June 8, 2023

This weekend past, although I should have been in my apartment finishing up my packing and preparing to leave, I ran away from home.

Okay, so maybe I didn’t run away, but this story actually begins last Monday or Tuesday.

Last Monday, I began a series of ritual baths for and with YMK. I did variations of the Parsley and Honey Bath and the Parsley and Cinnamon Baths, in an effort to begin to reverse some of his negative psychic build up.

I’ve told him point blank that these are not a cure, because some of this shit is old and crusted on, and beyond my ability. I told him, he had to think of this as first aid, and that he really needed to go to a more experienced practitioner who could really finish off the job.

The point is, we began what turned into a week of nightly ritual, and well culminating in our experience on Sunday morning, but I’m getting to that.

On Tuesday night past, I fixed a pumpkin for Osun (for love, I very specifically did not use the word marriage). I had told YMK I was planning to do this work, but hadn’t quite gone into to many details as to what I was doing.

On Monday morning, I had gone into The Croisee and into the market, and picked out a fat, round yellow pumpkin; a beautiful light yellow colour, it’s belly lusciously round.

Earlier in the day, I went and collected all the things I needed from the botanica, most importantly I felt were the floating wicks, and I followed the instructions pretty closely. The five egg yolks was very hard. I went through quite a few of them before I could get five whole yolks. (It’s a good thing I had the presence of mind to buy a dozen eggs. BTW: That trick with the poking of two holes at either end of the egg and then blowing the egg whites out, was the one that worked the best for me.)

I did however add a little vervain, some penny royal and some dried jasmine flowers as well. I also rubbed down the inside of the pumpkin with Florida Water. It just seemed and felt right to do.

As I was preparing the pumpkin, YMK walked in (the door was open) and he peeped at me sitting down among strewn newspaper, pumpkin guts, the hollowed pumpkin and it’s top as well as the growing number of boxes ready to be moved to where I am going next.

“You’re fixing your pumpkin baby,” he said, quite matter-of-factly.

“Uhhh Hmmm….” I said, focussed and not really wanting to talk about it.

“Well Im just going to go and sit in the other room until you’re ready for me,” he said and off he went.  

I got up and also put water to heat to prepare the infusion for his bath, and returned to what I was doing. Before I was finished, I went in and checked on him, and saw he was playing with my lap top.

Now I know the last thing I looked at on the screen were the typed instructions for the pumpkin, but you know I mentally shrugged and sat down on the bed next to him and told him, “You have to go and wash out the tub.”

He gave me this little smirk and made some off colour remark, and went off to get ready for the bath.

So while he was bathing I finished the pumpkin, and set it in my little shrine for Osun, and light the lights, breathing onto the fluid inside and praying honestly for real love to grow in my heart. Not fairy tale bullshit, but you know love.

After the bath was over, he came into the kitchen where I was still working, and I showed him the finished pumpkin.

“It’s very pretty,” he said, then he pulled me into the bedroom, and back into sitting on the bed. He was threatening to fuck me even though we were on pause where sex is concerned. Aunt Flow is in town.

(Sidenote:I don’t care how fucking appalling some people find talking about one’s period is and can be. Personally, I think we’re in denial regarding the human body, and therefore have issues at even the mere mention of something that is as normal as defecating and urinating. You never seem to hear a vehement protestation regarding the word ‘shit’ or ‘pee’. Why is the female body such a threatening thing? And why are we still repressing all reference to the female body and it’s functions, other than in an obviously sexual way? Did you know there isn’t a medical term for the fluid women secrete during arousal?)

But I digress. Seriously.

We were playing around and teasing as usual. However, he was really laughing asking me what the pumpkin was really for. So I told him it’s an offering for Osun, in appreciation for and thanks for love, also a prayer that we grow and develop and things go well for and between us.

Except, when I tried to explain it to him, he thought it wasn’t enough, and was sure I had done it for marriage. He was teasing and trying to pry it out of me, but I just told him, “Oi, I don’t business with what you think you know, because obviously you read the entry on my lap top and think you know something about what I was doing. When you are working on any ritual, building up any ritual, it’s your intent that makes it work, not merely the ingredients and the order that you use them in. I never used the word marriage when I was preparing the pumpkin, I asked for abundance, and to bless me and whatever our relationship is and going to be, and also in thanks for our time. It’s also a prayer for me so whatever it is between me and you, doesn’t go away.”

I also told him the pumpkin ritual as he read it on the screen, is really a base spell and like all spells can be altered sufficiently to make it apply to your own situation. I also told him there are more than one version of the ritual. I told him I never used the word marriage when building the ritual.

