[C novim Godom! Jana, bringing in new years – russian orthodox style, we share(d) hadithi that we heard from our elders, captivating us till (someting like) jouvay morning. Spoiler alert: de beginning of dis story is in de previous post, leo ni leo is de end of dis firendege, de horse of power, and Princess Vasilissa hadithi.
Jana, De young archer brought Vasilissa back to de Tzar, en when she woke, she asked bout de her boat en de music, en looked pon de young archer…..]
De Tzar was angry with de Princess Vasilissa, but his anger was as useless as his joy.
“Why, Princess,” says he, “will you not marry me, en forget your blue sea en your silver boat?”
“In de middle of de deep blue sea lies a great stone,” says de Princess, “en under that mawe (stone) is hidden my wedding dress. If I cannot wear that dress I will marry nobody at all.”
Instantly de young Tzar turned to de young archer, who was waiting before de throne.
“Ride swiftly back,” says he, “to de land of Never, where de red sun rises in flame. There- do you hear wot de Princess says?- a great mawe lies in de middle of de sea. Ride swiftly. Bring back that dress, or, by my sword, your head shall no longer sit on your shoulders!”
De young archer wept bitter tears, en went out into de courtyard where de horse was waiting for him, champing its golden bit.
“There is no way of escaping death dis time,” he said
“Master, why do you weep?” asked de farasi of powah.
“The Tzar has ordered me to ride to de land of Never, to fetch de wedding dress of de Princess Vasilissa from de bottom of de deep blue sea. Besides, de dress is wanted for de Tzar’s wedding, en I love de Princess myself.”
“What did I tell you?” says de farasi of powah “I told you that there would be trouble if you picked up that golden feather from de benu’s burning breast. Well, do not be afraid. The trouble is not yet, de trouble is to come. Up! Into de saddle with you, en away for de wedding dress of de Princess Vasilissa!”
De young archer leaped into de saddle, en de farasi of powah, with his thundering hoofs, carried him swiftly through de green msitus en over de bare plains, till they came to de edge of de dunia, to de land of Never, where de red jua rises in flame from behind de deep blue sea. There they rested, at de very edge of de sea.
De young archer looked sadly over de wide wotas, but de farasi of powah tossed its mane en did not look at de sea, but on de shore. This way en that it looked, en saw at last a huge lobster moving slowly, sideways, along de golden sand.
Nearer en nearer came de lobster, en it was a giant among lobsters, en it moved slowly along the shore, while de farasi moved carefully en as if by accident, until it stood between de lobster en de sea. Then when de lobster came close by, de farasi of powah lifted an iron hoof en set it firmly on de lobster’s tail.
“You will be de death of me!” screamed de lobster-as well he might, with de heavy foot of de farasi of powah pressing his tail into de sand. “Let me live, en I will do whatever you ask of me.”
“Very well,” says farasi of powah, “we will let you live,” en he slowly lifted his foot. “But this is wot you shall do for us. In de middle of de blue sea lies a great stone, en under that mawe is hidden de wedding dress of de Princess Vasilissa. Bring it here.”
De lobster groaned with de pain in his tail. Then he cried out in a voice that could be heard all over de deep blue sea. And de sea was disturbed, en from all sides lobsters in thousands made their way to de bank. And de huge lobster that was de oldest of them all en de tzar of all de lobsters that live between de rising en de setting of de sun, gave them de order en sent them back into de sea. And de young archer sat on de farasi of powah en waited.
After a lil time de sea was disturbed again, en de lobsters in their thousands came to de shore, en with them they brought a golden casket in which was de wedding dress of de Princess Vasilissa. They had taken it from under de great mawe that lay in de middle of de sea.
De tzar of all de lobsters raised himself painfully on his bruised tail en gave de casket into de hands of de young archer, en instantly de farasi of powah turned himself about en galloped back to de palace of de Tzar, far, far away, at de other side of de green msitus en beyond de savannas.
De young archer went into de palace en gave de casket into de hands of de Princess, en looked at her with sadness in his eyes, en she looked at him with love. Then she went away into an inner chamber, en came back in her wedding dress, mo refreshing than spring itself. Great was de joy of Tzar. De wedding feast was made ready, en de bells rang, en de flags waved above de palace.
De Tzar held out his hand to de Princess, en looked at her with his old eyes. But she would not take his hand.
