Forgetful Muntu,
Remember those times
When the unborn Orichas
Lived dead among their children
And silently let their images
Invent roads to the rivers
And mornings to the winds.
In the first hour …
—Ancient the instant,
The burning fire
Into ashes changed‑-
Father Olofi,
With water, land, and sun
Still tepid from the warmth of his hands,
Etched the mortals’ fate,
Their passions,
Their doubts,
Their unbreakable bond with the dead.
Mystery of the tinder and the spark
He places in their fingers,
The net and the hook,
The spear, the hammer,
The needle and thread.
Horses, elephants, and camels
He made subordinate to your fist.
And in the waters of ocean and river
He will push his rafts with your oars.
To establish balance and justice
The prodigal earth among all did he divide,
Including plants as well as animals.
Men he made to perish
And the dead, lords of life,
He declared forever immortal.
I sing not for the living,
Only for you,
Powerful Orichas,
Eyes, ears, tongue,
Naked skin,
Open lid,
Deep stare of time,
Disembodied owners of the shadows,
Owners of the light when the sun sleeps.
Let my ear see your voices
In the falling leaves,
In the birds’ swift shadow,
In the light that does not grow damp,
In the seed’s breath,
In the earthen oven.
Here shall I name you
Where our children were born,
Where your bones find repose,
In the terrible moment
At the time of departure,
Hurled by Changó
To unknown seas and lands.
I shall speak to your hierarchs in order.
First to you, Odumare Nzame,
Great procreator of the world,
Spirit of birth, never death,
Fatherless, motherless.
I speak to your shadow Olofi,
Projected over the earth.
And to your other flame,
Your invisible light, your thought,
Baba Nkwa.
Disperse
Your light-gusts
Throughout sidereal space.
The three separated,
The three united,
Three immortal spirits.
I repeat your name, Olofi,
Shadow of Odumare Nzame,
His hand, his light, his strength
To rule the earth.
I shall invoke your son Obatalá,
In black mud
Kneaded by your fingers,
With astral eyes and luster,
Manual wisdom,
Inventor of the word,
Of fire, home,
Arrows and bows.
Come here, Mother Odudúa,
First woman,
Also by Olofi created,
In the ample
And uninhabited mansion,
Lover of his son to be,
His shadow by day,
His moon by night,
Forever
His sole companion.
I shall name your only children:
Aganyú, the great progenitor,
And his sister Yemayá,
Who alone roamed the world,
Sharing the moon, the sun,
And the sleeping waters …
Until one night,
More beautiful than their father,
A lightning flash in their eyes,
From the bowels of the Oricha
Emerged Orungán.
And Aganyú himself,
Their repentant father,
Filled with jealousy,
Agitated by their light
Slowly,
A simmering log,
Extinguished his life.
Later …
Years, centuries, days,
An instant …
Ravaged by his son,
With sorrow and shame
For the incestuous engenderment
In the mountains high
Yemayá sought refuge.
And seven days expired,
Amid thunder, storm, and flash.
From her entrails removed
Were born the holy ones,
The fourteen Orichas.
Hear me,
Tormented,
Lonely
Orphan Yemayá!
I shall safeguard the aqua‑rhythm you made to voice
The tone of falling rain,
The shine of stars that moisten our eyes.
My word will be an incendiary chant,
A crackling fire,
A melody that arouses your ear.
These odors of damp earth,
Sea,
Rivers,
Swamps,
Cascades,
Odors of furrows, clouds, jungles, and crocodiles,
Odors of earth fertilized
By the waters of Mother Yemayá
After giving birth to the Orichas,
Her fourteen children
In a single, tempestuous delivery.
Invocation to the Great Orichas
I name you, Changó,
Father of storms
With your bull’s phallus,
Colossal lightning bolt.
Oba, Oshún and Ohá,
Your sister concubines,
Goddesses of the rivers
You impregnate in a single nuptial night.
I invoke you, Dada!
Oricha of life,
Your breath you hide in your seed.
Protector of fertilized wombs,
Childbirth vigilante,
Blood of the placenta,
Incipient waters you guide.
Children all,
Children of Yemayá!
Butch‑dyke Olokún!
Husband...
