The sun was just setting as we made our way down the track to the cabula; a tiny purpose built brick building not much bigger than a shed. You could walk past it and have no idea what it housed. The power that was seated there.
Myself and two Tata’s silently plodded along, each considering what was to come. I hadn’t been back to my House’s cabula for a year and a lot had changed for me since then.
I could feel the nerves start to build and my blood begin to feel heavy as a small amount of fear crept up my back and onto my shoulders. The worst outcome being that nothing happened – was I worthy of their time? Their attention?
I was still bargaining with Exu and Pomba Gira as shoes were kicked off and we entered the darkness one by one. The air was thick and then it hit me; the smell. Their smell.
That intoxicating scent of alcohol and stale cigar smoke that brought all of the feelings of home rushing towards me. A smile slipped across my face as I drank it in.
It might just be alright.
As we moved in darkness towards the firmeza I could see a line of Exus against one wall all watching, some intensely and some less so, some fidgeted or moved, others were as still as a corpse.
The depths of my stomach swirled with trepidation.
I played my part in the proceedings with the Tata’s leading and supporting in every way possible, trying to ensure I felt confident and comfortable in my connection.
Which I didn’t.
Not at all.
The air changed and one of the Tata’s was overcome by Pomba Gira. She laughed heartily and smiled sweetly at me, knowing I was sat facing my greatest ally and emotional nemesis.
Fuck.
The woman knows everything.
The tears began to roll down my cheeks as this spirit whom people label as ‘vengeful’ and ‘cruel’ loved me, held me and brought to my attention some deep issues I have with mother figures; with being part of a family.
With being accepted.
Unbeknown to me I had been avoiding her. She knew who I truly was and that was scary. When I have been myself previously it has not been with the right people, I was punished for it. Repeatedly.
But now is the time.
I am not too much.
Before Pomba Gira left she held her head against my heart and whispered to me. She loved me. She loved my heart.
I left the cabula feeling like I had just done ten rounds with Oprah. Now I knew where my buried issues had led it was time to stop letting them dictate my relationships, my personality and my life.
I had to stop expecting to be rebuked or sexualised if I loved people in the way that was natural to me; if I existed just as myself.
The morning after I realised my whole world had changed. I had changed.
Some wouldn’t expect this type of guidance from a spirit born of fire and midnight, often seen as just a hired gun, a harlot and an assassin, and they would be very VERY wrong.
Salve Pomba Gira! Laroye!
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The sun was just setting as we made our way down the track to the cabula; a tiny purpose built brick building not much bigger than a shed. You could walk past it and have no idea what it housed. The power that was seated there. Myself and two Tata’s silently plodded along, each considering […] -
The sun was just setting as we made our way down the track to the cabula; a tiny purpose built brick building not much bigger than a shed. You could walk past it and have no idea what it housed. The power that was seated there. Myself and two Tata’s silently plodded along, each considering […] -
The sun was just setting as we made our way down the track to the cabula; a tiny purpose built brick building not much bigger than a shed. You could walk past it and have no idea what it housed. The power that was seated there. Myself and two Tata’s silently plodded along, each considering […] -
The sun was just setting as we made our way down the track to the cabula; a tiny purpose built brick building not much bigger than a shed. You could walk past it and have no idea what it housed. The power that was seated there. Myself and two Tata’s silently plodded along, each considering […] -
The sun was just setting as we made our way down the track to the cabula; a tiny purpose built brick building not much bigger than a shed. You could walk past it and have no idea what it housed. The power that was seated there. Myself and two Tata’s silently plodded along, each considering […]
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