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Wrong, said the Trickster Gede mounting me.

i've come to tell you a secret.
Hold my satchel. Look inside.

There are implacable patterns governing Caesar's minions,
which they themselves don't know.

(Trickster's far off disembodied voice gets louder.)

Keep this secret as your own psychic tool. if you share it, it loses its strength. its pwen.

What secret?

if it wasn't me in camouflage, making room for the pain the Fatalists (Racists) was able, for so long, to inflict on folks i share a gene pool with, who was responsible for my 500-plus years of systemic disenfranchisement?

And the Guede Trickster, he replied, "Legend has it," he said, "that having no experience with pregnancy and the absorption of another's flesh within itself, ONE powerful man freaked out from the mental anguish and outwardly equated his primordial nothingness with inferiority."

And yes, hating His limitations, running from himself, clinging to body and intellect to buoy up his manufactured, false faiths, He subconsciously blamed that which He could not grip.

And by the Fifteenth Century, having suppressed His own masses, the descendants of such a fearful psyche, ruthlessly went global. He literally projected, equating Black people and other handy surrogates with what He feared would swamp him.

That's the genesis of the unconscious energy, the metaphysical veil, the root pattern that vies for the soul of Black folks.

This pattern that vies for the souls of Black folks is on automatic pilot.

it's like a cancerous cell that's metastasized.

The denial of His no-thing-ness on Earth has created the last 500-plus years, or,
is it 6000, 20,000-years -a gazillion years- of defenses.

His idea is that there is hierarchy and superiority in a particular mind because of
that mind's external mold, its gender and race. Except, there's no place on Earth where high and low are not one.


And the Trickster told me also, he said,

"You entered it on an Autumnal Equinox. But the way to the nightmare is manifold. The unconscious patterns gripping you were set in motion long before the so-called "New World" culture came into being, from time unremembered. Even before Cain and Abel."


What you're saying is that this one Man's fear of mental death, His fear of returning to a place where personality, history, selfhood, names are all erased; His fear of entering into the source of life, the incomprehensible but holy dark abyss, where our divisions are gone, that's the fear that has got our "New World" societies, putting a cultural stigma to the skin of children sliding down my birth canal? "Yes, it's this groundless fear," the Trickster insisted, "that's got Officialdom refining the art of killing Black babies, co-opting the educated Black, creating cohorts, imprisoning, warehousing, the young and virile Black men and making assembly-line, carbon-copied-pious-but-disappointed Black women fanning themselves silly in "Diiizzos" cries all the while pregnant with love, but forever havin' no-outlet-for-love."

"What?" i said.

Ommmm, Ayibobo, Ommmm, Ayibobo


(c) 2000 Ezili Dantò. Excerpted from The Red, Black & Moonlight monologue series; based on Kenbe La! Crossings of a Vodun-Roots Woman by Ezili Dantò. All rights reserved.

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