Baron Samedi spoke to me in a dream and told me to fish for frogs in the valley pools behind Fort Jacques, collecting them in a sizable earthen pot, marked with a vevè in blood, then, holding the strange oblation high, to the unseen heavens, with heart poised and eyes shut tight, I must sing out in gusto with the old French song "Fèy", voice pure, heart pure. At this invitation and offering, the spirited Iwa will be piqued to animation and flood the scene with their astral puissance. "Your heart will sing when the Iwa smile and sail in from distant Bondye", he assured me. The next instruction was as follows; in the full effulgence of soltice moonlight, take the contents of the pot and render as a fine broth, mixing with ginger and herbs from the old Baptiste farm. Once imbibed, you will walk with your guide Papa Legba beyond the crossroads into the world of the dead. Maman Brigitte will meet you. Her eyes will be your eyes as you continue to the temple beyond the gate.
Comments
Indeed. Thanks so much. Just attended a punk gig in Maylands and talk of you and your bro arose. I wish you paroxysmal voodoo reveries and communion with transcendental Bondye as you navigate your Saturday!
Another superb exploration mate, we've come a long way from The Serpent And The Rainbow, for sure.