![]() ![]() Neither belongs to a religion I practice, which maybe isn’t so surprising. Only two religious buildings have really excited a sense of the sublime in me. It reminds me of death and history, and most of all, it reminds me of the place from which it came to me: the Voodoo Spiritual Temple in New Orleans. Today it sits on the bottom shelf of my shrine to various gods, in my conception the base from which the rest grows. The base of her vévé sits on the ridge of the eye sockets those dark cavities reveal nothing, no matter how long one looks.Īlthough I do not actively practice Vodun – nor would I want to without substantial training, given the obvious perils of a white Midwesterner trying to pick up religious practices from the African diaspora – I have kept this skull on my altar for many years. Follow the lines: they form a heart with three crosses. And further on, to the forehead, the most complex of the lot, drawn in purples and reds that almost fade into the skull’s natural color. Up now to the crown of the skull, to the crossroads marked out in green lines: Papa Legba. Start at the base of the skull, the cross flanked by coffins: that’s Baron Samedi. The lines rise up from the surface of the skull such that with closed eyes I can still run my fingers across the surface and know whose vévé I am tracing. White paint has been flecked across its surface sigils have been painted. It has the same terra cotta color as a flower pot, and the same kind of weight. The primordial level of the author’s home altar, featuring a clay skull from the Voodoo Spiritual Temple. ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |