Mojuba Olodumare, Mojuba Obatala

Hard to believe that it was fifteen years ago that I began the week-long ceremony that marked my initiation into the religion of Santeria as a priest of Obatala. I was crowned fifteen years ago tomorrow in the Bronx: it was a moment I will never forget, frozen in time. Even those elders who were there in that moment who have since passed on (ibaye) remain sharp in my memory.

As things worked out the Santeria community wasn't to be a great fit for me as a home, but I still have this sense of cosmic gears turning in that moment that blessed me, that changed me, that altered the trajectory and path of my life, and mostly in ways I had no way of anticipating. I gave up a lot: some good, some bad, some things I miss, some things I don't, but as I felt the spiritual mantle I had assumed deepen and internalize I have felt greater inner peace and balance I wouldn't trade for anything. Maybe it's the mellowing of age, or maybe the mysterious gravity of Obatala Himself, but I've found so many of the desperate empty places in my earlier life filled with centered calmness. While I can surely report both good and bad life experiences in the past 15 years, joy and happiness mixed with pain and loss in random succession — such is anyone's life — I feel grateful for a moment of cosmic communion that had so much profound and lasting effect. Even as I find myself less and less a participant in my religion, I can still connect my spiritual being with a sort of dizzying inner bridge to the sacred. I wouldn't have predicted what I would be doing fifteen years later: I know I wouldn't have come even close to a good guess. But I knew I wouldn't be filled with regret and that was about as prescient as one could be.

And I am eternally grateful to my spiritual path for the sharpening and deepening of my creativity as I strive for clarity of expression. This blog, even when I'm writing about subjects seemingly far removed from an obscure religion carried to this continent in the infernal bellies of slave ships, is I hope witness and testament to the power of eternal spiritual truths manifesting themselves in the physical world. To my less spiritually-inclined friends and readers, I don't mean that as magic or superstition or supposed favor from invisible beings, but as a hearty endorsement of connecting with the life force that animates us, a little suspension of disbelief, and a reminder that patterns and symbolism tap the human psyche with good reason.

Anyway I'll conclude with what is an apt lesson for many of life's transformations, courtesy of those high priests of quite a different religion, The Rolling Stones. Because indeed you can't always get what you want but you do get just what you need.

In Praise of Sta. Barbara

The story goes that St. Barbara was a teenage Pagan princess who converted to Christianity in the third century. She was imprisoned in a tower by her jealous father; when he found out she was a Christian he tried to have her killed. Many attempts at martyring her failed until her loving father finally cut off her head, for which crime he was promptly struck by lightning and burnt to a crisp. Because of her royal stature, her red vestments, and her relationship to this avenging lightning, she came to be syncretized with the Yoruba deity Shango (Chango in the new world), "god," or orisha, of war and fire and lightning. Despite the fact that Santa Barbara was a virginal innocent maiden, Chango represents a fiery, masculine force of raw sexuality. The young Santa Barbara is shown carrying her father's sword, the one he used to decapitate her. But it makes her look like a warrior, and the sword compares easily to Chango's legendary double-headed axe. Today, December 4, is Santa Barbara day.

The photo above is my shrine to Santa Barbara ca. 1994, before I was initiated into Santeria and received the actual sacraments of the orisha Chango. I loved my spiritual shrine to Sta. Barbara/Chango! That's the traditional Catholic image of Sta. Barbara on the left that has been adopted by syncretic Santeria; and the statue of the young saint (dwarfing the tower in which she was imprisoned) is there in the center. Those are unconsecrated red and white Chango beads, the kind you buy in a botanica, rather than receive in a ceremony. That's a handcarved wooden mortar, also a symbol of Chango, a little Santa Barbara scapular, and the traditional 7-day Seven African Powers candle showing her at the top.

The statue on the right of my old shrine is one sometimes used to represent Chango; it's a terrible several-generations removed copy of one of the blackamoor statues of Baroque German sculptor Balthasar Permoser shown here. More delicious irony that a deity synonymous with fierce pride and dignity should be represented in part by a statue rooted in antique renaissance-era European racist fascination with black servitude. Santeros, that is, initiates of the Lukumi tradition rather than generic Latin American spiritualists, tend to recognize this statue as an image of the powerful Congo spirit from the Palo tradition, Siete Rayos. Siete Rayos is similar to Chango, a spirit/deity of lightning, thunder and fire. While Santeros might have spiritual shrines to Siete Rayos or Santa Barbara, including statues or metal pots, our actual reverence is directed to the consecrated wooden vessel we receive in which reside the stones containing the essence of Chango's power. Some Santeros throw parties for Chango on Saint Barbara's day.

