-ment" with the Great Mystery - the essence of who we truly are.
Shango, the spirit of lightning, heats up the human spirit, causing it to expand; is the transformative compression wave that propagates to wake up the whole man to the full consciousness of what he is in the sight of Olodumare.
Man is only half-awake, moving about in a dream and thinking it real. The spirit of lightning is quick, and when it enters into a man he awakens, stands upright on his feet, regains his divine understanding, and knows and sees himself. This, according to the Orísha Orunmila, was why Shango was chosen and sent by Olodumare to show the new path.
It is the Orísha Shango who bears the burden of showing man and Orísha alike how Olodumare’s creation works, how each can work with it, within it and how when they do, the results seem miraculous.
Who better than the Spirit of Lightning, the most venal of the Oríshas to show man and Orísha alike that when they observe how well life works, when they can work toward realizing oneness with Olodumare, their lives improve without damaging those around them or the universe they live in.
Who better than the Orísha Shango to show them how to awaken as lightning turns a dark night to day, to join human and Orísha together as complementary parts of one selfhood, that they might joyously play in the illusions that they themselves have created to realize who they are.
Who better than this one to show us how to slip into the forward flowing energy stream that brings abundance and well-being and use our intellect, wisdom and knowledge to make right choices.
And so the spirit of lightning, who is one with the young, powerfully built master blacksmith from the village called Aiye, stands now at his own personal crossroads, at the the place which marks the path between the human and divine worlds, divided by a cosmic mirror reflecting the intersection of the mortal and the metaphysical worlds.
***
Shango was having a late dinner with Old John at the inn. He was soon to take possession of his new house, a house that he and his beloved Cassandra/Oya had picked out as their matrimonial home. Only one small detail remained – asking her father’s permission for her hand in marriage.
He and John made small talk – how was Michael taking to his new quarters; had business actually slowed this year during the rainy autumn – before Shango finally got around to asking what he really wanted to know from the innkeeper.
“John,” he said thoughtfully, “what can you tell me about Mr. Idowu?”
John eyed the master smith carefully.
“You mean, don’t you, do I think Benjamin Idowu will agree to let you marry his daughter?
“Well, yes,” Shango grinned, caught. “But I really do need to know something about him. I know almost nothing except he is Mr. Alafiya’s business partner.
“Very well, then. Benjamin Idowu is a very interesting man.”
John motioned to his serving girl. “Bring us another pot of tea,” he commanded, settling in to tell his tale.
“As to Beano Idowu’s origins,” he began, “it is fairly typical for these parts. He came from one of those migrating families that ended up in Orí, usually from up the western coast, seeking to improve their condition.An only child, he was the great product –a prodigy of sorts -- of a restless family seeking its fortune. He was called Beano because he was always counting things; had a great head for figures, he did.”
The serving girl, a pretty brown girl in her early twenties, brought the fresh pot of tea and refilled their mugs. She flashed a brilliant smile at Shango before hurrying off to her other duties. John paused to take a sip of the fresh tea and continued:
“His father, Adley — was a tall, powerful man with laughing eyes, in whom strength, recklessness, and love of life ran amuck. Untainted by education or fear of the gods, he was given to gambling and carousing in the low and mean ways which a seaport city alone affords. But the man, though, was held to a certain crude decency by a wife of determined character. Chimene Idowu was the glue that held family and business together.
Idowu made his living hawking goods from village to village and farm to farm across the countryside. He was good at it. He would roam the countryside each week, with light goods that he could carry over his shoulders, like jewelery, trinkets, tobacco and clothes, returning to whatever town was his home base on Friday evenings. On Sundays he would re-stock for the week ahead.
When he brought his family to Orí, he had, with Chimene’s diligent efforts to keep him from squandering his earnings on women and strong drink, accumulated enough to open his own shop with a team of three hawkers (including himself) operating out of it. He refused give up the road life so he left the job of running the shop to Chimene.
Beano, his only son, was a boy of eleven years. His training up to this point had been fairly normal for most boys at the time. He had gone to school a few months of the year, and the rest of the time had worked in his father’s shop.
There were two things that stood out about this quiet, grave boy by all accounts, doing steadily and well the things he set out to do. At the age of five he was struck down with the pox. He survived the disease that took him to the very door of death mainly through the efforts of his mother who refused to abandon him to the disease. His father took to the road for a few months until he felt it safe enough to return home. She stayed by his side nursing him, caring for him even through the periods of high infection. She was there through the fever, malaise, head and body aches, and vomiting; through the rashes, bumps, pustules and scabs, caring nothing for her own safety, caring only that her only son lived. Perhaps it was her mother’s love that kept her from coming down with the disease. That love, an array of soups and liquids, the constant cloth baths with lukewarm water and her petitions to the gods she believed in were sufficient to save the boy’s life.In a month or so, he was up and about. The disease, though, marked him. He was permanently disfigured by the pustules and scabs that had covered his face and body. He looked, literally, like a spotted child. This made him even more shy and reclusive than he was before. He found refuge away from the staring eyes of people in the back of his father’s store.
The second thing that made Beano stand out was his remarkable ability with numbers. He was no more than an average student in all of his studies except arithmetic. Beano excelled in the counting, calculation and computation of numbers. However, the kinds of calculationthat Beano was able to carry out accurately and quickly involved a sequence of steps and intermediate results well beyond the capacity of working human memory. The speed in which Beano could “figure” was magical.
The boy was fascinated by numbers, counting and calculating and taught himself an enormous store of number facts, including tables of squares, cubes and roots, among others. He developed an enormous store of procedures and short-cuts that allowed him to solve multi-step problems very quickly and accurately. In addition, by some intuitive process, the answers to mathematical problems often just came to him. He was happiest when given a mathematical problem to solve.