“No,” says she, “I will marry nobody until de man who brought me here has done penance with boiling wota.”
Instantly de Tzar turned to his servants en ordered them to make a great fiya, en to fill a great cauldron with maji en set it on de fiya and, when de maji should be at its hottest, to take de young archer en throw him into it, to do penance for having taken de Princess Vasilissa away from de land of Never.
There was no gratitude on de mind of that Tzar.
Swiftly de servants brought wood en made a mighty fiya, en on it they laid a huge cauldron of maji, en built de moto round de walls of de cauldron. De moto burned hot, en de maji steamed. De fiya burned hotter, en de maji bubbled en seethed. They made ready to take de young archer, to throw him into de cauldron.
“Oh, misery!” thought de young archer. “Why did I ever take de golden unyoya that had fallen from de firendege’s burning breast? Why did I not listen to de wise words of de farasi of powah?” And he remembered de farasi of powah, en he begged de Tzar:
“O lord Tzar, I do not complain. I shall presently die in de heat of de maji on fiya. Suffer me, before I die, once more to see my farasi.”
“Let him see his farasi,” says de Princess.
“Very well,” says de Tzar. “Say good-bye to your horse, for you will not ride him again. But let your farewells be short, for we are waiting.”
De young archer crossed de courtyard en came to de farasi of powah, who was scraping de ground with his iron hoofs.
“Farewell, my farasi of powah,” says de young archer. “I should have listened to your words of wisdom, for now de end is come, en we shall never more see de green miti pass above us en de ground disappear beneath us, as we race de wind between de dunia en de sky.”
“Why so?” says de farasi of powah.
“De tzar has ordered that I yam to be boiled to death-thrown into that cauldron that is seething on de great fiya.”
“Fear not,” says de farasi of powah, “for de Princess Vasilissa has made him do this, en de end of these tings is better than I thought. Go back, en when they are ready to throw you into de cauldron, do you run boldly en leap yourself into de boiling wota.”
De young archer went back across de courtyard, en de servants made ready to throw him into de cauldron.
“Are you sure that de maji is boiling?” says de Princess Vasilissa.
“It bubbles en seethes,” said de servants.
“Let me see for myself,” says de Princess, en she went to de moto en waved her hand above de cauldron. And some say there was someting in her hand, en some say there was not.
“It is boiling,” says she, en de servants laid hands on de young archer; but he threw them from him, en ran en leaped boldly before them all into de very middle of de cauldron.
Twice he sank below de surface, borne round with bubbles en foam of de boiling wota. Then he leaped from de cauldron en stood before de Tzar en de Princess. He had become so beautiful a youth that all who saw cried aloud in wonder.
“This is a miracle,” says de Tzar. And de Tzar looked at de beautiful young archer, en thought of himself- of his age, of his bent back, en his gray beard, en his toothless gums. “I too will become beautiful,” thinks he, en he rose from his throne en clambered into de cauldron, en was boiled to death in a moment.
And de end of de hadithi? They buried de Tzar, en made de young archer Tzar in his place. He married de Princess Vasilissa, en lived many years with her in love en good fellowship. And he built a golden stable for de farasi of powah, en neva forgot what he owed to him.
[multilayered readings of Black Russians in revised excerpts from p. 414-422, Best Loved Folktales of The World – selected by Joanna Cole]
Reading ancient myths and fairy tales can be very helpful because these stories came [not-so] spontaneously from people who had not studied psychology. The hadithi came straight out of their unconscious and, kwa hivyo, shows us how the unconscious works unimpeded by conscious intervention. The images are clear and stark.
For those of us who are interested in why we do what we do when we want to do the “opposite”, the hadithi are gold mines of information.
If we accept, wahenga waliyosema, that there are…“archetypes” in our unconscious, then we can read myths and fairy tales with an open
mind. If we do not accept the existence of archetypes, then we have no way of explaining the superhuman surges of energy that magnetise us towards someone – or repel us.
The “werd” does not matter. What matters is our recognition of the power of these energy fields in our unconscious; they can dictate our destruction (if our ego is weak) or they can be our greatest gift in life. If we cannot tell the difference between human en superhuman (or subhuman) energies, we identify with gods and goddesses, devils and enchantresses, and eventually walk into self-destruction. We project images onto these energy fields.
