He explained that spirit visitations are generally made by family members and close friends. Elpidio further explained that spirit-time spans generations. Therefore, possession by spirits who lived long ago is a common occurrence. When I asked how the orishas differ from the spirits, he smiled and said, “Think of them as spirits that reached the highest level of evolution and were transformed into the forces of nature. They are the elements that give us life. They are nature itself.”
Inspired by his explanation, Zenaida said, “The paths of the spirits and orishas require lifelong study, dedication, and commitment. When you are claimed by the spirits and orishas, you are destined for a divine journey filled with spiritual responsibilities. Today was just the beginning.”
Continuing his orientation session with me, Elpidio said that we are all born with guardian angels and orishas. “It is our task in life to connect both to our spirits and to nature’s energy forces in order to have health, happiness, and prosperity in our lives.”
Zenaida added pensively, “When the soul and body are healthy and your state of mind is positive, everything is possible; nothing can stop you.”
I was gradually coming to understand that when the spirits and orishas claim you, it is a blessing that brings significant responsibilities. Both Zenaida and Elpidio assured me that there was nothing to fear. It was their belief that a positive religious journey opened up pathways to new knowledge that helped the seeker find prosperity on Earth and in the spirit world.
Elpidio and Zenaida’s love of Espiritismo and Santería was evident in their dedication to protect and pass on the religion through both their natural and religious families. Throughout the day, people came seeking advice and guidance from both of them. Their home was a meeting place and a temple, a crossroads for Santería worshipers, who ranged from teachers and artists to government workers and community folk. I could feel the apartment vibrating with aché, facilitating conversations among divergent groups, providing direction and information that could assist initiates in finding out about future rituals and social events.
Elpidio would generally sit in the back bedroom with his godsons, discussing at length the complex and profound meaning of the odus and patakís, the literary poems of Ifá. He explained that it is the responsibility of the Ifá priest to study each of the sixteen major odus and their meanings, in order to develop the skills necessary to help solve the problems of clients. He explained that the patterns represented by the odus allow the diviner to identify the patakí that will provide a solution to the practitioner’s problem. He also confided that while it is important for the priest to have an engaging and tender manner in order to put his clients at ease, ultimately it is the success of his predictions that makes people return for advice. Elpidio’s manner was usually very soothing; however, I noticed that when the situation required his admonishing a client for not following Orula’s instructions, he did not hesitate to show great strength and determination. I was discovering that the philosophy embodied in the legends of the orishas remained central to the religion. In my later travels to Brazil, I found that diviners there also hold an esteemed position in the religious community. Unlike in Cuba, women in Brazil are prominent members of the circle of diviners. Casting cowry shells and obí, four coconut pieces, women in Brazil are equal in skill to their male counterparts.
According to historians, the Portuguese in Brazil feared the power of the babalawos among enslaved Africans, and they hunted the holy men down and killed them. Priestesses in Brazil rose to fill the void. When I visited the Yoruba sacred city of Ile Ife, Nigeria, in 1981, I learned that unlike the Cuban religious system, women were allowed to initiate in the Ifá system once they had completed menopause. Observing Zenaida as she assisted Elpidio in his preparations, it was evident that she had mastered the meaning of the patterns formed by the oguele. Her eyes sparkled with understanding, as she silently formed the names of the odus that appeared on the divining tray—the opon Ifá. For me, the varying ways that practices have survived in the Americas reflects the strength of the orishas to adapt to the conditions they found in each country.
Other times, Elpidio would show his godsons how to consult with the divining chain for a client. As the elder, he would watch as his godsons divined and provided the advice that was dictated by the symbols of the odu and accompanying poems. Always pushing the boundaries of his godson’s studies, Elpidio would then add poems and possibilities for interpretations they had not considered. A loving father and mentor, he made certain that all of his students continued to think and expand their information base. Elpidio constantly indicated to us that Santería is a religion that requires study.
“The more we learn, the more we understand what we need to know,” was Elpidio’s mantra. His favorite way of stressing the point was to say, “No one knows what is at the bottom of the ocean—Yemayá is the only one who knows what is in her house. It is up to us to discover what secrets she holds, if she allows us to. All the orishas have a wealth of information to offer us, and we can figure it out only when we dedicate ourselves to studying.”
Often, he would show us his library of books and endless files of stories he had accumulated over the years, all neatly catalogued according to the symbols of divination. Since he had godchildren and friends spread throughout the world, Elpidio constantly received books and research papers that further expanded his studies. When he locked himself in the back room, everyone knew to remain quiet and respect his study time.
In the living room, Zenaida would generally gather with women friends as they cleaned the rice and black beans and seasoned the meat for ceremonial feasts. In the kitchen, men and women gathered to prepare objects that were needed for rituals. Sometimes elekes were strung; other times they made raffia curtains to cover the entrance of a ceremonial room.
