The Furious Spinner

Oya, Oya, dance your dance, but spare your children. Spare the trees, animals, and people. Oya, Oya, dance your dance.

Earlier I got out my New Orleans tarot which I haven't used in years. Even when I used it, I never quite got it. (I collected tarot decks for years, loving the artwork and the arcane nature of them.) This morning the card I pulled seemed to indicate something rather benign was happening in New Orleans: flooding, an arrival of the spirits of the dead. Then I got a card showing uncontrolled energy. That doesn't seem good. But I don't make decisions based on the coincidence of me turning a card this way or that; I wanted to see if I could get a feeling about anything. Sometimes I think of the tarot as I do dreams: gifts of arcane or surreal vignettes from the Invisibles. Or just chance painted on slices of dead trees.

I went outside, my feet bare on the brown dead grass and weeds, and drifted down to the south where the storm turns, where the wind and rain is whirling, whirling, dancing up a storm. Oya, oya, she tears it. I danced at a distance. I could not step into that. I imagined hundreds of people out on hillsides dancing with this storm, calming it into turning down the power. She likes the dance. And food. I've heard she can be bargained with: yams, bean fritters, eggplant.

We'll see what happens. I asked for the storm to lessen in intensity if that would be for the most good.

Something about all those people going to the Superdome makes me nervous. I hope it's just my tendency to worry.

May Oya Dance in Beauty (and Less Destruction)! 0 comments

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