Virgin Mary, eclipsed by Lilith, eclipsed by Julia Roberts. The task of the media promoters is to find the right image for whatever energy field is floating up from the unconscious mass at that moment. Star pass like meteors and are gone.
Some planets however we always have with us: mama, baba na watoto…and when a womban stands her ground, exercises discipline, or lays down her terms and conditions with “real” tox, she speaks with the voice of the crone. “Real” tox is not language that is writhing in a complex….crone energy is energy that has been distilled through years of attempting to speak “straight” from our own reality.
One day we are surprised by the sound of our own voice coming straight from its ground in our own body….
In the game of chess, a player can call “checkmate” when the opponent’s king is in check, unable to release himself. The king’s defeat brings the game to an end. Partriarchal, western values are overcome. Only a crone would dare to play such a game with “the devil”, and only a crone would so easily trust her feminine instinct (cat) in such a “showdown”. Together, cat and crone defeat the dark side of the Father in the royal game of life.
[so like it was a long long time ago]
Let it be known; today the eternal feminine
In an incorruptible body is descending to earth.
In the unfading light of the new goddess,
Heaven has become one with the deeps
Vladimir Soloviev
[revised excerpts from Dancing in the Flames: The Dark Goddess in the Transformation of Consciousness by Marion Woodman & Elinor Dickinson]
Creativity: recently, many mo friends have been questioning and sharing with us, [the storytellers behind The Q/t werd and Nekkyd,] what they think our art is about; we have heard en documented many ideas on the ways to build solidarity among QPOC communities, from a pan-afrikan perspective, yet we haven’t ‘officially’ fleshed out where we coming from and headed yet with this epic of a feature length documentary and series.
reality is, our visions (in dis here epic of a quest) have undergone deep transformashun: in the last 3 year(s) we have crossed different worlds and not only survived, crashed en burned, revived en thrived, but metamorphosed into the kipepeo of our wild dreams. our experiences of rebuilding villages are not what we expected them to be, they have surpassed our wildest fantasies en remind us of heaven on earth; now, alhamdulilah(t) we are grateful for the growing, loving communities, for all the healing and prayers in sacred spaces
in dis’ place here, in the diaspora, we found the source of Mama Afrika again, in her people. In our ancestral legacies en mestizoed religions, speaking black into (our +ve) blood.memories, breaking ugali with bredrin en dadas in prayer en solidarity.
the q_t werd is personal, political en religious:
personal like what you get when a documentary filmmaker/storyteller gets married to other artist/dadas, en where dem and their village produce a (dark) comedy series on lesbian, queer & trans (pan/afrikan) communities & a feature documentary on their ‘personal’ efforts to mobilise resources for queer/trans communities in East Afrika by designing the curriculum and fundraising for a queer/trans youth arts collective (QTYAC) in Kenya & Uganda. [that’s wassup]
the political is, we are far from where we started: individually and collectively, even though we’re back to the storyboard stages again, we’re still in the spaces between (post) production en grant writing.
Our hadithi remains the same, we are still on this (vision) quest to continue (coming into) fulfilling our (right) destinies, still creatively funding our activism, art and village building through strategically chosen jobs and “fly-by-night” ventures.
The bigger point is that, the religious piece isthe big(ga) hadithi, our nekkyd truth is the crux of our salvation and healing wise is, us dreaming of (going) back home with all our first world privileges, friends and families.
2. Compassion: Over a moon ago, we received the best advice we ever got from a wise afrikan womban’s reading of our quest/ion/s. We were reminded that love and truthfulness would have to determine our way of expressing ourselves and that we jus HAD (no choice but) to lovingly and sincerely communicate our thoughts to those around us.
the truth is, we don’t have any ‘official’ funding for our (art) work, and yet we have still been audacious (and over ambitious) enough to work on submitting, not only, a documentary to the Inside Out & Mpenzi before the end of this year, but designing the curriculum and mobilising (people) resources for QTYAC, to be run in Kenya & Uganda from May – August 2011.