There's nothing more inspiring than seeing a dancing priest of Chango mounted by the diety: it begins with a sort of pantomime of reaching to the sky for thunderbolts and flinging them to earth, and ends when the orisha himself fills the priest with divine energy. Priests or priestesses of Chango are usually sturdy, beefy people: when possessed with their orisha they radiate strength.

I still have some of these altar pieces, though the extended spiritual altar that this was part of was consumed by a fire when I was a Iyawo, a new initiate of the religion. The first lesson Chango teaches you is never, never, be careless with fire. So that's how I'm going to celebrate the day, by staying away from matches. Kabiosile! Oba ko so! The King is in the house! The King does not hang!

Modupue Baba!

Today is the fourteenth anniversary of my initiation into Santeria as a priest of Obatala Yeku-Yeku.

I don't perform many of the proper rituals of the religion; I have no godchildren; I'm not marking my birthday with the typical celebration. Not because I don't love Obatala, or the religion which so informs my inner world, I do. I will refresh my orisha shrine, and offer some fruit. And then go to work in the regular world, carrying a secret flame inside my head. I'll light a candle for them in the evening. Play some orisha music. And another day will pass. Another day that I thank Obatala for explaining me, for blessing me with his identity, his ways, his ori, his aché. I thank Obatala for my sense of identity, for a sense of completion, for a sense of destiny. I thank Obatala for bringing me closer to God; for seeing all the connections in the Universe, all the spirit and energy and life. I thank Obatala for wisdom and knowledge, and for all my quirks and eccentricities as well as for my intelligence and creativity. I thank Obatala for love and my family and my home and my job and my health too, these things are all wonderful and important. I thank the people in my life who helped me get here: my godfather and elders in the religion as well as my ancestors and parents and friends. I thank Obatala for teaching me that religion isn't for show; it doesn't make me any better, or more or less human than anybody else, it just deepens my experience of the mysteries of life. Most of them joyful. Some of them sad. A few of them frightening. And even some of them dull and dreary. But all of them worth it, sewn together in a tapestry with rough white thread.

This day is not really any different than any others. It's my lucky day; like yesterday, like tomorrow. I get to be who I am.

Thank God for that. Thank Obatala.

Mami Wata Loves You

This is one of my favorite syncretic images, the woman who has mastered the snakes. I've had this posctcard for years: Wikipedia's entry for Mami Wata says this image dates from pre-war Europe. That wikipedia entry is full of detail about the deity Mami Wata, but it could kind of be shortened to say "powerful archetypal image that means a lot of contradictory things to whoever sees it." Mami Wata can be connected to the Yoruba ocean orisha Yemaya, a true "mother of the waters." But she can also be connected to a host of other syncretic folk deities that have combined with the myths of Africa, Latin America and the U.S. suggesting some powerful symbolic resonance. If you go to Botanicas in New York City you can find this image transformed into a plaster statue; sometimes with a baby in its lap sometimes without. That's Santa Marta la Dominadora, St. Martha the Dominator, and she'll protect your family and help you get your man back or help you take control of an unruly life. And there's the connection to the loa of Haitian vodoun Damballah, the snake god who reveals the mysteries of the universe travelling deep underground and yet encircles the world above us to bind reality together. To me the image is suggestive of Marie Laveaux, the patroness of New Orleans voodoo. And yet all these identities snatched from disparate religions and traditions reveal something about the nature of religion itself: it's a doorway to perception, a way of explaining and categorizing the human experience of spirit. But the thing it explains and categorizes is universal, powerful beyond description. You can't really take a picture of God, and yet, meditate on a cheap prayercard image like this and, well, there it is.

Lord of the Roads, and of Mondays

Back before I was actually involved with Santeria, I was a Neo-Pagan studying the Yoruba deities that belong to Santeria and feeling a little out of place. I set up altars to my then two favorite orishas, Eleggua and Yemaya, and prayed for their guidance and intervention in my life. I didn't know what I was doing from a "real" Santeria point of view, but my prayers were from the heart, and my love for these divinities was genuine. I found a combination of prayers to Eleggua, the guardian of the crossroads, in Yoruba, Spanish and English, and designed this little placard to place above my altar.

