The gods are dancing
The day started with a blessing, not your usual kind of eyes closing and palms together, but more of nuts rattling in an African marriage blood bowl, cigar smoke sheathing your outer layers, and concoctions of honey, rosemary, holy and sea water, rose petals and “other” things.
Whose calling you? Your mama – she wants a candle and her flowers changed. Your corner is blocked. A spirit kicked me in your office. Why are they trailing me, I’d like to know?
A friend calls, you can’t, positively cannot build your own house, you need to focus on your health. I forbid it. Meanwhile, what better way to ensure that no spirits are hanging around, pulling me down. With a new construction – only the ones that are invited in can move in.
The spirit world that is an undercurrent for much of life here in New Orleans, was out in full strokes tonight. We went to Kermit’s Speakeasy to hear Mikhala Iversen Jazz Muffins and got a nice interlude of the BabyDolls and some second line strutting, then as Mikhala was going off, a woman picked up her tambourine and played like a son of a gun. The big thrill of the evening was hearing Kermit Ruffins daughter sing two songs that cut to the bone – dear god. The three hours we passed there reminded me of nights years ago at the Funky Butt, when the Quarter met Treme and anything goes.
So unlike our pass through at dba on Tuesday night when the Treme Brass Band played to a crowd of yahoo drunks from other parts of the U.S. who had no business being allowed in any club. Which was sadder, the lead who was three sheets to the wind or the crowd – or rather which came first?
The spirits have been knocking me around all day – we kicked them out the front door and had Blacky run through and carry the rest out. We washed my head with a special bath made to cleanse me. In Tin’s room angel children laughed and cut up, he needed no remedy. My mother wants a candle and flowers – demanding isn’t she? My Yemaya statue was put under ocean water with rose petals floating in it. A candle lit beside her.
We’ve asked my ancestors to help the house sell quickly and for a good profit. We’ve asked for help with my health and heart. We’ve asked for protection. We’ve asked for clarity. We’ve asked for peace. We went to the lot and asked the ancestors if it is meant for me and money appeared, then a yes. We planted offerings in the four corners of the lot blessing not only the lot but the house next to it (lagniappe I said).
My Yoruba priestesses were shaking their booty in Treme, one turned and said, “We don’t normally end a day of blessings like this.” Betcha don’t.