He smiled again, and told me he just saw the screen up when he came in, and it caught his eye.

I told him I understood how he would be curious. We talked about it a little more, and told him you know, Osun knows best and will watch over and guide me, guide both of us.

He told me he wanted to fuck me again and played with my nipples while we went on talking and watching television.

So while we were talking, he was teasing me for something or the other, and we had this teetering little moment.

I forget what he was saying, but it was something like, “Look at you, you naughty girl.”

Then, “That’s okay though, because I love you just the way you are.”

While I didn’t react, you could hear the word vibrate the air around us. I heard him pull in his breath, then after a pregnant pause, “I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?”

“For using that word. I meant to say like.”

I was dead quiet for a few seconds, then without too feeling or expressing too much emotion that I didn’t feel said very playfully, “It’s okay baby. You can tell me anything you like, I promise I won’t take it personally.”

We didn’t talk about it after, and not since. However, it’s certainly worth recording that it occurred.

The next night, and the night after, he came and we went through the ritual of preparing and him bathing. He did it willingly, openly and hopefully, which for me was a good sign.

Last week, was surprisingly thick with stress. Maybe not surprisingly, since I am moving and leaving my lover behind and preparing to move country and have bills to pay and debts to settle.

Many of you who are long time readers, will remember my coverage of my experience participating in an ile (shrine) and my subsequent separation from it.

To recap, many of you will have read me laying out my issues, and declaring that I would not be controlled to the level that the elders of the shrine seemed to want to put me under. I also at the time reported that my problem was not with Iya, but with Baba Erin and Iya Kambiri.

Since then, since the time we went into the mountains, I haven’t gone to the shrine, and although I have tried to make arrangements to go and see the woman I called Iya (mother),  for a number of reasons I just never got there.

Inside, I know the reason was two-fold, one was that in my heart, I didn’t want to go to see her before I got my guard. Why I felt so strongly that I needed to have powerful protection for my etheric matrix before I went to see her, I can only describe as a deep gut feeling in my belly.

I think it mostly has to do with this dream I had, on the eve of the day I went up into the mountains with the ile in January, and part of me has just never been able to shake it loose. So much so, it was the beginning of the end where the ile and I was concerned. It seems now, ass though it was the end of my relationship with the woman I called Iya; the woman who was supposed to be my spiritual mother.

In the dream, I walked down this trace and came upon on a beach, and I was in the company of friends; SD1, the Padawan, the Padawan’s man and YMK was there too I think. At any rate there were a couple people there who were ‘shady’, as in I couldn’t make them out clearly. (Which could just mean there were people who were coming or a part of future events.)

When we got to the beach, the wind was chopping up the water and the waves were perfect surfing and body boarding waves, the water looked inviting despite the height of the waves and the cresting foam. There was sunshine, but there was definite squall weather in the sky as well.

As we all stood watching the beach, the sky, the sea, I began to look at this house that stood at the end of the trace we had just walked down. I could see someone in the house, peeping out at us. I said to the others, “I know someone in that house.”

As we stood on the beach, one of us pointed it out; there were these huge worms moving around in the sand. The worms were like twenty footers, twenty-five footers, and they were all over the beach. The others were scared, but I promised myself I would return and when I did I would go and see the person living in the house, and capture a worm for myself.

When I came back, I did it, caught a worm Dune stylee, and harnessed a worm. Before I left though, I went to go check this person in this house.

So I parked he worm, so to speak, and climbed the steps to the door of the house. I knocked, and Iya answered the door, except it was and wasn’t her. Her right arm was shrivelled and withered, useless.  I offered greetings, paid my respects and she invited me in, sitting me at the kitchen table.

She fixed me a plate of something to eat, and I nibbled at it without eating heartily. We talked. We talked about the deep nature of the Universe, and about metaphysical things, the supernatural and magic. We spoke in a mystical language, and I don’t remember what we talked about, but then I told her I had to leave, to go. I paid my respects again and left. I mounted my worm, and literally rode it into the fading sunset.

I’ve had about five months to ponder the meaning of that dream. Well I know that water in a dream means change of some kind. The fact that it the waves were high and surfing kind, and in particular inviting, it means that the change would be difficult and demanding, but it would be a challenge I would look forward to. I read in a dream dictionary that to dream of foam capping waves, and for them to be choppy, is a warning to pay attention to the designs of your enemies and that you’ve narrowly escaped real danger.