His mother had had much to do in shaping the boy's mind to serious living. She was very protective of him and meant to shield him from the cruelty of people reacting to his disfigurement. She must have come to hate the carousing rake she had married, and all the arrogant respectability within her must have risen in a fierce effort to save appearances, and to force this son of his, her own beloved child, into good and regular standing among his fellows.
Within a few short years, Adley’s reckless life caught up with him. He was stabbed to death by a jealous husband, leaving his son fatherless, his wife a widow and the two of them sole owners of his failing business.
Chimene was determined to keep the business going and make a life for herself and her son. Aware of Beano’s propensity for counting and calculation, she taught him how to keep the shop’s books and how to manage its inventory and supply chain. She allowed Beano to put his mind to making this process more efficient and effective.
Word soon got out about how the widow woman Idowu and her son were doing much better than making ends meet because of the talents of young Beano. No less than Justin Alafiya, Senior, the most successful merchant in Orí, came one day to their small shop with his son, Bebe and three of his bookkeepers to meet the boy. After a few insincere pleasantries, it became obvious as to why they had come. They meant to test Beano. Accounts of that visit say the encounter went something like this:
The shop was small, without a lot of space to seat people. Chimene sat Alafiya at a small table and apologized to the other men who had to stand. She served them all tea, however. She went to the back of the store and led Beano out and introduced him to the five men. The fierce look on her face was enough to discourage any comments about his appearance.
“Young man,” Alafiya began, shaking the boy’s hand “I hear that you are quite the man with numbers. How old are you now?”
“I am fifteen, sir,” Beano replied
“Well, do you see these men I have with me? This one,” pointing to Bebe, standing behind him, “is my son and heir, who will be taking over my business when I die. The other three are my bookkeepers who, I might add, have made me rich.”
The bookeepers had cleared space on the counter that ran the width of the store where they could write and do calculations. They sipped their tea in anticipation.
Alafiya continued: These men are the best bookeepers that money can buy. People are saying that what you can do amounts to wizardry. Well, I wouldn’t be where I am today if I believed in such foolishness, but I have learned to look for the causes of unexplained events. So, I have come to put you to the test. If you are what people say you are, the test won’t take long. Neither will it take long if you are a fraud. I will have my bookkeepers calculate along with you. You must take my word that I haven’t given them any advantage. They will learn the problem at the same time as you. That being said,” he cleared his throat, “ how many seconds are there in a year and a half?
“47,304,000,” Beano replied almost before Alafiya had finished asking the question.
It took the bookkeepers five minutes to confirm that Beano was correct. Each brought their calculations to Alafiya for him to see for himself.
“Very well, then.” continued a visibly shaken Alafiya, “Now young man, tell me how many seconds has a man lived if he is 70 years, 17 days and twelve hours old?”
“Sir, that man has lived 2,210,500,800 seconds.” Again, the answer was almost instantaneous.
After ten minutes of calculating and arguing among them selves, one of the bookkeepers objected.
“Sir, the boy is in error. My sum is less than his.” He showed his results to Alafiya.
“What say you to this, young man,” asked Alafiya sternly.
Beano calmly replied: “Sir, if your bookkeeper will kindly add the amount of seconds in the leap years he didn’t include in his calculations, his sum will match mine.”
It did.
After several hours of more of the same, Alafiya was finally convinced.
“Young man, your gift is truly remarkable. I could use someone with your abilities. Perhaps if I had a word with your mother, you might find some time to put your talent to work for me.”
That day, Alafiya bought their business, put his mother on a handsome pension that she lived on comfortably until she died and made Beano a member of his high priced team of bookkeepers, paying him no less than the least senior of the three to start.
Beano and Bebe became close friends. Bebe was not at all put off by Beano’s disfigurement and for that Beano loved him. In fact, on the evening he witnessed Beano’s abilities, he began to make plans as to how Beano would feature in his financial future. He did like the boy and had a genuine sympathy for his disability, but he was more interested in the boy’s ability.
He made a point of spending time with Beano everyday. He became his confidante and soon discovered that Beano had some of his father’s predilections for women and strong drink. It is said that Bebe arranged Beano’s initiation into the netherworld of sexual relations, and kept a stream of well-paid women coming to tie the boy closer to him in gratitude.
When it was time for Beano to marry, Bebe not only helped him choose his bride-to-be (a young wealthy woman who made Bebe guarantee that she would never regret the union) but stood as his best man.
Bebe was always picking Beano’s brains about something, setting up business problems for him to solve. Beano in turn, was grateful for the older Bebe’s friendship and was dazzled by Bebe’s business acumen. He was smart enough to know immediately that Bebe was a man on the rise and wanted to be near him when he came into his own.
When Bebe took over his father’s business interests, he made Beano a full partner in his mercantile holdings on the condition the he, Bebe, had exclusive rights to Beano’s bookkeeping talents. It was Beano who convinced Bebe that he should go into shipping and trade overseas. In fact all of Bebe decisions to expand his inventory and supply chain were informed by Beano’s calculations. It was said that Bebe could smell the money, but Beano with his numbers could turn straw into gold. They became the most formidable partnership in Ori.
“Have you ever met him, John?” Shango asked a moment or so after the innkeeper had finished
“Yes, my boy, I have.”
“What is he like face to face?”
“Pretty much as I have already described to you. He doesn’t talk much. When he does, it is in low almost whispering tones. What you notice about him is that he watches you intently. I have never seen him out and about except with Alafiya and once or twice when he has had to make an obligatory appearance with his wife and daughter. My guess is when you meet with him, Bebe will be present. If Bebe has ordained this union, it will happen.”
“What of Cassandra’s mother, John?”