Eventually I made my way to the real thing, leaving Neo-Paganism behind. I received the beaded necklaces that are the entry into the religion, and eventually the warriors, the physical manifestation of Eleggua, Ogun, Ochosi and Osun. My spiritual altar was set aside; but I still occasionally read this prayer to Eleggua when I refreshed him on Monday mornings. After my actual initiation into the religious a couple years later I replaced this prayer with my ile's Mojuba and set it aside. Eleggua has been very good to me; opening a lot of doors and shutting a few better left passed by. He sits by my front door now and I probably don't offer him the prayers and respect that I should. But I found this homemade prayer card in a stack of things and so what better day that today, a monday, to offer up this prayer again.

To You, Eleggua, Lord of the roads, glorious warrior, immortal Prince, I raise this humble supplication. Keep the evil away from my home; keep my home safe from evil in my absence and when I am present, when I am awake, and when I am sleeping, and accept my daily prayer to the Great Olofi asking eternal blessings for you. Ashe! Open the path before me, Baba. Ago lona! Modupue; thank you for all you've done for me.

29, el tambor

Yesterday I went upstate for the celebration of my Santeria godfather's 21st birthday as a priest of Yemaya. Two of my godsisters were giving him the ultimate honor, a tambor fundamento, or fundamental drumming. Many people honor their orisha birthday, the anniversary of their initiation as priest/ess in the religion, by throwing a tambor: Hiring a group to play conga and shekere and sing to the orisha, this is called a guiro. But fundamento is different: the sacred and powerful triple bata drums, the anya, are played. These drums are so sacred that initiates in the religion must undergo a separate ceremony where they are presented to the drums before they are allowed to dance in front of them. A priest is specially selected at a fundamento to dance for the orisha being honored: this priest will always be mounted by the orisha who comes to earth to grace the celebration with their presence.

My godfather, called Asinyabi in the religion, is a priest of Yemaya Okute, the warrior aspect of Yemaya. He is completely and utterly devoted to Yemaya: his home shrine to his Orishas among the most beautiful I have ever seen. Though he no longer lives in New York City, he belongs to a Brooklyn-based Egbe Yemonja, a society of other Yemaya priest/esses who carry on important traditions of Yemaya outside the normal ile, or house, structure of the Santeria/new world Yoruba religion. Anyway the birthday celebration, even being held so far outside the city at an elder's house upstate, had a terrific turnout.

I'm not a great santero. Although I was fully initiated over thirteen years ago as a priest of Obatala, I'm not very active in the community, I don't have godchildren, and I don't usually throw celebrations for my own orishas, and I attend tambores rarely, either guiros or fundamentos. But I love the religion, I love the orishas, and I love my padrino; it was important for me to be a part of this event.

A huge altar, called a throne or trono, literally a sacred seat for the orisha, to Yemaya was set up in the back. While some Santeria lines are not strict about this, in my padrino's ile there is no photographing the orishas or the celebrations, so there are no pictures of the beauty that was this event; only the pictures in the memories of the participants. The throne was like an art installation to Yemaya, a kind of beach scene with rich cloths and even sand, seashells and a pool with fishes. The throne was surrounded by fresh fruit offered up to Yemaya and then handed out as blessings to the participants afterwards. The room is filled with priests and priestesses dancing, or greeting each other by prostrating themselves at the feet of those older than themselves in orisha years. It's a sacred occasion but a joyous one.

The bata drumming was extraordinary. It's an oddly syncopated sound, instantly recognizable, and unlike what a person would think of as the typical "Afro-Cuban drumming" that came out of Yoruba religious tradition to become a foundation of Latin music and jazz. Each of the three drums is covered in a special cloth decorated with symbols of the orishas, and the center drum, the iya, is draped in bells. Their rhythm coaxes the orishas to earth: as initiates present themselves to the drums and later dance to the songs played to each orisha, the air becomes charged with sacred energy and priests and priestesses shake and twitch with the touch of the divine beings. At this tambor two Yemayas and one Oshun came down. The Yemayas were that of the priestess hired to dance for Yemaya, and my own godfather's. A number of Changos, Oyas and Obatalas lingered briefly, mounting their horses just enough to remind us of their presence. The singer would engage in a dialogue with the descending orishas, trying to persuade them to fully come down and bless the crowd with their mysterious presence.