That I was in the company of friends, liming partners, riding partners and we were all laughing and joking around means the change would be managed through the love and affection of my compadres. That I wouldn’t be alone in the journey.

Houses, distinctive houses are usually a reference to the self. In this dream the house was sunny and pretty on the outside, but only dimly lit on the inside, and kind of grungy. I only just remembered this, it was an artificial dimness. The curtains were all dark and heavy, and pulled across the windows.

I believe that, because the woman I called Iya was living in the house, speaks to the kind of control she represented my relationship with the ile and the Orisa community here in Trinidad as well as my actual relationship with her. At the very most, the prettiness of the house on the outside, and the dinginess of the house inside is direct obvious messgae about things not being what they appear. That we sat and ate together, spoke about these mystical things was a sign of the level of connection we made.

That her arm was shrivelled could mean simply that she was a daughter of Obatala, which she is. I however feel it means that she was emotionally, mentally or spiritually deformed in some way and I was perceiving it as a malformation of her right arm in particular. The dream dictionary warns that deformations and amputations in the arm indicate deceitfulness and fraud in the person. The next day, the incident in the mountains with the goat occurred, and this is why I am leaning towards the latter. Especially in light of what is going on now, and the dream I had this weekend. But I’m getting to it babies, keep reading.

The worms, the dream dictionary declares, mean I’m being oppressed by the low intriguing of disreputable persons. However the fact that I took control of a worm, indicates that I take responsibility for myself and get a grip on the situation, that I am using my ingenuity to throw off the efforts of my enemies to my own advantage. I find it interesting that the woman I called Iya for a time, lived on the beach looking out over this choppy water, and these worms, and that when I went in to see her, her arm was deformed. It’s a very clear message, at least to me, not to trust her in any form.

I say all this to say that the dream had a profound effect on me, and has now become part of my dream mosaic; one of the many oracular dreams I’ve had. Even as I type, that dream resonates and speaks to events that unfolded after the dream; events with ramifications that truly have changed my life, rescuing me from the suckpool of mediocrity and complacence, and the morass of other people’s negative thought patterns, and begun the process of saving me from my own negative thought energies as well.

Change is never easy and never comfortable, and like I said, I asked it to come into my life, danced up the transformational energies of Oya into my life, and to Her I am eternally grateful for the Change was absolutely needed. Once it began I committed to the painful moments as well as the ecstasy of becoming, shifting, moving into new phases, new areas and to the internal process of mapping out my subconscious and unlocking the power inside myself. I smelt it coming the way you smell the rain, reached for it the way grass and trees and all green things lust after the water, the cool sweetness of it, the nourishment of it.

For a while there, while I despaired, because I felt joining the ile was going to be part of the process, and it was, except it turned into this thing I struggled against and ultimately the spiritual friction I needed to break free from the worse of my paralysis, the last of my ignorance and naiveté and the beginning of my knowing. The last of me mistrusting myself, my instincts and the Powerful Whisperer who is my Guardian and guide in this life.

In a nutshell, Iya, or rather, the woman I called Mother for a time, has turned on me in the most stunning type of betrayal. The patience and concerted effort I made to support and help her, to give of myself, my time, my money and my spiritual energy, prayers and all else I had to give, ultimately meant nothing to her.

This last week, her behaviour has proven to me that that deep mistrust I had been ignoring was well founded. She has shown me that not only was I right to distrust her, but even more right to pull away from her and the group she led.

For me it’s the mental, emotional and spiritual betrayal that disturbs me more than anything else. It’s not that I didn’t know she was capable, it’s just always a deep shock to me to realise just how fucked up people can be and are. To get it from some one who was spiritually charged with my upbringing and growth in the tradition is a double betrayal, but hey… I saw it coming, and what’s worse I really just stood in its path, temporarily stunned, frozen to the spot and for a minute paralysed.

The next morning, I got up and used the tarot to divine and this was my reading:

Will post it later…. promise.

In a nutshell, it’s speaking to the last of the negativity in my life, being represented and being thrown off. The messages was not to worry, because in the situation I did the best I could and I shouldn’t feel guilty about the situation any more.

I was so upset by the depth of the betrayal that this woman I called my spiritual mother has foisted onto me, that on Friday, I was in tears and needed the comfort of my friends. If it wasn’t for YMK being there, hugging me, brushing away my tears and telling me it would be okay, I think things might have been a lot of worse.

Last Saturday night, I was in a bit of a panic.

I was supposed to move out of my apartment that weekend, and my plan for transport fell through, then my back up plan failed as well.