“She passed away early in the marriage after Cassandra was born. I believe Cassandra was about four years old. I don’t think the young woman knew her mother too well. It is just as well. She didn’t love Beano and considered their marriage one of convenience and he was so absorbed in his numbers as to be indifferent to her. She succumbed to failure of the heart. She had always been of frail health. When she died, Alafiya took her into his home and raised her with Timo and his brothers. Beano became almost a total recluse.”
“Tell me about this custom of asking the father’s permission to marry his daughter. What is the point of this? What must I do?”
“Well,” the innkeeper reflected, “there is actually a certain value behind this. It is not that the daughter cannot make decisions for herself, but rather the practice of asking permission simply brings the man to assume a sense of accountability. You will be showing the father that you recognize that he and the mother are entrusted with their daughter’s well-being and safety, and that you respect them for their role in their daughter’s life.
In asking them for permission to marry her you are essentially saying that you care enough about their daughter to assume the role of being responsible for her well-being and safety.
The point of this practice is to show that you recognize that the father has been the man in the young woman’s life. He will continue to be the man in her life until you prove yourself worthy enough of her love and affection, and commit yourself to take care of her in sickness and in health, until the end of your days.
You must, Shango, through your words, bearing and respect show her father and Alafiya, who is also her father, that you not only love their daughter, but will commit all of your resources to her care. It is what any father would demand.”
Word came by messenger to Shango’s workshop the next day at midmorning that he should present himself to Justin Bebe Alafiya and Benjamin Idowu at Alafiya’s offices for early afternoon tea about two hours past noon. Shango called Timo and Michael to him to apprise them of the events of the day.
“Today is the day,” he said to them, “that I meet Cassandra’s father.” He smiled ruefully. “Any words of advice?”
“It would be hard to advise you, master Shango, “ replied Timo, “ since neither of us has gone through what you will be going through today.” He looked over at Michael, who nodded solemnly with eyes as large as saucers.
“Still,” the journeyman continued, “we can give you our best wishes and our confidence that all will be well. There is something magical about you, master Shango, that makes everything turn out all right.” He seemed so solemn and sincere about this that Shango in spite of himself began to chuckle.
“My goodness, men. I am going to ask permission to marry, not face an executioner!”
They all laughed together.
“You need to get yourself ready, master Shango.” Timo said. “The time of your meeting will be here before you know it. Besides, I am sure you will have much to think about as you prepare. Michael and I as you know are fully capable of keeping the shop going in your absence. Please go with our blessing.”
Shango looked at his journeyman and his apprentice with great pride and love. Well I know that, he thought to himself. When this is over I must see to their promotions. Tom/Ogun will be here within the day.
The thought of Tom/Ogun reminded Shango of something else he had forgotten in the flurry of events over the last few days.
He bathed himself with a bucket of water drawn from the stream out back of the shop. When he dried himself, he went up to his loft. I won’t be long for this loft, he thought. There is a big house waiting for me and my bride. He smiled as only thoughts of Cassandra/Oya could make him smile. He laid out his finest clothes, his morning suit, with gray, striped trousers a black vest and its coat with a rounded bottom hem and thin lapels. He would wear a bone white dress shirt, with a small standing collar, a red tie and a bowler hat. He dusted off his fine shoes.
After preparing his clothes, he sat on his pallet and cleared his mind. Then he intoned the familiar words:
Divine Messenger, I greet you! Speak with power.
You of the crossroads, dance to the drum
Tickle the toe of the drum; move beyond strife
Strife is contrary to the spirit of heaven.
Unite the unsteady feet of weaning children
The word of the divine messenger is always respected
We shall use your sword to touch the Earth.
Divine Messenger do not confuse me.
Let someone else be confused.
Turn my suffering around.
Give me the blessing of the calabash.
Ashe.
Materializing instantly before him was the timeless face of his mother, Maggie/Eshu, the village healer, the oldest of the Orisha, the divine messenger, the one who eats first, the one who stands outside the laws that govern creation.
“So my wayward son has finally remembered how to call his mother.” The visage smiled to take the sting out the words. Shango felt a pang of heartache that betrayed how much he had missed this woman. Her bushy medium length hair seemed fuller and was now almost completely gray, but her handsome mahogany brown face was still unlined. Her terrible eyes with those burnt sienna irises inspired love in his heart. Her smile lit up her face like a many faceted jewel.
“Forgive me mother,” Shango replied, “ but I have been about the task of growing up. I am sure that you have kept track of everything that has happened to me. I have felt your presence and I have heard your laughter. The hand of Eshu has surely been at work in my life.”
“What impertinence, you mannish boy. You beg for my forgiveness, and yet you tell me that somehow I am the cause of your negligence. You make these breasts of mine that nursed you cry out in pain…”
“Mother,” Shango interrupted, “you never nursed me. You hired Lela as my wet nurse…”
“So I did, so I did…” she cut him off. “Very well, young pup. So why do you disturb an old woman’s sleep.”
“Mother, as I am sure you already know, I have asked Cassandra/Oya Idowu to marry me. Today I am to ask her father for permission to do so. Before I speak to him, I wanted to tell you how grateful I am to you for raising me, teaching me, caring for me so that now I am able to assume the role of being responsible for the care, well-being and safety of the woman I love. If I am to acknowledge the father of my beloved for being the man in her life, it is fitting that I acknowledge you for being the woman in mine. I assure you that Cassandra/Oya, as much as I love her, will never supplant nor replace the love I have for you. These two great loves will co-exist in my heart forever.”
Suddenly, the playful gruffness disappeared. Those piercing eyes with those intimidating burnt sienna irises glistened with uncharacteristic tears.
“My son. The only son of my heart, if not my body, how have you become so wise as to give me the thing that even I would not have known how to ask for? Yes, I know of all that has happened to you and what is yet to come, for I am Eshu even as I am your mother.