The details of how exactly all this comes to be are secrets of the initiated. There are details that those of us who have sat in the room and been crowned with orisha are sworn not to reveal to those who have not experienced them. But those secret details are of little importance next to what one experiences at an event like this. We who are believers don't really talk about how what we have just witnessed and experienced works, we just bask in its blessing, doing what is necessary to maintain the tradition that keeps the orishas alive. The orishas, the divine beings of Yoruba legend, come to the new world in slave ships, come to the north on the backs of immigrants, they actually materialize in flesh and blood at tambores like these to remind us of the miraculous world of nature and the spirits, to remind us of our destinies, to bless us with their touch. It's not an intellectual experience of religion but an emotional one. What must look a little crazy to people outside the wall of believing and accepting is to those who know a revelatory thing of beauty. I can't tell you what it feels like, exactly, to feel that energy, that aché, in your head, that open connection to God's messengers, but it's like nothing the secular world has to offer.

One of the most beautiful things I have ever witnessed in the religion I saw last night as Yemaya closed the ceremony. A bucket is filled with water, and normally a dance is done with the bucket by priests, carrying the bucket about the room to cleanse it before being carried outside where the water is flung into the street. But last night in the golden hours before dusk, even inside you could feel this, Yemaya herself seized the bucket. She swirled in her brilliant blue skirts with multicultured panels flying, the bucket outstretched from her hands yet not giving up a drop. It was a vortex of divine spirit, the crowd calling out to her as Yemaya spun around and around. I was in awe. And reminded of why I believe things that other people cannot see. And why I see things that other people will not believe. And I was so so grateful that I heard that drum, el tambor, calling what turned out to be my own name so long ago, and whether or not I am a model santero or a slacker, how profoundly blessed and lucky I feel that Yemaya, that Obatala, that all the Orishas, that God him or her self, has chosen my eyes, my heart, and my head for the mysterious revelation of the presence of such transformative magic in the world. Maferefun Yemaya; all praises due. Aché.

7, La Escalera

The ladder is a useful thing. You use them, well, to get high. To reach things you can't reach without help. You could use a ladder to get out of a tight spot, to escape; or you can you use a ladder to bridge the place you are and the place you want to be.

I guess I once didn't think of the ladder as a spiritual symbol, but interestingly, both my Yoruba orishas Obatala and Eleggua asked for ladders to go with their sacred tools.I've thought about that a lot, and I guess a ladder can be seen as a reminder that there is a way out of one's problems, a way, that, coincidentally, involves looking up. Although in truth you can use a ladder to go down, hopefully preserving your route of escape; perhaps it's a kind of 3-dimensional metaphor for that most famous of occult sayings, "as above, so below." Obatala, whose number is eight, no doubt likes the fact that there are eight rungs on this ladder; eight steps toward one's higher self.

As a spiritual symbol a ladder also says that if you want to take yourself higher, you have to exert yourself; to focus hand over hand and climb toward your goal. If something is wanting in your life, it's kind of a reminder that even if you would really rather have the clouds open and shower you with blessings, ultimately you have to work to reach something new and better. Faith, of course, is necessary in thinking that our spiritual ladder is resting on something solid and that our goal is up there just out of sight.

I'm reminded also of those giant seige ladders of olden days: a ladder could be the means for a bunch of serfs storming the king's castle. There's resilience there as each time the ladder is pushed from the walls somebody pushes it right back and tries again. But most modern ladders are pretty plain and utilitarian: certainly this one, from the Loteria Mexican bingo deck, is actually just a flimsy paper card from a game. But real life is often pretty plain and mundane, and that's just fine; because here in a simple wooden ladder is a reminder of hope.

Besides, they sure do come in handy for changing light bulbs.

