We eat. We have eaten. We elaborate.


I was going to dedicate this post to Obatala. The upcoming divergence in the wood changed my mind, besides it wasn’t Sunday — Some habits take longer to change — Everything today is upside down anyway — And then I read this: “The extensive use of white clothing, which is associated with the worship of Oxalá, has become a symbol of Candomblé in general.[2] Friday is the day dedicated to the worship of Oxalá” Despite, my initiation in a syncretic Umbanda house, the cosmology had become Americanized, we went with the Santeros and put their day on Sunday, rather than the traditional Friday, a little like Chinese food penetrating every corner of the world — like the Chinese-American food of my suburban last century-youth, when I ate the ‘real’ thing it was a revelation, capable of rewriting taste buds dulled by salt, sugar, and fat, into something ecstatic, a primordial lineage of communion. Although, I decided not to write about it today.
I should know better. My root-mother would say “When you experience trance (Incorporation) for the first time, you realize ecstasy is your birthright, suppressed by our culture from birth.” We often would say, “You don’t find the Orisha or the Lwa, they find you.”
I believe, although I’m doing my best to avoid belief, many get it wrong by assuming they created the snowstorm. The snowstorm created us. Although, it helps if you choose it.

May you have a wonderful day, full of ashe y’all,


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