So you have met again the red bearded warrior and the wheel of time spins again. Look to your memories to avoid the pitfalls of the past. The love and the competition between you is true and eternal, it is only losing yourselves in your illusions that play you false. You have my blessing, my son. You are firmly on the path that I, Ogun and Oshosi have opened for you — but of that, I can tell you no more.”
“Mother, will you come?”
“Of course, my son. I am curious to see for myself what Ori has become. I dwelt there for a time before coming to Aiye. What is that old nosey innkeeper John up to? I’d love to see him again. I also want to lay eyes on your precious Cassandr/Oya, her strange father who is Obaluaiye and Alafiya/Ajé-shàlúgà. All of the first awakened, including Emma/Aja, your sister, and Mavis/Yemoja will come to Ori to celebrate my son’s marriage.
“Thank you, Mother. I love you.”
“And I you…” came the whispered words as the vision faded.
***
Shango arrived at Alafiya’s offices ten minutes before the second hour after noon. He had driven the four wheeled carriage given to him as a business “present” by Alafiya. He picked a dapple gray mare to pull the carriage. Alafiya’s secretary, Collins, met him in front of the offices. Shango handed him the reins and waited for him to see to the horse and carriage before leading him up to Alafiya’s office. The tall, crane-like secretary showed the master blacksmith right in.
Bebe Alafiya was in his usual seat behind his massive desk. Seated in one of the oak chairs in front of the desk was a rumpled, shabbily dressed yellow-brown man with pit-like scars all over his face. His spectacles magnified the size of his eyes and made his head seem smallish and gnome-like. Both men stood up when Shango was ushered in. Idowu’s eyes found Shango’s like a magnet.
Alafiya stretched over his desk to take Shango’s hand.
“Master Shango,” he smiled warmly, “so good of you to come. I know how busy you are this time of day. Please permit me to introduce to you Mr. Benjamin Idowu, my partner and manager of all our mercantile interests.”
Shango returned Idowu’s gaze and allowed his Orisha sight to look into the man’s soul. Idowu almost recoiled when Shango’s eyes touched his. He dropped his stare and mumbled:
“I have heard much about you, young man. It is a pleasure to finally meet you.”
“And I you, Mr. Idowu. The pleasure is mine.” Shango was shocked immediately into orisha awareness. There was a palpable power that emanated from this shabby, nondescript man. It is as mother said, Shango thought to himself, Ajé-shàlúgà is formidable in his own right, but this gnomish man is Obaluaiye.
Shango searched his memories:
When Olodumare, the Great Mystery assigned different aspects to each of the Orishas, he gave Eshu dominion over the crossroads, the power to distribute ashe, to operate outside of the laws he enforces and present human beings with challenges and obstacles to make them strong.
To Orunmila he gave the gift of prophesy and allowed him to witness creation.
To Obatala he gave the power to make man and gifted him with that spark that animates consciousness.
To Ogun he gave the gift of invention and working with iron and metals to clear away the obstacles that stand in the way of human development and spiritual growth.
To Oshosi he gave the gift of hunting and tracking, the ability to effect things without being seen. and the power to find the shortest path to spiritual goals.
To Osanyin he gave dominion over the wild plants of the forest and every plant used in a spell or cure
To Oshun he gave dominion over the ‘sweet waters” and the power to provide the spark of passion that attracts.
To Yemoja he gave dominion over the sea and the power to mediate between all pairs of opposites in conflict with each other.
To Shango he gave the thunder and lightning and the power to dispense justice. His is also the power of male sexuality, fertility, and aggression.
To Oya he gave dominion over the winds and the Nine --change, wind, wildness, the jungle, rain, the marketplace, fire, independence and the Niger River. She is the power of revolution.
But when he came to Obaluaiye, he asked the handsome young Orisha what he wanted.
The arrogant Orisha told the Great mystery that he wanted the power to seduce women and nothing more. Olodumare granted him this boon, but warned him not to use his power on the fifth day of the week. Obaluaiye paid no heed to the Great Mystery’ warning and tried out his new powers with reckless abandon.
Then on the first day of the week he set eyes Oshun who captured his heart. On the second day he paid her court. She who is the owner of attraction and seduction was pleased to find her counterpart in a beautiful male. She teased and enticed him to her great delight. Caught up in her magic, he spent the third and forth day trying to persuade her to lay with him, calling upon all of the new powers Olodumare had bestowed upon him. Finally on the fifth day, she could hold him off no more. Her own body ached for him. Such was their love-making that the very rocks cried out in pleasure.
But when their love-making was over, Obaluaiye was struck down with fever and in his agony, he heard the warning of the Great Mystery. Sores erupted on his tongue and around his mouth. By the end of the day, a rash appeared on his skin, spreading from the face to his arms and legs and all over his body. By the third day the rash became bumps and on the fourth, those bumps became filled with a thick opaque liquid. Soon the bumps became pustules and hardened. These began to scab over. When the scabs fell away, what was left in their wake was ugly pitted skin.
Obaluaiye remained sick and indisposed until Oshun petitioned Olodumare on his behalf. She went to the Great Mystery and worked her great power on him. She made him feel again the pleasure of being sexually aroused. She persuaded him to take the Obaluaiye’s sickness away. The Great Mystery healed the Orisha but left the pockmarks on his face and body as a reminder of his arrogance and forgetfulness – and gave him another gift instead.
From that day hence Obaluaiye was given dominion over sickness and cure. His was the power to infect and to oust pestilence and evil…
Shango looked on his prospective father-in-law and saw a man who was sullen, self-absorbed, lacking in elegance and charm. He had the face of a pessimist, with self-destructive tendencies which hurt his life. His soul fires revealed bitterness, melancholy, and loneliness. But brightly burning purple, gold and scarlet, like the metal silver in ore-bearing rock was the overbearing presence of Olodumare’s gift, the power to bring disease and the power to take it away; the power to kill and the power to heal. And it was that power which drove an indomitable will which made this man obstinate in reaching his goals. With that will, lighting up his aura in a spectacular light show was an abundance of lightning-like flashes which betrayed his genius.