Las Siete Potencias Africanas

The "Seven African Powers" as shown on this prayercard is one of my favorite syncretic images. This card is easily found in Botanicas in New York City, as are glass-encased candles bearing a similar image. It's not exactly Santeria, in that actual Lucumi/Yoruba religion as practiced in the houses of initiatory tradition doesn't really have much to do with this old-fashioned mixing of saints and orishas. It's more a spiritual touchstone, recognizing the centuries of ancestors who kept alive African traditions of worship beneath the surface of Catholicism. There's a sort of parallel tradition of spiritualism, espiritismo, that has largely replaced Yoruba style egungun worship as ancestor reverence in the new world. It's a mix of European Kardecian spiritualism and all sorts of folk traditions, and more likely to be eclectically ecumenical in its symbolism and iconography. Lighting up a 7 African Powers candle isn't gonna make you an initiated priest of Chango, but it can start you on the path of getting in touch with your spirit guides and ancestral spirits.

Anyway here are seven of the major orishas portrayed as Catholic saints; surrounding Olofi, one of the identities of God, portrayed as Jesus. It's all very complicated, each facet of each illustration telling a complicated story of spiritual meaning in both its original Catholic myth and its Santeria correspondence.

My favorite of these syncretic combinations is Saint Barbara at the top: ironically a teenaged warrior princess armed with a sword and a chalice is shown to represent Chango--Shango, Xango, Sango--the most passionately male orisha there is. Chango radiates raw masculine strength and sexuality; when he mounts his initiates, male or female, the very air in the room changes, filled with an almost animalistic heavy male magnetism. Its a beautiful experience to be blessed by Chango, who rules fire and lightning. This syncretic image reveals something to me so profound about inner passion and gender; it's a kind of visual shorthand for what could be an extended theological treatise.

Happy Damballah's Day!

Afro-Caribbean religions like Santeria and Vodoun are syncretic traditions. When European slave traders and colonialists imported millions of black Africans to the new world, they did their best to outlaw the original culture of the slaves, seeing in it a threat to the necessary dehumanization of their new human commodities. Yet people are resilient, and the slaves managed to keep their traditions alive inside the new traditions that were forced on them; in the end synthesizing something new, with deep African roots, but unique to the new world.

The nature spirits from west Africa, the loa of Dahomey and the orisha of Yorubaland/Nigeria, survived in the clothes of Catholic saints. St. Patrick is usually depicted standing with his staff, commanding the serpents who writhe at his feet to leave the island of Ireland. Thus St. Patrick was seen by the Haitians as a person with a relationship to serpents, those mysterious beings who manage to transcend the realms of earth and underworld. In vodoun, Damballah is the world serpent, a spirit of great power and mystery who encircles the world, bearing hidden mysteries and representing the unity between the spiritual and physical realms. So St. Patrick came to represent Damballah himself: a nonthreatening icon of the Catholic St. Patrick could represent to its devotee the actual presence of Damballah.

Today now that there are neither literal colonialists nor slaves in the new world, the open face of the original African deities are less likely to be hidden in Catholic clothing. Shown here is a Haitian vodoun beaded panel honoring Damballah. These beautiful panels decorate altars sacred to the spirits.

So if St. Patrick is meant to represent the Christians driving out of Ireland its original indigenous Pagans, let us reclaim the day by celebrating the rainbow serpent Damballah. What goes around comes around: My Irish ancestors will have to understand.

Echoes of a Past Life - Maferefun Obatala

I wrote this short poem for my godfather about the Yoruba deity Obatala in 1996, shortly before I was initiated into the religion of Santeria. I was crowned "Olo Obatala Yeku-Yeku" and given the Yoruba name "Baba Adeleke" (My Father's Crown Triumphs). It sat on my jazz site jazzsupreme.com for years; since that site has sadly disappeared into the ether, I wanted to return it to internet life.

I'm not a very good santero, in that I don't participate in very much of the community's life; but I feel profoundly grateful for the sense of peace and balance that the religion has blessed me with; and I'm awed by the presence of Obatala's timeless wisdom and creative energy in my life.

Obatala

With cathode rays of red, green, blue,
miraculously, technologically,
my computer creates being out of electricity
pulling rays of different nothings into something
steered by fingers, tapping, and minds, whirling
and blood, rushing,
driven by irresistible sparks of hidden origin,

Red, green, blue lights; tiny beams of tamed fire
become one light, white light, brilliant,
all one thing suddenly,
shape and pattern revealed in form and shadow

One thing not another,
someplace else no longer,
now made distinct, crystalline:
One thing, one piece, white cloth.
No seam visible, no beginning, nor end,
like magic.

