I have had interesting conversations the past few days, surrounding this past weekend’s fete, with some interesting chewy thoughts as a result.

I think, if/when we become part of Haitian vodou, we are doing ourselves a disservice if we forget that we are embracing a religion of revolution. Vodou is a living, breathing religion based in upsetting status quo and re-balancing the scales in favor of pitit de lwa yo/the children of the lwa and those who seek the intercession of the lwa. It is a pragmatic religion in that it sees the value of the people who come to the door, but it requires the ability to fully participate in the process of revolution.

When we come to the door and ask for admittance, no matter who we are, we consent to beginning this revolution. It begins within us first because if we do not burn, how do we bring fire to the world at large? We must constantly be working to refine and undo what keeps us and the world we interact with out of balance. We aren’t promised stasis or comfort, we are promised that, if we do the work, we will have the tools to manage those things and to find temporary balance.

This is bloody business. Revolution is not easy, straightforward, or painless. It hurts. It demands we examine every crack, crevice, and closet in our life and drag out the dark pudding of the soul that eats at us like a malignant fungus. It takes prisoners. It unravels who we think we are, and presents an opportunity to rebuild if we are willing to fight for it. It spares nothing and it doesn’t bend to our whims or our assumptions about what it will be for us. It demands our best efforts and our ability to be humble when we are faced with adversity.

We certainly fall and fail in the process. There is not one of us who is perfect and without fault but we are expected to get up and get to work, if we choose to remain. There is the expectation that, as we got to the door and knocked, we will bring that resiliency with us and embrace as we are embraced–completely, soft spots and all–and participate in the religion as it is presented to us.

A lot of stuff changes when we embrace this revolution. Some things fall away. Some things become more important. Some things morph so completely that we don’t recognize them any more. Some things are sacrificed for something better. My mother told me once that, in pursuit of what the lwa offer or want, there is no sacrifice that is too big or too small. What you place at the feet as the lwa–the masters of this revolution–determines what they give to you. You get what you put in.

Vodou is hard. It’s supposed to be, because life is hard. Life is like the edge of a machete, and that can be humbling. The upside? If we put our very best forward, listen to our teachers, and move with humility, we find ourselves unshakable with spines of iron and burning bloody hearts. When you walk through fire and come out the other side, there’s not a whole lot that can undo you.

When we find ourselves in that place, the bloody business of vodou takes on a depth of beauty that keeps your heart burning. When Feray comes down screaming and howling and pounds your chest his hand and tears in his eyes, you have goosebumps because this is how he tells you he loves you. When Ezili Freda cries, you know it is because of her own burning desire for the best life possible. When Gede blows smoke in your face and cackles when you cough, you know his sacraments bring life to what is otherwise dead in you. Even when they come unhappy, it because they want the best for you, in their own beautiful burning way.

If we want all of the benefits, we have to do all of the work. It can be so hard sometimes, but things that are worth having take bloody chunks out of you and replace them with all the gifts that we could want. It is a product of Western culture that the default assumption is that religions and spiritual systems will be easy, comforting, immediately accessible, only present us with what we think we want and need, and comforting in the fluffy-pillow-and-baby-ducks way. Instead, we work and grow and push through because we learn it is worth it to fight to see another day, especially when we learn how to breath fire and swallow discomfort.

~ by Alex on May 21, 2018.