The evening after the misa in which my mother’s spirit had come to speak with me, I asked both Elpidio and Zenaida to be my godparents and mentors. We talked late into the night. Finally, Elpidio started feeling the weight of his long day and suggested that we continue our conversation the next day, since he still had to run an errand with Javier and Ernesto before retiring to bed. After they left, Zenaida secretively informed me that Elpidio had commissioned a craftsman to create a specially designed divining board for Javier. This would be their last stop before Javier went into isolation to prepare for his weeklong Ifá initiation.
To me, Javier’s isolation meant that I would not see him for a week, when he would be presented to the Santería community in a public ceremony called El Yoye. Sensing my concern, Zenaida smiled and said, “Now we can really concentrate on your learning about Santería.”
In retrospect, it amazes me how natural these first spiritual encounters in Cuba felt to me. Rather than experiencing any apprehension or fear, I felt a part of my new environment. My mother and Ma Mina had both been correct. I felt at home. Zenaida was like a sister, mother, and friend, all rolled into one. Elpidio was an elder father, grandfather, and uncle who was always available. Instinctively, I knew that if I were blindfolded and asked to fall backward, Elpidio and Zenaida would be there to stop my fall. Zenaida, delighted with my request, was thrilled that I would be her first godchild.
Given my short stay in Cuba, Zenaida decided that we would have similar learning sessions every evening. She lovingly admonished Elpidio by saying, “Marta is my first godchild, and she will be living far away from me. I want her to learn as much as possible before she leaves. We are her godparents and must properly prepare her in the ways of Santería—La Regla de Ocha.”
Elpidio nodded his head in agreement, and with a crafty smile he added, “I always do what she says; tomorrow we will discuss the orishas.” Then, before leaving the apartment, he said, “Mark this date in your calendar. Today was an important day in your spiritual development. From now on your madrina and I will guide your development in the religion. Remember you are now a representative of this religious family, and we expect that you will study and
follow the teachings of our home.”
After the men left, Zenaida suggested that I spend the night. She reminded me that Santería was an active experience, something you live and breathe, not merely something you experience through books. “This week will be your introductory course in Santería.” Having me close to her meant that I would be learning by observing and assisting her in the basic tasks that noninitiates were allowed to perform. Then she explained that as I advanced in the steps of initiation, my responsibilities would grow. She found a notepad and a pencil for me and instructed me to take notes and write down questions in preparation for our nightly meetings. In addition, she wanted me to keep a journal of my daily experiences and feelings, so I could create my own manual, to which I could always refer.
It seemed strange to me that Zenaida didn’t have godchildren, since she was at the center of her Santería community. When I asked her about this, she explained that the responsibility of a madrina is even greater than that of a natural mother, since the madrina cares for both the spiritual and daily life of her godchildren. She stressed that it is a serious commitment and a responsibility that cannot be taken lightly.
However, she went on to explain that at a recent registro, divination session, the orisha Orula indicated that she had to accept the next person who came to her in search of a madrina. She could no longer refuse her destiny; it was time to give birth to a Santería family of her own.
“I always follow the advice of the orishas,” said Zenaida emphatically. “They have saved me from death several times.” She explained that it was due to the orishas that she was able to walk so soon after a spinal operation. The doctors had predicted that she would be crippled. Obatalá, the orisha who claimed her, told her that he would heal her completely, and indeed he had. She patted my hand and beamed with delight. “One day I will tell you the many stories of how the spirits and orishas have performed miracles for me.”
Clearly, Zenaida was eager to begin her mentoring. To start, she prepared a spiritual bath to cleanse my aura and attract positive energy. I immediately started taking notes. “My daughter, learn to listen with your heart and then you will remember everything. First let yourself feel, and then write it down. Then the words will be filled with meaning.”
She explained that when I felt emotionally weighed down, or “just not right,” a spiritual bath would help to clear away negative forces. I watched as she went about preparing the spiritual bath. She filled a large bucket with cascarilla, powdered eggshells, cocoa butter, Florida water, perfume, and the petals of white tuberoses. She told me that I was to slowly pour the mixture over my head and body, after I had showered. As I did this, I should also pray, freeing myself of all troubling thoughts and problems, and focusing on positive solutions instead.
“After you finish, dress in this white nightgown, wrap your head in this white cloth, and light a white candle before going to sleep,” she instructed. “You will sleep like a baby in the calming color of Obatalá, the father of all the orishas.”
The small, sparsely furnished room was painted white. There was a single bed covered with white sheets, and an old-fashioned, intricately carved bureau that stood out against the crisp, stark white walls. The well-worn room had a charming quality that was comforting and inviting. Sandalwood incense filled the apartment with aromatic smoke, and the scent of Florida water began to spread throughout the rooms. The sweet, enchanting fragrance of tuberoses filled the air as Zenaida emptied the small white petals into the spiritual bath. The intoxicating combination of scents swiftly began to ease the stress of this nearly overwhelming day.
I made a brave attempt to sort out the day’s events, but my head was throbbing. Following Zenaida’s instructions, I showered, then slowly poured the mixture of flowers and fragrances over me, asking the spirits for clarity of thought and greater awareness for my spiritual journey. Afterward, wearing the white nightgown and head scarf, I got into bed. I very quickly began to feel the heaviness of sleep claim my mind and body. Zenaida had lit a small white candle in the darkened room. The flickering candlelight spread a soft yellow-white glow that was very soothing. Sleep came quickly. Soon a marathon of images and scenes filled my dreams. The most vivid was the one of my grandmother.