Like everything. Alive.

Haitian Earthquake Brings Conservatives Together in Orgy of Racism and Ignorance

"Why is Haiti so poor? ... Haiti, like most of the world’s poorest nations, suffers from a complex web of progress-resistant cultural influences. There is the influence of the voodoo religion, which spreads the message that life is capricious and planning futile." -- David Brooks, OpEd column in The New York Times, Jan 14 2010.

"[Something] happened a long time ago in Haiti, and people might not want to talk about it. [The Haitians] were under the heel of the French. You know, Napoleon III and whatever, and they got together and swore a pact to the devil. They said, 'We will serve you if you will get us free from the French.' True story. And so, the devil said, 'OK, it's a deal.' You know, the Haitians revolted and got themselves free. But ever since, they have been cursed by one thing after the other." -- televangelist Pat Robertson, on TV, Jan 13 2010.

You know Pat Robertson. He's one of those long-running peddlers of hatred and intolerance masquerading as a spiritual leader on the television. He routinely blames people he hates for natural disasters. AIDS, Hurricane Katrina, you name it. So it's no big surprise that he would blame the Haitian earthquake on voodoo, repeating an old slander of racist Euro-American slaveholders against the world's first black republic.

You know David Brooks. He's the moderate, "thinking man's conservative," a self-styled intellectual who regularly publishes an OpEd column in the New York Times. And what do you know, here he's spewing the same racist filth about Haiti and voodoo as Pat Robertson. Oh, it's tidied up. Surely Brooks knows the history better than Robertson. Surely Brooks knows it was Napoleon Bonaparte himself not Napoleon III who the Haitian slaves displaced when they broke the chains of slaveholding colonialism more than two centuries ago.

"Voodoo" or "vodoun" is not some quaint socially regressive superstitious practice. It's an authentic religion, carried in the bellies of slave ships, from West Africa to the New World. Like its sister religion Santeria, Vodoun is a nature religion, combining ancestor reverence, channeling the spiritual powers of nature and respect for an all-powerful God. Can you imagine the scandal if a New York Times columnist blamed the catastrophic history of Europe on "the influence of Judaism which spreads the message of passivity and obedience"?

Vodoun is an uplifting path; it links its practitioners to the mysteries of the universe and transcends the tragedy of the middle passage. It will also, no doubt, help its believers to transcend the tragedy that has now befallen the island of Haiti with this powerful earthquake, and give them succor in rebuilding their lives and their nation. It should come as no surprise to any student of religion that among Haitian practitioners of Vodoun there have been both saints and rogues.

So now you know David Brooks and Pat Robertson: it turns out they are brothers under the skin, sharing the bond of intolerance and racism and white superiority. And sharing utter narcissicm in displaying their ignorant prejudices at the worst possible moment.

Ayibobo! Peace and blessings to the people and spirits of Haiti.

Crossposting from Ile Oxumare: Galaxy Around Olodumare

Here's an essay, with a compilation, I posted on one of my music blogs earlier this year.



Where does it come from? What is the source of inspiration for the music we love? Those of us who speak about "spiritual jazz" or "cosmic jazz" what are we talking about: I mean if you play John Coltrane's "Ascension" backwards do you hear the Lord's Prayer or something? These are bigger questions than I can answer, but here's a contribution to the discussion.

In the traditional religion of the Yoruba peoples of West Africa, Olodumare is one of the names of God. Olodumare is found in the patterns of the natural world. By discovering these patterns, by finding one's own identity and destiny in these patterns and rhythms, adherents seek to live the best and most spiritually fulfilled life possible. Key to finding, experiencing and understanding these patterns are divination and music. Through music and divination it's seen as possible to petition the divine world for help and advice in the material world. Helping human beings along the way are the orishas, "gods" if you will, personified forces of nature and humanity that can guide, assist, and open--or close--the paths along the way. There's Obatala, the mountain orisha of wisdom and creativity. There's Yemaya, the ocean orisha of motherhood and familyhood. There's Ochun, the river orisha of love and money. There's fierce Chango, the thunder god of dance and power. There's Babalu Aiye, the orisha of sickness and health. There's Oxumare, the orisha of the rainbow. There's Elegba, the trickster orisha best invoked at the beginning of all undertakings who lives at all crossroads both real and metaphorical.