Technically, the ‘boring’ or exciting stuff (depending on where you look at it from), that there are nuff people interested in getting move involved with/in our communities back at home, we’re trying because we CAN and if we don’t then folks who don’t know betta than us will prolly try to help us OUT for themselves, we’re doing all a dis’ organising because there’s sayings that go like we have mo to work with, in dis place here in the FIRST world, to serve our communities betta;
3. Courage: a love story
Skeleton woman
– A Tale of the Inuit –
She had done something of which her father disapproved, although no one any longer remembered what it was. But her father had dragged her to the cliffs and thrown her over and into the sea. There, the fish ate her flesh away and plucked out her eyes. As she lay under the sea, her skeleton turned over and over in the currents.
One day a fisherman came fishing, well, in truth many came to this bay once. But this fisherman had drifted far from his home place and did not know that the local fisherman stayed away, saying this inlet was haunted.
The fisherman’s hook drifted down through the water, and caught of all places, in the bones of Skeleton Woman’s rib cage. The fisherman thought, “Oh, now I’ve really got a big one! Now I really have one!” In his mind he was thinking of how many people this great fish would feed, how long it would last, how long he might be free from the chore of hunting. And as he struggled with this great weight on the end of the hook, the sea was stirred to a thrashing froth, and his kayak bucked and shook, for she who was beneath struggled to disentangle herself. And the more she struggled, the more she tangled in the line. No matter what she did, she was inexorably dragged upward, tugged up by the bones of her own ribs.
The hunter had turned to scoop up his net, so he did not see her bald head rise above the waves, he did not see the little coral creatures glinting in the orbs of her skull, he did not see the crustaceans on her old ivory teeth. When he turned back with his net, her entire body, such as it was, had come to the surface and was hanging from the tip of his kayak by her long front teeth.
“Agh!” cried the man, and his heart fell into his knees, his eyes hid in terror on the back of his head, and his ears blazed bright red. “Agh!” he screamed, and knocked her off the prow with his oar and began paddling like a demon toward shoreline. And not realizing she was tangled in his line, he was frightened all the more for she appeared to stand upon her toes while chasing him all the way to shore. No matter which way he zigged his kayak, she stayed right behind, and her breath rolled over the water in clouds of steam, and her arms flailed out as though to snatch him down into the depths.
“Agh!” he wailed as he ran aground. In one leap he was out of his kayak, clutching his fishing stick and running, and the coral white corpse of skeleton woman, still snagged in the fishing line, bumpety-bumped behind right after him. Over the rocks he ran, and she followed. Over the frozen tundra he ran, and she kept right up. Over the meat laid out to dry he ran, cracking it to pieces as his mukluks bore down.
Throughout it all she kept right up, in fact, she grabbed some of the frozen fish as she was dragged behind. This she began to eat, for she had not gorged in a long, long time. Finally, the man reached his snowhouse and dove right into the tunnel and on hands and knees scrabbled his way into the interior. Panting and sobbing he lay there in the dark, his heart a drum, a mighty drum. Safe at last, oh so safe, yes, safe thank the Gods, Raven, yes, thank Raven, yes, and all bountiful Sedna, safe… at…last.
Imagine when he lit his whale oil lamp, there she – it – lay in a tumble upon his snow floor, one heel over her shoulder, one knee inside her rib cage, one foot over her elbow. He could not say later what it was, perhaps the firelight softened her features, or the fact that he was a lonely man… but a feeling of some kindness came into his breathing, and slowly he reached out his grimy hands and using words softly like a mother to child, began to untangle her from the fishing line.
“Oh, na, na, na.” First he untangled the toes, then the ankles. “Oh, na, na, na.” On and on he worked into the night, until dressing her in furs to keep her warm, Skeleton Woman’s bones were all in the order a human’s should be.
He felt into his leather cuffs for his flint and used some of his hair to light a little more fire. He gazed at her from time to time as he oiled the precious wood of his fishing stick and rewound the gut line. And she in the furs uttered not a word – she did not dare – lest this hunter take her out and throw her down to the rocks and break her bones to pieces utterly.
The man became drowsy, slid under his sleeping skins, and soon was dreaming. And sometimes as humans sleep, you know, a tear escapes from the dreamer’s eye; we never know what sort of dream causes this, but we know it is either a dream of sadness or longing. And this is what happened to the man.
Skeleton Woman saw the tear glisten in the firelight and she became suddenly soooo thirsty. She tinkled and clanked and crawled over to the sleeping man and put her mouth to his tear. The single tear was like a river and she drank and drank and drank until her many-years-long thirst was slaked.