My abuela was standing before her bóveda, lighting a white candle to her guardian spirits. Dressed in her usual white loose-fitting cotton dress and white scarf, she silently prayed, ignoring my presence. Abuela’s beaded necklaces peeked out from the collar of her dress. Her sacred room, which had been a tapestry of shimmering color, was bathed in a soft, white, iridescent light suspended in space. After completing her prayers before the bóveda, she walked slowly to the mural of Saint Michael, the archangel, holding a bottle of aguardiente in her hand. Pouring the rum into her mouth, she sprayed the mural with a thin misty cloud. Droplets of rum ran down her chin, reflecting the white light in the room. Lighting a white candle before Saint Michael, she bowed her head reverently in prayer. In this way, Abuela appeared as a guardian angel, teaching me through my dreams the ritual I would also follow.
Then Abuela’s image slowly began to shrink. The next thing I knew, she suddenly appeared on the table cluttered with the statues of the Indian, the Gypsy, and the African man and woman. But these ancestors were now alive, moving on the table as if they were walking freely in their own homes. The old man’s eyes gleamed with the wisdom that Ma Mina’s eyes now possessed. The warrior Indian’s body, strong with the power of his youth, moved cautiously, quietly hunting for his prey. The Gypsy, caught up in the silent music that only she could hear, swayed rhythmically, moving her large satin skirt in a soothing movement that reminded me of pouring thick, sweet honey. The large African woman stood next to Abuela, like a mother protecting her daughter. Alert and immovable, she was a pillar of strength. But she seemed to possess a silent power that could quickly explode in order to protect her family.
In her space, comfortably positioned between the African man dressed in white and the African woman in her contrasting red and white dress, Abuela stood erect. Then she cast her glance toward the door, finally acknowledging my presence. Her mischievous smile let me know that she had been aware all along that I stood watching by the door. It had been her intention to reveal this scene to me, to let me know that the statues that had been part of my childhood were reminders, representations of family ancestors who once lived and continued to protect our family. Like them, she would always be present in my life, protecting and guiding me. As she called to me with her smiling eyes, I knew to go before her and light a candle. I saw her smile as she said, “Don’t forget the candy for Ellegua.” Suddenly, I felt a strong ribbon of whirling colorful wind engulf my grandmother, carrying her out of my sight. Entranced by the beauty of the colors, I let my grandmother fade away.
A Message from My Elders
My madrina, Zenaida, explained that dreams are an important means of gathering information from our spiritual guides. Sometimes they provide a complete story that can easily be interpreted. Other times they provide symbols that, like pieces of a puzzle, come together to form a story. In my dream the figurines let me know that they were spirits that were actively involved in my life. The whirlwind and the many colors represent the symbols of Oyá.
Madrina Zenaida explained to me that I should remember my dreams and work to find their meanings. She suggested that I try to interpret each dream individually, but also try to analyze them as a unit because dreams often are interconnected.
The spiritual bath described in the chapter is an essential, basic way to open the channels for communication with your spiritual energies. Always try to relax and be in a meditative mood after the spiritual bath, especially before retiring for the evening. The basic ingredients are always powdered eggshells—cascarilla, which can be purchased in any botanica or religious store— cocoa butter, Florida water, perfume, and flowers.
The parables explain the goodness and imperfections of humanity through the stories of the orishas. In understa
nding the meanings of the legends, we can also better comprehend our own behavior. One of the legends that explains the aché of Shangó tells us why he gave up the gift of divination to save his brother Orula. It is said that Obatalá was furious with his son Oggun for having raped his mother, Yemayá. He vowed that he would destroy any male child who was conceived by his wife. Soon after, Yemayá gave birth to a male child whom she named Orula. Obatalá ordered that Orula be taken to the forest and buried up to his neck near a ceiba tree.
After some time, Obatalá forgot about Orula and his vengeful decree. Time passed, and then Yemayá gave birth to another son, Shangó. The name Shangó means the one born with war in his head. And the special gift that Olodumare endowed him with was the aché of divination. Shangó grew into an attractive, gregarious young man who enjoyed the merriment of music and dance. He disliked the tiresome work required of the diviner.
Yemayá then had a fourth son, whom she named Ellegua. One day, Ellegua found out about his brother Orula. Curious, Ellegua led Shangó into the forest and together they found their older brother Orula. Shangó took pity on Orula, and both Ellegua and Shangó unburied him. Shangó then gave to Orula his divining board, opon Ifá, and the art of divination, so that he could earn a living. Shangó then went to Olodumare and asked to be made the owner of the sacred batá drums. Like Shangó, we must learn to share our gifts, and in the process we will find our happiness.
When I shared my dream with Elpidio and Zenaida, they were elated that both my mother and grandmother had come to guide me. The presence of the spirits was a sign to both Elpidio and Zenaida that my instruction in the way of Santería should start immediately.
The Altar of My Soul Page 12