Living a nomadic life is exceptionally freeing but it has it’s disadvantages; especially with some of my spiritual practices. I am fortunate enough to have regular conversations with the spirits of the mountains and the Heather growing on a hillside but when it comes to having a Tronco, living in a small Campervan in the Highlands of Scotland with a big clumsy Dobermann, makes it a little difficult.
I was feeling a little disconnected from Quimbanda.
An area which is dedicated to Exu and Pomba Gira simply doesn’t exist in my daily life. I had become accustomed to having their ritual items in a cupboard that would be dragged out every Friday and Monday. I had no space to safely build their energy, no place of devotion or space simply for ‘us’.
Finding supplies in rural Scotland is difficult, there are no Botanicas or Spiritual Stores at all. Mutter the word ‘occult’ and people are following you out of the village ensuring you are nowhere near their cattle, and panicked phone calls are made to the vicar ‘just in case’.
No option of mail either; I had no address.
I had to go back to basics; liquor, cigarettes and the crossroads.
I was concerned that because Exu and Pomba Gira didn’t have a dedicated space and all the finery that other Quimbanderios provided, that they would disregard me, ignore my communications and not see me as worthy.
‘Why should we bother with her if she hasn’t even got an Altar for us!?’ was my fear. After all, these spirits are not especially benign and they know their worth. They do not suffer fools gladly.
They do not suffer fools at all actually.
After a week of feeling completely disconcerted by my situation I just shoved it to the back of my mind in between ‘when are you actually going to start eating less chips?’ and ‘at what point are you going to settle down?’
I focused on other things.
Late one evening I found myself in the middle of a forest, hours from any kind of settlement surrounded by a silence that usually only accompanies death on a midnight stroll. Nestled between a mountain and a Loch there was a darkness that is hard to describe; both nothing and everything all at once. A new moon meant the light was minimal but the stars beckoned for attention like diamonds on black velvet.
I put out the wild campfire as the temperature was beginning to turn, and with snow already capping the surrounding mountains I didn’t want to take any chances of waking up with ice on the inside of the van again. I made sure everything was secure and precautions had been taken before grabbing the thickest blanket in existance and diving under it with the dog.
My bed hogging, furry, hot water bottle.
The small interior of the Camper was lit by two candles. As I lay there debating on what tomorrow would bring and the age old question of ‘what the fuck am I doing with my life?’ I could feel the temperature dropping. I glanced to my right and he was looking back at me.
I had never seen anything like it in my life.
A dapper man in a black suit; exuding confidence and sexual charisma. His posture was immaculate and I could feel the potency shimmering under his poised surface. I am not sure this was the side of him he was most comfortable with; the savagery was there but domination through seduction was his energetic signature this time. But may be not again. His eyes stared straight into mine.
The eyes from his reptilian face.
Then he was gone.
Got to tell you, weird being attracted to a man with a reptilian face… is he still a man!? What does the skin look like under the suit?
Anyway…
Then, nothing.
I wrote down every detail about him that I could and hit the books to find out who I had just met.
Exu Mangueira – Exu of the Mango Tree.
As soon as I had a name and read all the information I had on him I promptly fell asleep surrounded by books and materials on my evenings visitor.
I awoke the following day questioning my encounter.
Why me? Why him? What was the point? Maybe I was just tired…
Exu Mangueira is not in my court, I had a passing knowledge of him but nothing to warrant a visit such as the one I had experienced. This was the first solid manifestation of Exu I had seen and my ridiculous logical mind was trying to explain it away.
The following day I received a call from a friend which resulted in me driving 13 hours south to give a little Macumba support after what had been a very rough time.
I arrived and got straight to work in the kitchen; reading the space, removing any grey and shuffling imprints out the door. I then moved onto creating a spiritual bath under the guidance of Pomba Gira, true to form, when the bath was ready Pomba Gira blew on the back of my neck like the ‘ding’ of the microwave.
Love that woman.
Letting the bath cool, I headed to the hearth and topped up the dwindling fire. As soon as the doors on the woodburner were closed all of the flames converged into a huge snake head front and centre. The noise that came from the fire was tremendous as the face held my gaze before rushing towards the doors of the burner, straight in my direction.
I toppled backwards.
‘Believe me NOW!? Get on with it.’
Exu Mangueira had clearly made a second house call and this time I could no longer explain it away.
The lack of a dedicated space for Exu and Pomba Gira didn’t matter. Me not burning their candles on a Friday. Them temporarily living in a cupboard under the bed where I slept. My Portuguese being absolutely shocking. That didn’t matter to them. I was digging deep in my way at their crossroads laden with liquor and cigarettes, thanking them for every step they take with me.
That is enough.
Whiskey and Cigars all round.
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Living a nomadic life is exceptionally freeing but it has it’s disadvantages; especially with some of my spiritual practices. I am fortunate enough to have regular conversations with the spirits of the mountains and the Heather growing on a hillside but when it comes to having a Tronco, living in a small Campervan in the […] -
Comparing Pomba Gira to another spirit to help you make sense of her or syncretising her is foolish. There is nothing more frustrating than someone saying Ezili Dantor and Pomba Gira are the same. It is an insult to both of them, they are both exceptionally powerful SEPARATE women.
And, honestly, women aren’t supposed to make sense. We are complex creatures, (ideally) ever evolving to become exactly who we want to. Sovereign.
So putting female spirits in a neat little understandable box is almost throwing down the gauntlet. Pomba Gira will burn your box to the ground.
What Pomba Gira can help with – pretty much anything if you pick the right Pomba Gira.
However…
Be aware that Pomba Gira can be a very blunt spirit, sometimes with the creepiest, meanest sense of humour ever, other times she is a complete doll. It depends on which Pomba Gira you are working with, and it truly pays to know, that way you can tailor your approach.
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Living a nomadic life is exceptionally freeing but it has it’s disadvantages; especially with some of my spiritual practices. I am fortunate enough to have regular conversations with the spirits of the mountains and the Heather growing on a hillside but when it comes to having a Tronco, living in a small Campervan in the […] -
Living a nomadic life is exceptionally freeing but it has it’s disadvantages; especially with some of my spiritual practices. I am fortunate enough to have regular conversations with the spirits of the mountains and the Heather growing on a hillside but when it comes to having a Tronco, living in a small Campervan in the […] -
Living a nomadic life is exceptionally freeing but it has it’s disadvantages; especially with some of my spiritual practices. I am fortunate enough to have regular conversations with the spirits of the mountains and the Heather growing on a hillside but when it comes to having a Tronco, living in a small Campervan in the […]
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