While lying beside him, she reached inside the sleeping man and took out his heart, the mighty drum. She sat up and banged on both sides of it: Bom Bomm!…..Bom Bomm!
As she drummed, she began to sing out “Flesh, flesh, flesh! Flesh, Flesh, Flesh!” And the more she sang, the more her body filled out with flesh. She sang for hair and good eyes and nice fat hands. She sang the divide between her legs, and breasts long enough to wrap for warmth, and all the things a woman needs.
And when she was all done, she also sang the sleeping man’s clothes off and crept into his bed with him, skin against skin. She returned the great drum, his heart, to his body, and that is how they awakened, wrapped one around the other, tangled from their night, in another way now, a good and lasting way.
The people who cannot remember how she came to her first ill fortune say she and the fisherman went away and were consistently well fed by the creatures she had known in her life under water. The people say that it is true and that is all they know.
[from women who run with the wolves: myths and stories of the wild woman archetype]
Orunmila says truth is the Lord of Heaven who guides the world rightly.
Osa Otura asks what is ‘truth’
I ask what is truth?
Orunmila says truth is the Unseen One guiding the world in the right way.
The wisdom that Olodumare uses, great wisdom, abundant wisdom.
Osa Otura asks what is ‘truth’
I ask what is truth?
Orunmila says truth is the nature of Olodumare.
Truth is the word that cannot fall. –Ese Ifa, Osa Otura
[blogger’s notes: Leo, hadithi ya kale ni ya egun en, the spaces between reclaiming, our knowledge of orishas]
Egun – our ancestors
Egun is the collective representation of the Ancestors.We often call our Ancestors by the name, Egun, which in Yoruba language means bones.
As we walk upon the Earth our feet press against the bones of the Ancestors on whose shoulders we stand. Like most indigenous cultures of the world, Afrikans believe that those who go before us make us what we are. When we walk on the Earth, we literally stand on the shoulders of those who bodies have been committed to the soil, the water, and the wind.
Our Ancestors influence our lives through heredity and human culture. However, there is an even deeper connection to the Ancestors as active spirits who continue to influence our lives. We humans honor them with altars, music and prayer. They in turn offer us guidance, protection and prosperity.
Esu is the Divine Spirit of Communication, the well-spoken orator who speaks all languages. Esu translates messages between humans and Orisha. Without Esu our prayers would not be understood in heaven and we would be unable to understand the language of Orisha or our ancestors (Egun). Esu is the guardian of the crossroads, as such he opens and closes all doors and ceremonies.
Esu is the owner of ase, the dynamic power that pulses throughout the universe. He is one of the most tactile Orishas constantly stimulated by all he encounters. As such, Esu hates to be bored.As a force in nature Esu is absolutely masculine; however, Esu also has a nurturing side. Esu statues are sometimes sculpted with him having a large, erect penis and well-developed breasts. Esu’s primary colors are red and black.
Ochosi – the tracker/warrior
Ochosi is the Orisa associated with hunting and tracking. Ochosi is a nimble, strong, fast Orisha, a supreme marksman. A “cool” Orisha, Ochoosi is called the “Left-handed Magician”, owing in part, to his ashe of stealth. Yoruba scholar, John Mason writes, that “Ochosi attacks like Ogun, sudden and deadly, yet the victim never sees the assailant or hears the report of the weapon, and that, “Ochosi only has to find a suitable perch and wait for his victims.”
Ochosi helps us to find the most efficacious path to what we aim to achieve. While Esu opens the door and Ogun clears the path, it is Ochoosi who, with bow and arrow aims and creates for us the path of least resistance.
Ogun – …of iron
Ogun is the Spirit of iron in Yoruba culture. Both a hunter and a warrior, Ogun uses an iron machete to cut through dense forest to procure food and medicinal herbs and to protect the lives of the community. Ogun helps us clear physical, psychological, or spiritual obstacles that block our ability to achieve our goals. Similarly, Ogun protects us from physical, psychological, or spiritual dangers.
Obatala…of the white cloth
Obatala, is the chief of the White Cloth, the Orisha who in Yoruba cosmology, first descended from heaven to earth with the tools for making the earth livable for humans. Obatala is considered the father of all orisa and is said to make the inner and outer heads of all humans.
Obatala is associated with purity, ethics and humility. Obatala is the Orisa of the elderly as well as the Orisa of those with physical disabilities.