“Gentlemen,” Alafiya began, “I think we all know why we are here, so let us get to the heart of the matter. Master Shango, I believe you have something to ask of Mr. Idowu?
“Yes sir,” Shango replied clearing his throat. “ Mr. Idowu, I have come here today to ask you for the hand of your daughter, Cassandra, in marriage. I assure you, sir, that thanks to my new partnership with Mr. Alafiya and, of course, yourself, I will have the means and resources to care for her in the manner in which she has been accustomed. I love her truly and nothing would please me more than to have your consent and your blessing.”
Idowu looked more than a little nonplussed at Shango’ request. He looked at Alafiya, who nodded and smiled.
“Well, er, yes, young man. A marriage seems quite the right thing. Cassandra is a good child and deserves the best. Since you are going to be affiliated with us, I am sure you will be just fine, don’t you think so, Bebe?” The man seemed at loss for words. Alafiya filled in for him.
“I most certainly do, Beano. This is a young man who will make us both proud and richer than we already are. As you know, I had hoped that my own son, Timo, would be here asking this of you but since he isn’t, I can think of no one better suited for our Cassandra. Who will stand for you, master Shango?
“My own master, Tom is coming to join us in our enterprise. He, along with Timo and my apprentice Michael will be my men of honor.”
“Excellent. If you will allow me, I will see to the arrangements. Do you have any special requests?
“Only that my mother be allowed to speak at the ceremony. She is making the trip from our village.”
“If I recall, your mother lived here in Ori at one time. Is that so?”
“Yes sir.
“A formidable woman she was, a healer, if I am not mistaken.” Alafiya paused as if remembering, “She did much good work when the flux broke out among the workers in the quarry and spread to the town. Saved a lot of people. Yes indeed, a formidable woman
“Yes sir. And she is our village’s wisewoman”
“Well then, I am sure she will have some ideas as to how the ceremony should be conducted. Shall we set the date for the next new moon? That would give everyone time to arrive.”
“Excuse me, sir, “ Shango interrupted, hastily checking his Orisha memories and remembering his last conversation with his mother, “but it is customary among my mother’s people that the parents of the groom meet with the parents of the bride before the wedding. I am sure she will get here before the next new moon…”
The voice of Maggie/Eshu filled his awareness. “ We will be arriving in a fortnight, my son. Thank you for remembering our custom…”
“On second thought,” Shango continued, “ I believe the new moon is the most auspicious time. My mother will be arriving here on or before the full moon. That will give us at least twelve to thirteen days before the new moon. Please expect a visit by my mother before the day of the ceremony.
“And so it will be.” Alafiya looked over at the self-absorbed Idowu. “Is that all right with you, Beano?
“Certainly, I mean, yes of course,” the man replied.
***
Shango called on Cassandra/Oya at her father’s house before returning to his workshop. He waited in his carriage while a servant went in to fetch her. Barely had the servant entered the house when she came running out, her bushy hair blowing behind her like wings. She wore a lavender and cream silk day dress with a fitted bodice with two boat darts on each side in the front, additional boat darts in the back, and small dart inserted from the armscye, the armhole opening, to the bust in front. The waistline was relatively long flowing into a billowing skirt.
When he saw her, Shango jumped nimbly from his carriage and he landed in time to catch her up into a sweeping, twirling embrace.
“How I have missed you, my love,” he whispered, his lips brushing against her ear.
“Not nearly as much as I you, my spirit of lightning.” Her voice was the wind.
He set her down.
“Your father has given his consent.” He said tethering the horse. He took her hand and they began to walk along the sidewalk in front of her house. “The wedding ceremony will be on the day of the new moon. I was hoping you would agree to have it in the meadow where you awakened.”
“Oh Shango, that is wonderful news.” She squeezed his hand. “Yes, of course we can have the ceremony there.” Her eyes flashed with her excitement.
“My mother is coming. She wants to meet you.”
The news sobered Cassandra/Oya. She stopped, then stepped in front of Shango to look up into his eyes.
“Your mother is the guardian of the crossroads,” Cassandra/Oya said thoughtfully, taking on her Orisha aspect. “How odd it will be to meet Eshu as a woman. She knows our past better than anyone. What does she think of us getting together again?
“All she has said to me,” replied Shango carefully, “is that if we but remember, we should escape the pitfalls of the past. She has given her blessing. As you well know, Eshu punishes us today for the sins we commit tomorrow. I do not believe her blessing is a punishment…” He didn’t voice the phrase “this time” that came to his mind.” He continued hurriedly:
“She is bringing all of the first awakened. There will be a convergence of power here such as the town of Ori has never known.” His thoughts drifted to the anticipated reunion with Tom/Ogun, Simon/Oshosi, Peter/Osanyin, Ezzie/Oshun, Mava/Yemoja, Emma/Aja, his sister and of course Maggie/Eshu.
“Oh Shango, I can’t even imagine what that might be like…” She began. “But of course, I do know, don’t I.” She had a curious look on her face. “What did you think of my father, my love? How did he receive you?”
Shango took her hand again and continued their walk. There was a breeze announcing the early evening; cooling the mid afternoon.
“He really didn’t say much, Cassandra. He seemed distracted and constantly looking to Mr. Alafiya for most of his cues. He was very polite to me, though, and agreeable to the union.”
“I see,” said Cassandra/Oya. There was no hiding the disappointment in her voice. A moment or two passed before she said more. “I really don’t know my father well, Shango. Even as a child, when my mother was living, he didn’t seem to know what to make of me or what to do with me. He spent more time with Mr. Alafiya and the business than he ever spent with my mother and me.” The bitterness in her voice was unmistakable.”