You're not interested in an obscure African religion? Well here's the thing. The religion of the Yorubas was brought to the new world in the bellies of slave ships. In some places like Cuba, like Brazil, it survived and metamorphosed into the religions of Santeria and Candomble. In Cuba, for example, the songs and rhythms of Yoruba religion gave birth to Afro-Latin jazz. It's plain to see in the instrumentation, the rhythms themselves, and in the occasional mysterious chant surfacing at some point of musical intensity. In other places, like the U.S., traditional African religion buried itself deeper in the subconscious. The Lutherans and the Episcopalians might sing some pretty hymns, but it's in the singing and footstomping and more ecstatic musicality of churches rooted in Black America that the rhythm, the divine pattern of Olodumare, survived.

One of the gifts of our current age is the accessibility of knowledge, and with this knowledge comes awareness, and with awareness comes incredible cross-polination of experience and ideas. Once upon a time--and not so long ago in a historic sense--in the US people had to play drums in secret, out in the woods, at night. No longer. Today everything is connected.

But if, in a much more secular world, the patterns are sometimes harder to see, it doesn't mean they're not there. Today we have space telescopes searching the stars for signs. And you know what they have found? The pattern. Ancient cultures revered the spiral as a mystical symbol: endowing tiny creatures like snails with spiritual meaning. Pretty interesting that those fancy telescopes show the stars themselves arranged in spiral galaxies of unconceivable enormity, eh? When you stare up at those amazing stars that sense of wonder that becomes a kind of spiritual reverence, that's the same moment that so-called spiritual jazz seeks to reproduce on a much smaller, more immediate scale.

Which brings us to this compilation.

These are songs (mostly but not entirely influenced by Latin jazz) bringing the pattern back around. The songs here all contain elements of traditional Yoruba religion--most filtered through its Cuban/American form; all are either instrumentally based in traditional sacred songs or contain vocal sections using Lukumi, the form of Yoruba language that survives in the new world.

This is not particularly roots music. These songs make use of all the evolved musical gifts: western harmonies, developed jazz rhythms and structures, and even an accessibility from funk and pop. The traditional marries the new, and the pattern survives, expanding and growing, like the spiral galaxy itself. The old deities of a traditional religion make new appearances as their names and prayers echo in a newly updated sound. This compilation is not meant to convert you to an obscure religion, but to give you a glimpse at the pattern that makes enjoyment of music a passion with an undeniably spiritual nature.

The title of this compilation takes its name from a composition (not included here) by Alice Coltrane, who spent her life looking for the pattern in her own way. The cover image is an antique wooden "Opon Ifa," or divination tray, from West Africa; the center cut away to reveal the stars.

If you like this music, click on the labels below for more compilations by me, and more music posted on this blog by some of these musicians. A majority of the songs here are taken from albums still in print, so if you like something you can also go out and buy it!

This compilation, with details of track listings and download links, can be found in its original posting here.

Afolabi, Ibaye

I received very sad news today that a fellow Santeria priest has left this world. Clay Keck, who as an initiated priest of Yemaya was known as Afolabi, and as a proud Queer Jew was known as Shloma Rosenberg, passed on yesterday, November 8, after suffering a medical emergency. I believe Afolabi was older than I in ocha but younger than I in birth years.

We never met in person: I knew him only through e-mail conversations which we had over the course of many years since my early days in the religion. I ran across him first on "Orisha List," before I realized how counter-productive virtual forums on the religion could be. I found him to be knowledgeable and wise, with a wild eccentric streak (see photo) that was a singular gift from Yemaya Herself. As another gay, non-hispanic practitioner of the religion (with a soft spot for leftwing politics) I felt a sense of connection with him even though our paths never directly crossed. He owned a Magick shop in Michigan, and was gifted with an incredible creative ability. He initiated many many godchildren into the religion.

Some of Afolabi's writings can be read at his website. My heart goes out to his family in life and in ocha, his lovers, his godchildren, and his friends. May God bless him; he will be missed in this world.

Thanks, Obatala

Thirteen years ago I woke up on a thin straw mat on a hard concrete floor. It was one of the most transformative days of my life; I was initiated that day as a priest of Obatala, the santeria orisha of creation and wisdom. The ceremony went off and on for a week; the initiation lasted a year: a year of wearing white, of changing my life's patterns. But the initiation has lasted a lifetime.

