Dr. John Montanee

A New Orleans Voodoo Grimoire

Drum Needed To Be Played

 

© 2014 Midnyte Hierax

 

Babalon Rising; Ritual

 

I got the impression that he was very pleased to see those who were tranced out - it was an almost positively gleeful feeling. I also remember the impression that the large drum (sitting on its side with the statue on it) HAD to be played. During the Mami Wata call, I think I actually heard that drum playing by itself, and then later it just needed to be played. I also found myself wanting to go around and touch/play other drums.

 

 

Sweet, Sweet Water

 

© 2014 Sara Grey

 

2012 Babalon Rising Festival: Conjure

 

The drums. Those voices of the Loa. They called me, broke my heart, scattered it and rebuilt it there on the spot. I knew that I had to answer. No was not an option. Is it ever an option when you are called? I don’t think so. History is full of stories of people resisting the call and ending in misfortune. I would go. I had to, my feet led the way. I had to go to where the drums beat and the waters speak. This is the call to service.

 

I was dancing, spinning, listening to the drums, lost in the sounds and I spun right out of myself. I remember looking someone in the eyes, she was going to put some water (?) on all of us. I spun around her and it was this spin I lost myself in. I was in the backseat driver of my body. It was the most beautiful and terrifying sensation. Things get a little hazy at this point.

 

At some point I/He drop to our knees in front of a sacred drum altar. It is then He settles in the driver’s seat a little better. We are operating as one. A horse and rider. We get up and reverse direction. We rode the current of the drums, the energy of the dancers. It was important to move the opposite direction to simulate the vibrations of the music that the dancers moved on. We did a few circles then dropped again.

 

We called for water. Sweet, sweet water.

 

I lose time and I know I am safe and that this is an honor. I feel the thirst, the unending need for water. I am on my knees, hands in the air, hands on the earth, hearing maracas in my ears. The sound is grating to the spirit. He wants to throw the maracas. He likes the drums. My/his hands and arms are twined in the earth, up in the air, and wrapped around a bottle of water. He drank the sacred cemetery water, He drank bottled water. An urgent need for water. This thirst, like fire, it caught in my throat, the throat ached, my eyesight was poor. He just wanted water, his thirst needed to be quenched and it was unending.

 

At some point the ritual ends. Florida water is applied to me and words are said to try and coax me back into the front seat. I settle firmly. I am tired, and covered in water. People ask if I am alright, and I nod Yes. I am more then alright. I am euphoric and I feel like I exist out of time. I laugh a little and my husband helps me stumble off into the night to rest.

 

(At the time of the conjure, Sara Grey did not know Bright’s disease was associated with intense thirst.)

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