Shango sensed that he should let her talk. They had reached the southeast corner of the square. Rather than go back the way they came, Shango guided her left. Along the eastern perimeter.
“I had just turned four when my mother died. I can remember that she loved nothing more than to dress me up all fancy and show me off to her friends. Even then I could sense how important her friends were to her. When she was with them, I really felt I was loved. She fussed over me and doted on me. But when we were back at the house, she left me in the care of the nurse my father had provided for me and the servants. She was sick a lot, but never too sick, I was told later, to attend a social event where everyone who was anyone had to attend.
On the night my mother died, my father was there at her bedside looking lost. It was the first and only time I saw him cry. Seeing him cry, I became unconsolable. They said I cried non-stop for two days. The strange thing about it, Shango, was that although I was sad that I would never see my mother again, I was crying for my father – I was crying for him because he could not cry enough to get out all of his hurt and pain. How strange that is.
Mr Alafiya and his family took me in. Timo and I became fast friends and his older brothers spoiled me rotten. Both Mr. and Mrs. Alafiya were kind to me. I reveled in being in a real family. My father would visit me from time to time and we would spend awkward moments together. By now I considered Mr. Alafiya my real father. I would have liked to get much closer to Mrs. Alafiya, but Timo was her favorite and no one, not even another female in the house could supplant him. And then she died.
Oh Shango, there has been so much death.” She shuddered. The remembrance passed and she continued:
“When I turned sixteen, I moved back into my father’s house. Mr. Alafiya said it was unseemly for a young woman approaching marriageable age to be around so many men. He filled my house with servants and women caretakers. He asked me to look after my father but to try not to disturb him when he was about his work. Its been nearly four years, Shango and I still don’t know him any better.”
“Do not worry my love,” said Shango reassuringly. The gathering of the powers at our wedding is going to have a considerable effect on those attending. I know who your father is as you will when you take time to look at his fires. He is so much more than even Alafiya himself. My meeting with him has set the process of his awakening in motion. We were very close in the past. If he doesn’t awaken when my mother meets with him, he will undoubtedly awaken when he is in the presence of all of the ‘first awakened.’ I expect the same to happen to Timo, Michael and Alafiya for the power of the Orisha is strong within them.”
“Do you think my relationship with him will improve should he be awakened?”
Shango smiled knowingly:
“Just as sure as the sun rises each dawn and the cock crows for day. The next time you are with him, look on his fires. You will be amazed as I was amazed”
“Oh Shango, I am so excited. I can’t wait to have all of this behind us” There was much more than exuberance in her excitement. She caressed him with her eyes and something seemed to rush through him like a burst of energy, causing a lightning-like jolt throughout his spine. His erection was spontaneously instant. His nostrils flared at the scent of her. He wanted to take her right there and damn the consequences. But he controlled himself, as he had learned to control himself throughout this entire incarnation. There will be time for that later, he thought.
“Cassandra, my love, I need you to see to opening our new house. You are infinitely more experienced in these matters than I. I can make wonderful tools, wheels, wagons, devices of all kinds, but I sleep in a loft above my workshop. My mother must have somewhere to stay and we now have plenty of room to accommodate her. I will ask Old John if he can accommodate the others. If he can’t we may have to put them up ourselves. They will be arriving within a fortnight. So spare no expense. I want you to be as pleased as the hostess as I am sure our guests will be.”
“Consider it done, my heart,” brushing her lips against his. “The quicker I get to this project, the quicker it will be done. I love you, Shango.”
“And I you, Cassandra/Oya.
They turned around and briskly retraced their steps around the perimeter back to her house, looking every bit the blithe, carefree couple that they were. They embraced for a final time in front of her house and Shango took his leave.
Shango arrived at his workshop to find a bustle of activity. He could see the forges glowing from a distance and he noticed that there were two unfamiliar wagons in front of the entrance.
He parked his carriage and tethered his horse. What was going on? And then he felt it. Orisha energy, no, Ogun energy reaching out to capture the balancing energy needed to awaken a human being to his or her Orisha nature. An energy that restores the balance, levels the power, and seeks the vehicle for its own expression…
When he walked into his workshop, he saw Timo and a man he did not know submerging a wagon wheel into the quenching pit. Michael it seemed was shoeing a horse and at his forge was a powerfully built black man fashioning what seemed to be a shovel. The man looked up and smiled when Shango came in.
“Greetings Spirit of Lightning, my brother! Forgive me for taking over, but you seem to have a bit of a backlog of work here. I hope you don’t mind.” The Orisha’s tone was playful, even mocking.
“You are well met, Tom/Ogun, my master.” Shango prostrated himself in way the Yoruba people of old did out of respect to their ancestors, rulers, teachers and parents.”
Tom/Ogun smiled again.
“Get up, my brother! Have I not said to you that you are a master in your own right. I have talked to your journeyman and your apprentice. They represent you well. They are worthy. Please take no special ceremony because I am here. While I trained you, you are now my equal in this incarnation as you have ever been in all of our lives together. I have come at your request and to do your bidding. But know that I am pleased that you follow our old customs and proud that I had something to do with your development.”
He put the shovel aside, stepped away from the forge and came to embrace Shango.
How strange, Shango thought, I am embracing my mortal enemy. One who I have wronged over and over again. One who would kill me as soon as look at me.
They held their embrace for a time. Tom/Ogun stepped back to look Shango up and down.
“You wear your flesh well, spirit of lightning. You are strong and your power continues to grow in you.” And then almost as an after thought he asked:
“How is it that Aganju and Oko have not awakened yet. The Orisha energy is strong in Timo and Michael.”
“I have worked hard to control my energy around them, spirit of Iron.,” Shango replied. “Orunmila has told me that their awakening is inevitable since just being in my presence is enough to trigger the process. But I have held back because we have no community to support and nurture the newly awakened.”