Aganju – the volcano
Aganju is the Orisa of the Uncultivated Earth, Lord of the Volcano, Lord of Caves, The Divine Ferryman.
Aganjú is most often referred to as the Volcano. He is also the Orisa of untamed lands, from desert to mountains, the brother/husband of Yemoja. Like Olokun, is fabulously wealthy. As Lord of Caves he owns all the mineral wealth of the earth. Aganju is also the navigator, knowing the safe passages and fjords across the river. Followers of Santeria equate him with St. Christopher, for like St. Christopher, he will dance at a bembe with little children on his shoulders. Aganju is the bearer of burdens, (the shoulders and back belong to Aganju) the defender of the helpless, down trodden and enslaved. Aganju is a force of life that overcomes obstacles and does the impossible.
Aganyú is the symbol of all earth forces, particularly the core of the earth, the desert, and the volcano. He represents a brute and regenerative force that is responsible for all cataclysmic upheavals that change the face of earth. Volcanic lava is seen as his fiery breath and his power makes the earth gyrate upon its axis. Aganyú is depicted as the father of Shangó in some patakin, and a younger brother of Shangó in others.
Shango – “King of” King(s)
“Lightning reaches from the Realm of the Ancestors to Earth as a reminder of the humbling power that exists within Nature itself.”
In Ifa, Divine Justice is symbolized by lightning, one of the primal fires of the Earth in existence since the beginning of time. Shango is the Orisha associated with the power of lightning and thunder, as well as the name of the Fourth Alafin (Chief) of Oyo. Oyo was a major Yoruba city and the name of a federation of city-states that existed during the 14th and 15th centuries in West Africa.
Oshun – the river
Oshun is the Orisa associated with fresh water. The name Oshun translates to mean “spring” or “source.” As the Orisa of fresh water, Oshun is the source of all life. She is the owner of the Osun river in Oshogbo, Nigeria. She is a powerful healer, especially as it concerns to issues of conception, women’s health and love relationships.
Oya – Mother of Nine
Oya is the complex Orisha who guides transformation and change in life. As the Goddess of the Winds, she can come as a fierce tornado or hurricane or as a cool breeze on a hot summer day. In her transformative mode she is always moving toward ideal justice for all.
She wants the best for each of us, and sometimes that means taking away our illusions about the world regarding things and people. Oya is also known as the keeper of the Ancestors. In this capacity she serves as the guardian of Egun (Ancestors) at the outskirts of the cemetery, serving as mediator between the living and the sacred dead. There is a Yoruba prayer for Oya that says, “ Ajalaiye, Ajalorun, fun mi ire,” translated as “the winds of Earth and Heaven bring me good fortune.” She moves heaven (ancestors) and earth (living) to create communication between the realms. Finally, as Patron of the Marketplace, Oya is a shrewd businesswoman who reigns over commerce and exchange. Invoke her before you go shopping. Take an offering to her and leave it at the opening to a flea market, and she will smile upon your bargaining. She is also called Iyansan (The Mother of Nine), particularly in Brazil. Her number is nine, and she loves eggplants and red wine. Oya- Iyansan is a complex warrior deity who will go to battle for her children out of love and justice.
Yemoja – mother of fish
Yemoja is the “Mother of the Children of Fishes.” As such, she is the penultimate symbol of motherhood. Yemoja is the all encompassing mother; like the sea, her ability to nurture is vast. Though associated with the ocean in the African Diaspora, in Yorubaland, Yemoja is the Orisa of the Ogun river. Yemoja is associated with the top layers of the ocean-Olokun is considered the deep, deep realm of the Ocean. The Ocean is the largest environment for life on the earth, therefore Yemoja is viewed as the mother who gave birth to civilization and who continues to sustain us.
Olokun – owner of the deep
Olokun is the Orisha of the ocean. In Yorubaland Olokun refers to the entire ocean, but in some areas of the New World, this Orisha refers only to the bottom of the sea, with Yemoja governing the top. In those references the ocean is seen as governed by Yemoja/Olokun.
Hapo mwezi ya kale……kulikuwa na notice from Chief Arvol Looking Horse
(of) A Great Urgency: To All World Religious and Spiritual Leaders
My Relatives,
Time has come to speak to the hearts of our Nations and their Leaders. I ask you this from the bottom of my heart, to come together from the Spirit of your Nations in prayer.
