Oshun's Day

[jorgemorejon]

Pain of Cuba
body I am 
My orphanhood I live
                                                     Ana Mendieta

Oshun's Day: The Displacemnt of the Saints

The section on Scope of Forced Displacement: Facts and Figures of the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees’ report documented in year 2005 that there are “39 million

Comments

Oshun

[jrudakoff]

Iboru Iboye Ibochiche...

There are stories of the "sweet" waters of Lake Ontario that aren't "sweet" at all. There are stories about free flowing movement as Oshun's rivers need to be. There are stories of La Caridad's shrimp which are forbidden to her people and only for the tourists. There are stories about honey and dabbing the inside of the elbow somewhere in the Escambray Mountains. There are stories about laughter and peacock fans and five copper bracelets. There are stories about the smell of forbidden coffee beans, burnt over a wood fire. There are stories about turning up the radio to hide the sound of whispering voices. There are stories about a little piglet named after someone's screeching wife that became a caldoza. There are stories about beauty. There are stories about ugliness. There are stories about finding and embracing them both.

Re: Oshun

[jorgemorejon]

Every story I don't know hurts. Every story I am familiar with hurts. I cry as I read your words. Could you share your stories with me?

Re: Oshun

[jrudakoff]

my stories are a mirror, un espejo, of your stories. I will share everything I have experienced with you if you will forgive me for having the experiences without you. You are a ghost in all these stories. Not invisible, for invisibilty means that you are not engaged. A ghost has a tie to the place and time, and a reason for being there. I am a bridge to your home only because I am invisible.

Oshun

[jorgemorejon]

How can I not forgive you for having those experiences without me? Your stories are a mirror of my own stories; not forgiving you is like not forgiving myself. You are a ghost, a mirror, a bridge to my homeland because you have been there, because you have lived it.

I am engaged and for that I pay a high price. It is not something I chose, or perhaps I did, perhaps we did. Maybe Oshun can tell us con su espejo magico por que estamos aqui y no alla. Why are we invisibly engaged with each other's stories; why are we tied to this time and place?

I feel the dew of her fresh water on my face. I feel her breath on my ears susurrando encantos. I dance under her skirt like a child looking for his mother's warming thighs. I, ghost like, let my soul fly on her bossom and see the green mountains again. I feel a breeze that reminds me of who I was, aire fresco del campo. Oshun me mira and with a smile me lanza una vez mas al horizonte azul.