“That didn’t seem to stop you from awakening your betrothed.” Tom/Ogun began to chuckle knowingly when he saw the look on Shango’s face. It was an infectious, almost licentious chuckle, and soon the two of them were laughing out loud.
“Forgive me my brother, but I know as well as you the power of Oya. And I know why you couldn’t help yourself. Fear not, all is well. We will soon be all here to address the issue of a supporting community that you have rightfully raised. And do not concern yourself about me or my memories. We have made our peace and I have vowed that it will be a lasting one. You are the avatar of the new path, I am sworned to assist you and I do not wish to repeat the foolishness of our many pasts.”
Tom/Ogun was of course referring to the constant conflict between him and Shango in all of the multiple realities. Shango in some of them had stolen two of Ogun’s wives. Ogun in some of them had raped Shango’s mother and scandalized the Spirit of Lightning’s name by spreading all many of vicious calumny about him. Ogun the warlord, Shango the king, in all of the histories, folktales, memories, the two were rivals and violently competitive.
When Shango had awakened Tom the blacksmith in the village of Aiye, over eight years ago, he was not sure if the antagonism between them would stop. To Shango’s great relief, Tom was persuaded by his vision and, in no small way, by his ability to make him one with his Orisha nature. Tom/Ogun acknowledged him as Olodumare’s avatar and pledged to assist him in teaching man and Orisha alike the new path to atonement with the Great mystery.
That did not mean, however, the Tom/Ogun took it easy on his apprentice, Shango, in teaching him the secret arts, skills, signs and tokens of the blacksmith. Even with his heightened abilities of a fully awakened Orisha, his training did not come easy. Tom/Ogun was an exacting, thorough taskmaster. After five rigorous years as an apprentice and journeyman, Tom/Ogun pronounced the Spirtit of Lightning worthy to carry the title Master smith and more than able to seek his fortune in the world. That was three years ago. Now the Spirit of Iron, the guardian spirit of all blacksmiths, had come to assist his former apprentice in a grand design to develop a manufacturing center in Ori and spread it products all over the continent and abroad.
The two clasped arms and walked to the center of the workshop.
“Timo and Michael,” Shango called to his journeyman and apprentice, “come.”
“Fela,” Tom/Ogun echoed, “ join me.
When they were all assembled near the forge Shango spoke.
“Timo, Michael, while I know you have already met, let me take this opportunity to introduce to the Master smith Tom, of the village of Aiye. Master Tom taught me all I know about being a blacksmith. I have in turn tried to pass that on to you. There is no greater at the hearth than he. He has come to assist us in the new enterprise that I have told you briefly about. As he is my master, you will show him the same respect if not more, than you show me. I will be calling on him in addition to help me raise the two of you, Timo to master and Michael to journeyman. I can’t begin to tell you how much you can learn from just watching him and being in his presence.
Timo and Michael bowed solemnly and respectfully to Tom/Ogun.
“Master Shango,” said Tom/Ogun after returning the bows to Timo and Michael, “Let me introduce you my journeyman, Fela. He has come a long way in his development and I allowed him to make this trip with me because like your Timo, he, too, is ready to be raised a master. May I extend the same invitation to you to help me test and raise him.
“It would be my pleasure, master Tom.” Shango returned Fela’s practiced bow. Oh my, Shango thought, feeling a surge of Orisha energy coming from the journeyman. He looked over at Tom/Ogun whose eyes were alight in merriment. It can’t be, Shango thought, the spirit of Obatala, the King of the White Cloth, is strong in this one. Why is he a blacksmith?
Shango collected himself.
“Please return to your work, journeymen and apprentice. We will all talk together soon enough. As for right now, the master Tom and I have much to talk about.”
The two masters sat at the small table where the daily lunch was served.
“Tom/Ogun. That young man is Obatala! “ Shango exclaimed in a whisper.
“So he is, young pup. Can you not see than big things are afoot. The occasion of your marriage is causing the great powers to assemble. It is meet that this should happen. If you are to lead us down a new path, then the power of the Orisha should aggregate around you, including the oldest of us. You have been in constant communion with Orunmila. His presence here can be felt like a morning mist. Why not the owner of All Heads, the maker of all human bodies? You task in this world is much more than to make Alafiya/Ajé-shàlúgà richer than he already is or to spread technology hither and yon. Your mission is spiritual. It will take a great number of transformative powers to break the mold of tradition and allow human and Orisha alike to walk the new path to oneness. Even the vibratory rate of our physical and astral bodies must be raised to complete this journey and who better to that than Obatala? Remember, Shango, the hand of Eshu is in this.”
“There is so much to take in,” Shango exclaimed. “The task all of a sudden seems so immense!”
Tom/Ogun had no response for this. He watched Shango silently.
“Why is Obatala a blacksmith, Tom?” Shango said querulously.
“Why, indeed!” Tom was again chuckling. This time Shango did not join in. He sat stonily before Spirit of Iron; his silence demanding an answer.
Tom sighed before answering.
“Why indeed, young pup. Did you ask yourself why the Spirit of Lightning, Olodumare’s dispenser of justice is a blacksmith? Did you ask why the Orisha Oko, the owner of the earth, is an apprentice blacksmith and not a farmer. Or Aganju, the gatekeeper to earth’s mysteries, the volcano and in some histories your own father, why is he a blacksmith? Did you not learn anything from me, Master Smith!”
Shango felt like he had been slapped. He thought before he answered, look past the physical skills techniques to their spiritual counterparts. He remembered that
Ogun is the not only the guardian of the forge, but the patron of civilization and technology. Not just a war-like Orisha, he is the archetypal force that drives technological advance. He is movement, impetus, force. Ogun helped the Orishas survive their initial settlement on Ikole Aiye (Earth) teaching them to live harmoniously among themselves as they faced the ambiguity and uncertainty of new and unforeseen circumstances.