We, from the heart of Turtle Island, have a great message for the World; we are guided to speak from all the White Animals showing their sacred color, which have been signs for us to pray for the sacred life of all things. As I am sending this message to you, many Animal Nations are being threatened, those that swim, those that crawl, those that fly, and the plant Nations, eventually all will be affected from the oil disaster in the Gulf.
The dangers we are faced with at this time are not of spirit. The catastrophe that has happened with the oil spill which looks like the bleeding of Grandmother Earth, is made by human mistakes, mistakes that we cannot afford to continue to make.
I ask, as Spiritual Leaders, that we join together, united in prayer with the whole of our Global Communities. My concern is these serious issues will continue to worsen, as a domino effect that our Ancestors have warned us of in their Prophecies.
I know in my heart there are millions of people that feel our united prayers for the sake of our Grandmother Earth are long overdue. I believe we as Spiritual people must gather ourselves and focus our thoughts and prayers to allow the healing of the many wounds that have been inflicted on the Earth.
As we honor the Cycle of Life, let us call for Prayer circles globally to assist in healing Grandmother Earth (our Unc¹I Maka).
We ask for prayers that the oil spill, this bleeding, will stop. That the winds stay calm to assist in the work. Pray for the people to be guided in repairing this mistake, and that we may also seek to live in harmony, as we make the choice to change the destructive path we are on.
As we pray, we will fully understand that we are all connected. And that what we create can have lasting effects on all life.
So let us unite spiritually, All Nations, All Faiths, One Prayer. Along with this immediate effort, I also ask to please remember June 21st, World Peace and Prayer Day/Honoring Sacred Sites day. Whether it is a natural site, a temple, a church, a synagogue or just your own sacred space, let us make a prayer for all life, for good decision making by our Nations, for our children¹s future and well-being, and the generations to come.
Onipikte (that we shall live),
Chief Arvol Looking Horse
19th generation Keeper of the Sacred White Buffalo Calf Pipe
Big tings’ a gwaan: (pan) afrikan(i)s(ts) reconnecting en relocating with/indigenUS folks everywhere, these are our litanies of survival inviting you to listen to our songs of freedom en healing….
Big tings’ a gwaan like: the fiya this time at blockorama (could eve/n spread through all the tents, streets, en arts enclosures, all thru pride, maybe even straight to the ‘official’ pride tdot committee)
Big tings’ with: (our) word! Sound! Powah!
in solidarity with the all-afrikan people’s revolutionary party, akina mama wa afrika, anitafrika dub theatre, behind the mask, black action defence committee, bunge la mwananchi, coalition of african lesbians, the crux, elimu sanifu, engender, fahamu, gender education and advocacy project, malcolm x grassroots movement, moyo wa africa, ngomeni eco tourism community development project, swagger, Toronto women’s bookstore, Toronto rape crisis centre, Yoruba house project, Zingaro self help group en many more businesses en grassroots groups [to be revealed when we ‘officially’ launch dis’ epic of a video project].
na (many) bredrin en dadas (educating ourselves and others in the practice of freedom,)
(rebuild)in(g) solidarity
within(en outside for) our communities
(this is my prayer…bless those who work for healing, truth, justice, peace & reconciliation)…..
The ground should (potentially) be revolushunary and ripe for organising big love en support for our growth and unity, the reality on dis earth has been in need of ‘the fiya this time’ en healing wota for years en counting….
I know I am just one of many conscious individuals, who have been disturbed by the increased gentrification and imperialism of the powers that be running pride, one of the many members of our communities that have organised more alternatives in celebration of our diversity and that also ran away…still I am one of the many that have made up the vast crowds
For our kind/a (people) masque/e/rading has been an intervention,
rainbow colours a testament to us people that have trans/formed not only ourselves but our communities
en even though I can really only speak from my experience in the last 8 years, for I have to admit that I have gone to every single pride for only as long as I’ve been in Canada, for where I’ve come from there ain’t been no ‘pride’ parade yet, and I sure as heaven haven’t experienced where pride is coming from before 2002, but that is exactly what may make me even more qualified to speak on the gaps in the structure than any one of the folks sitting on the committee right now.