While I'm not very active in the religion, every day I feel my connection to the world of spirit, to the presence of the ancestors, to the mysterious blessings and grace of the orishas, and give thanks to Olodumare--to God--for this life, with all its good and its hardship; for my creative abilities which earn my paycheck and keep me sane; for health, for love and friendship, for the sun shining on gold and green leaves outside my window, for the warmth of my cat, for the amazing joys of words and music, for the tastes of chocolate and hot sauce.

Maferefun babami Obatala! Maferefun iyami Ochun!

(Obatala doll art from this site)

Maferefun Obatala

Today is my 12th birthday as an initiate of Obatala in the religion of Santeria/Lucumi. 12 years ago I was crowned Obatala Yeku Yeku in the Bronx, USA; mojuba baba tobi Asinyabi; mojuba ajugbona okan Arabi. While I am not particularly active in the religion I give thanks every day for the blessings of God, my ancestors, my spiritual guides, and the mysterious Orishas for protecting me and lighting the path before me. Twelve years, wow. Not all of them easy. But here I am. Ashe!!

Mojuba Olodumare; maferefun Obatala; maferefun gbogbo Orisha.

Happy New Year?

Mojuba Olorun
Mojuba Olodumare
Mojuba Olofi
Mojuba gbogbo egungun
Mojuba my ancestors
Mojuba Dorothy Scott Horst Holden ibaye
Mojuba George Horst ibaye
Mojuba Olivia Ashcroft Fitzgerald ibaye
Mojuba Thomas Fitzgerald ibaye
Mojuba Quentin Fitzgerald ibaye
Mojuba Conrad Horst ibaye
Mojuba Lisbeth Horst ibaye
Mojuba Bertha Menzies ibaye
Mojuba gbogbo Horsts, Fitzgeralds, O'Neills, Ashcrofts, Scotts, Menzies, and others
Mojuba to those who have passed on this past year
--Mojuba Elsa Izquierdo Ade Doyin ibaye baye tonu
--Mojuba Swami Turiya Sangitananda Alice Coltrane ibaye baye tonu
Mojuba to the spirits of the old world and the new
Mojuba to the Indian spirits
Mojuba to the African spirits
Mojuba to the European spirits
Mojuba to the American spirits
Mojuba to the spirits of light and guidance
Mojuba to the animal world
Mojuba to the animals we eat
Mojuba to the animals we care for
Mojuba to the animals who care for us
Mojuba to my pets Henry and Jimmy
Mojuba Asheda
Mojuba Akoda
Mojuba gbogbo elders who have passed on to Ile Olorun
Mojuba Iyami
Mojuba Babami
Mojuba Baba Tobi Asinyabi Olo Yemaya
Mojuba Ayubona Okan Ara Bi Olo Obatala
Mojuba gbogbo Iworo
Mojuba my godbrothers and sisters
Mojuba my godchildren
Mojuba my partner Jesse
Mojuba my friends and relatives
Mojuba the earth, the sun, the moon and the stars
Mojuba the earth, the air, the fire and the water
Mojuba science and music and art and medicine
Mojuba ori mi
Mojuba ade mi
Mojuba gbogbo Orisha
Mojuba Elegba
Mojuba Ogun
Mojuba Ochosi
Mojuba Osun
Mojuba Ifa
Mojuba Babalu Aiye
Mojuba Ibeji
Mojuba Olokun
Mojuba Oge
Mojuba Shango, kawo kabiosile
Mojuba Oya, hekua hey Iansa
Mojuba Yemaya, iya mi ile
Mojuba Oshun Ibu Kole, ye ye o
Mojuba Oke
Mojuba Obatala Yeku Yeku, Hekua Baba
Ago lona
Bring health and balance and wisdom to me and all those I love
Bring love and happiness and abundance to me and all those I love
Bring peace to the world and keep us safe from war
Kosi iku kosi arun kosi eyo kosi ofo kosi araye
May the new year be filled with peace and light and love
May the evil works of evil men be no more
May justice triumph
May the new year be filled with music
May the new year be filled with joy
May I find better employment and purpose
May I find good health
Thanks to God above and below
Ashe Ashe Ashe

Happy new year 2008