He taught that one should always display courage and heroism in living and dying. The Spirit of Iron infused human and Orisha alike with the will to survive, to use assertive and/or aggressive methods to survive. Ogun inspired the development of a technology that gave an upper hand in life, and would prove to be a technology to revolutionize the world.
Shaping and working iron and metal made farming, hunting, and war much more efficient. It allowed for greater growth in societies. With the ability to support larger communities came social growth and the development of large kingdoms.
Spiritually, the spirit of Ogun shapes and works the courage, fortitude and disposition to carry on, to finish the course against all odds, spiritual mettle. Shaping and working spiritual mettle strengthens the character…
“To be Olodumare’s avatar and to complete my mission,” Shango began thoughtfully, “I had to be shaped and worked with the powers of Ogun. My life has been like the tempering fires of the forge. The training I have received from all of the Orishas, but particularly from Tom/Ogun strengthened my character, imbued my will with the power to persist and never turn back…”
“And so it shall be for those trained by you, whether they be blacksmiths or not.” finished Tom/Ogun. The Orisha aspect was on him. His eyes blazed with vision.
“We are about to bring down from Ikole Orun and unleash into this world a power that will transform it. It is a spiritual power that will have pronounce physical and material effects. Under its influence, mankind will learn to harness the power of steam and that by itself will instigate an age of mass production. All manner of tools and techniques will be invented to perform all manner of practical tasks. You and I, our masters and journeymen will be the spark that ignites this process, but all of the Orisha will power its development.
We will see much more than mass production of tools. Ajé-shàlúgà’s vision is limited in this respect. We will make engines to power his ships. These ships will expand trade to unprecedented levels. Soon, we will become ship builders and our ships will become plated and armored and weaponed.
Your own power will be harnessed to send messages over long distances and ultimately to be a more efficient replacement for steam to drive engines and appliances. This will lead to the rapid development of chemical, electrical, petroleum, and metal technologies responding to an expanding social demand.
But more importantly, my brother, your very coming at this time, your incarnation, as it were, affords the opportunity for humans and Orisha to move up dimensionally, becoming closer to atonement to Olodumare. You, spirit of lightning, are not only the avatar of the new path, but are the central agent in in the redemption of us all.
It is your power that gathers the charged negative emotional energy of human and Orisha alike and transmutes that energy to light. In human beings, it quickens; it changes the physical body while merging it with the human and guardian spirit. In this process, all human issues come to the fore to be faced and worked through. The life is marked by regular spiritual awakenings interspersed with physical, mental and emotional challenges and changes. But it is in relationships that we test ourselves and the changes that have been wrought. We will find that any relationship based on control or manipulation becomes intolerable, and many of our relationships will end. We may even be required to be alone with ourselves.
Thus begins our translation into the dimensional world of oneness which can occur at an individual level, within a group, or as a part of the collective experience. We will ascend, whether we do it alone, as a part of a group, or as a part of the planetary shift yet to come. We will ride you, spirit of lightning. You will light up this new path so that we will not stumble. And as you have said, all we need do is wake up and remember.”
They both stood for a time gazing into the forge fire. Finally Tom/Ogun caught Shango by the arm and said:
"Come, brother, there is much work left to do this night. The weighty matters of which we speak are best left until tomorrow."
©2007 by Joseph D. McNair
I Wish I Were In Love Again
The sleepless nights,
the daily fights
the quick toboggan when you reach the heights
I miss the kisses and I miss the bites...Joni Mitchell
A plaintive trill
Riding a rippling soular wind; not unlike
The eerily desolate call of a night bird;
An unobtrusive accompaniment
Of twilight --Can this be
Yet another woman in distress?
A substance abuser?
An incest survivor or rape victim?
One perhaps given at once
To bouts of excessive excitement &
Prolonged sadness & dejection --Makes my
Heart’s ears twitch, stand erect &
Translate this intimation of
Baneful dependency into the
Sweet seductive melodies of loveWhat is it
About the impairment of
A woman’s normal cognitive,
Emotional or behavioral functioning?
That causes me to be smitten (if she
Looks good)? Makes her all desirable
& all enveloping?Makes my
Nostrils flare triggering yet again
That banal fugue of rescue & predation...
The counterpoint of several voices,
Tonic/dominant/subdominantInnerspeak;
Head tones fusing with libidinal
Soundings measuring the depths of
My perversity; taking me through the
Steps of an intricate mating dance;
A choreographic form that consists of
Brilliant enabling interactions:Makes me
Compulsively explain, problemsolve, fix --
Lose the ability to locate my Self in her
Otherness – insist that she talk when she just
Wants to be left alone (with her demons).Insist that
She makes me understand what is going
On with her. Annoy her with therapeutic
Doublespeak; provoke her to talk,
To argue to confront to experience her feelings
& have the gratuitous sex that reassures only me or
Make her feel guilty & degraded when she refuses.Makes her
Even more crazy; makes her bolt out into
The night like a frightened deer to get away from me
& my judgments, my minimizing, mesmerizing neediness;
My toxic protestations of love
Black Holes
Being alone but not lonely
Living in a space full of holes
Left by stars that have collapsed;
The sundry women in my life
That are with me no more;
Whose memories are regions
Of concentrated mass --
Holes with point-like singularity
At their center & event horizons
At their outer edges.
I keep them at more than arm's
Length; am an artful dodger.
For if I get too close the laws of
Gravity brook no turning back.
I would be sucked in;
Would require a speed greater
than light to escape.
©2007 by Joseph D. McNair
Web Author: Joseph D. McNair Copyright © 2006 by Joseph D. McNair -ALL RIGHTS RESERVED