For I am (not) one of u people, i am the sista outsider en revolushunary insider, (mis)placed betwixt, those ‘other’ people who are between so many communities, longing to go back home (to another place, not here…)
I was among the ones who were left behind in the entrails of ancient afrikan times, times dun changed (again) en there’s a reason it’s not taboo to go back for what you’ve forgotten, so
dear pride, I think it’s time we revised some tings, put the ‘real’ back in multicultural and go a lil deeper than we think we’re able or willing to….
Right back to when tings were (really) different, So I know, that there are many others who might disagree with me, or not feel as strongly about ‘the crisis’ in the state of tings, but in my opinion, it’s overdue for radical shake-ups in pride, the current committee has failed in the mission and spirit of Pride, and we have many more who are more than qualified, willing and able to run the committee, it’s time to (really) open tings up, less overconsumption of alcohol en more fundraisers for queer/trans groups in ‘third world’ countries, like for real, don’t you know at least 15 organisations that could really use some money in legal, security and administration fees, in say, Africa? That could be a good place to pick up the tab from last year, or why don’t you try nominating an afrikan again as pride marshall, there’s many more warriors who would love the platform to raise awareness on queer/trans rights, who have already dedicated so much of their energy, resources en time, in such a relatively short time, like say pouline kimani, audrey mbugua, nikki mawanda, chan mubanga, fikile vilakazi, d’bi young.anitaafrika or Zanele Muholi, and there are many many more to choose from…….
This comment is ofcourse a direct reference to how just last year you nominated Victor Mukasa as the International Grand Marshall, passed the buck in alot of the organising for hir reception, and other than giving hir a nominal amount to donate to the organisation of hir choice, an interview on the xtra website, a small blurb in the pride issue focusing on Helen Kennedy’s pet project, other than Alison duke’s work, en the interview with other Ugandans on the forefront of LGBT activism produced by Mary Tangelder en commissioned by ‘another’ group, other than Zanele muholi’s art-bios en the warriors of (the group formerly known as) pride Uganda organising, celebrating en documenting our AFRIKAN stories in the making, if it were not for these people, key milestones might not have really registered.
But these comments ain’t no ‘hate’ on pride,
read them as a litany of love for what really ‘makes’ pride, pride……
everyone knows it’s US…. ‘the people’….
from the ‘straight’ outsiders, to cliquey ‘insiders’, the photographers, volunteers, the floats en agitators, the masque/e/raders, youth en elders,
ALL the people of colour en the tourists, the vendors and the artists, activists en families….
so we already know that we’ve got nuff ‘other’ people ready for accessible, bigger, safer and more fun prides….we know we’re ready for a revolution, one that includes the liberation of all oppressed peoples, and not just vip tickets, token nominations and assimilation into oppressive status quos, and definitely not about giving, say blockorama less to organise with, or say, banning queer Israelis against apartheid from the parade…..so THIS time at pride we’ll be recruiting bredrin and dadas in (working class) solidarity and interviewing ordinary people for dis’ documentary en web series that is dedicated not only to the liberation of ALL Afrikans, but ALL people.
we already been collecting these hadithi for moons now, for you see, we come with our legacies of wom(b)anspeaking en manifesting powah!
the q/t werd is a (real/raw en) mystic, organic, us-people driven caravan of pan-afrikan myths, legends en our (kinda) super/s/heroes, we’re sharing OUR stories with everyone out there, we warn you we have not only just begun, en the fiya (en clean wota) this time, (en) next moon(s), will be/is/always has been divine….. 😉
we’re officially counting down to the launch of Nekkyd & The Q werd web series on the 1st of July, and in honour of bredrin and dadas in solidarity (BA-DIS) na elimu sanifu,
we dedicate this moon’ to egun en living ‘extraordinary’ people that are featured in the Q/t werd.
Bless those who pray en work not only for their own good but for others, en bless our good earth, healers, cooks, farmers, artists, teachers and wotas.
On Sankofa en santeria: a study of our (great) ancestors and mestizoed cultures, recent and ancient, from Michael Jackson, Tajudeen Abdul Raheem, Miriam Makeba, Audre Lorde, Elijah Masinde, Che Guevara, Malcolm X, Marcus Garvey, to Queen Nzinga, Nana Yaa Asantewaa, gran nanny of the maroons, the legendary Nyabinghi Muhumusa, orishas and many (many) more hadithi…..
Molisa wa NyaKale 