New Oshun Mask

OSHUN

 by Mary Kay Landon 

From the river Oshun deep in Nigeria

Whence came My name

I come to you today —

Clothed in burnished copper grace,

all done up with My cowrie shells and brass bracelets,

Sporting My fan, winking in My mirror.

You love Me, because you must —

Enraptured by My essence,

Snuggled in My tender-hearted embrace,

Permeated by My soft lust,

You can only want what I ask.

call on Me by name,

Oshun

Thoughts, Whispers, Words, Shouts

I hear, hold and answer to them all.

Oshun — Oshun — Oshun!

Call on Me by name

whenever women are  degraded,

whenever sweetness is despised

whenever kindness is shouted down,

whenever beauty lies broken.

Oshun — Oshun — Oshun!

Call on Me by name

when a child’s simple cry for a hair ribbon goes unanswered,

when a woman must give her body to sex without pleasure,

whenever the forces of greed once again

rape nature in the name of progress.

Oshun — Oshun — Oshun!

Call on Me by name

when the dry dust of habit and utility,

Threaten to blot out beauty and sensuality,

love and compassion, from the field of daily life.

Call on Me by name

And I will return

Sashaying in My orange skirts,

all done up with My cowrie shells and brass bracelets,

Sporting My fan, winking in My mirror.

To inspire and comfort you,

With My presence and touch —

Soft yes, but carrying a force

that can move mountains.

Ashay.  

Birth of Oshún by Karmella Haynes

The Oracles - from "The Awakening" (Post #2)

Corizone Elliott as "The Pythoness - Oracle"

THE PYTHONESS:

Pilgrim and Kings, alike, answers sought, spoke of their hopes and dreams,

 journeyed to holy Delphi,  a crevice, deep in the earth,

 journeyed to the Oracle, the Sibyl, the Pythoness

 In trance, she spoke

 offered visions, offered hope:

Behold I draw a spiral for You - 

Step In I implore You

You are vessels of  

Finely Woven well pitched baskets

Ancient Urns, Carved boxes

and Medicine Bundles

Fashioned From Your Perfect Heart

They are Still Safe Inside HER Holy Womb

Ancient Prayers Stir the Air,

Stirring Breath and Bone 

Inspiration, Invocation, 

Your hope is yours alone.

To touch what was a memory brings no fruit, 

Your silent longing is the proof

As the Years move to months, 

Months move to days

Numina witness you this Night,

Numina witness you this Night,

Floating plastic, Trash, decay, 

Fill our planet and oceans today

Young and Old cry out to be free,

Grieving  loss from each killing spree

Earth Mother Gaia raped 

of soil and honor brings famine

Extinction threatens sockeye salmon

Elders sit alone in Hunger waiting; 

Chorus:  Man’s compassion dissipating.

Time to listen, Take note, Stand strong

Mark My Words - It won’t be long

When no water will be safe to drink, 

And Men will lose their right to think

Because their judgment is impaired 

with residue of regret and mind despaired.

Desolation’s Darkened Dance

Stomps out the last of free will’s chance

False pride clothed in glamour’s fashion -

a deceptive weaving of wasteful action

Chorus:  Grinding you down ...Back Down to dust.

A woman weeps - A baby cries, a seed refuses to grow

Where now there is open sea there once was gentle snow.

Fruitless trees that do not bear, drought pursues you everywhere.

But Listen within - Your Soul Still Knows.

Ageless Grace resounds around.

Chorus : A Prophecy is about to unfold

Thallia Bird as "The Weaver"

THE WEAVER:

Listen. Things are unraveling.   

Let me tell you about the fabric of your life. 

Your soul is the tightened yarn of the weft; your spirit is the weave. 

Your spirit is woven into the mat on which you kneel, 

into the cloak that wraps around the shoulders of your everyday lives.

 

Allow the distressed threads of your life to unravel. 

I have an old yarn. I have a new yarn.

Chorus: Take this yarn from me.

Form a weft that makes you strong

Take this yarn from me

Weave the threads so life goes on

 Take this yarn from me.

           

Stories are woven into the land. Stories wrap themselves

around old bones and compost, vine and curl and leaf in the night,

stories written in the rocks about Deer and Raven,

sung by a Tree Nesting Warbler, stories found

in the cold hearts of sleeping mountains.

Walk out into the orchard. Sit beneath a fruiting tree. 

Notice the shapes of things. The shape of the sky,

the shapes of the shadows, the shape of your own shadow.

There are cracks in the land like a spider web,

full of light, full of fire. Once,

you could see the Web as plain as day. 

Song lines, leylines, threads, the pattern. 

Each shining, woven thread.

It’ s time to weave a new story now.

See yourself as Spiderwoman, 

sitting in the center of your   web.

All of its snaking rivers and twining roots are inside of you! 

All those threads come right out of your hands and out of your hearts

All those threads just go on forever

Chorus:  

Into the Earth, and into each other: 

into all your stories, into everyone you'll ever know,   

Into all those who came before you, 

and all those who will come after you.

 

Script excerpts by Ann Waters, Mana Youngbear, Lauren Raine

All photographs are copyright Jerri Jo Idarius, and used with her permission.

My gratitude to the fabulous performers of Willits who danced the masks to life!