I was worried, because the pumpkin I had fixed had to go into a river at 6am the next day, because not only had it started decay (filling the whole house with a kind of sickly, sweet stench) but it literally could not take another day of heat.

We couldn’t rent a car, couldn’t get one borrowed and couldn’t find a taxi driver to come and pick us up at 4.30am like we needed in order to get to the river.

YMK was to get one final infusion bath, and he was into going with me.

In the end, I decided to run away. His friend C and B, had planned to go camping, and the only ride to a river was to leave that night to go up to Grand Rivere, coming back on Monday afternoon.

So, I ran away.

I ran away from the endless boxes and packing; I ran away from work and from untrustworthy, betraying people, negativity, stress, pressure. I left all of it behind and went with YMK to see Osun.

Apart from the scramble before we left to get a tarpaulin, as there was a good chance of rain, it was easy to do. I borrowed a smallish, heavy yellow tarp from my landlord’s sister, and when his friend showed up, we piled into the car, went and picked up his friend Chris, who had gone up to Blanchisseuse with us for my birthday.

The drive to Grand Rivere was exhausting. We left at something like 10pm, so we didn’t get there until well after 1am.

I was knackered proper, and my poor pumpkin was sloshed and bounced around, because Trini roads and potholes are synonymous and Chinee C who was driving didn’t seem to meet a corner he didn’t want to speed around. The bag burst and the sweetly rotting smell of the pumpkin burst forth. It wasn’t a strictly bad smell, but it was powerful…

By the time we fell out of the car in Grand Rivere, legs stiff and sleepy, it was all we could do to throw the tarp across a saw horse and tie it on to the support columns in the open air fishing centre that B, who had travelled up to earlier, had picked out, spread out the blankets I brought and knock out.

Now I know I dreamt, so I must have slept, but the ground was hard no ass, and well this is the bush, so you know mosquitoes were out in force and looking for the sweet blooded meal I make.

As soon as I felt the sun begin to warm the world, I nudged YMK into wakefulness, and got up myself. It took a while to get him completely up, but he did eventually stay upright for more than a a second or two.

I pulled on my ritual whites, and he pulled on his swim trunks while I got an opportunity to look around and see Grand Rivere for the first time.

The beach swept away to my left, and curved into a bay. An aqueduct from the river, ran alongside the fishing centre, and in the indigo, inky blueness of the early morning, you could just see how low it was.

There were lights moving around down on the shore, and as we looked down, we could see dozens of people lower down on the beach.

He carried the pumpkin and the bath wash, and I carried the grains and honey and what not, and we slowly picked our way through the trees towards the river bank.

We travelled along the river bank for a little way, before we settled on a spot to try and cross the widest river I’ve been to during my time here in Trinidad. We rested our things on a stone pile, and together we carried the pumpkin well out into the river’s strong, rushing stream.

I burst the numerous bags protecting the liquid from dribbling out, and the now rich yellow colour, rushed out to meet the river. I lifted away the pumpkin, and I prayed over it. I asked Mama Osun to look into my heart and I thanked her for allowing sweetness and friendship into my life. I asked her to allow the strength of those things to grow and develop, asked her to allow those things to stay in my life.

YMK and I both held it and set it into the water, and the flow of the water took it, and we both watched it float away. It made a pretty sight floating, spinning on the rushes and glistening in the very early morning blues and yellows.

We went back to our things, and I lit a candle while we began to burst open the bags of split peas, pop corn and sunflower seeds that I had brought with me. We both together fed the river in handfuls.

Then I bathed him with the solution I brought, and I divined to know if Mama was happy with my work. I got ALAFIA, twice!

I thanked Mama Osun for the stability of my job, no matter how much I don’t like it. I thanked her for creativity and intelligence, I thanked her for whatever beauty I possess and asked her to forgive me for my mistakes.

YMK thanked her bringing me into his life, to which I couldn’t stop the small smile from broaching my lips.

Afterward, we walked back down to the fishing centre, and I held up a mirror so he could shave his head, and we did our usual giggle and talk, wiggle and a walk.

When we lay back down under our makeshift tent, the others there all still sleeping, he whispered to me, “Look baby, we’re shacked up.”

I laughed softly, “I noticed.”

One by one, the others slowly got up and YMK and I were talking and laughing. These hard seeds falling from the trees high up the mountainside the fishing centre lay at the foot of, created a kind of intermittent tattoo rhythm to the conversation.

YMK was making his usual fun, amusing both himself and me, pondering if he could make friends with this cow staked out about forty or fifty feet away. I suggested he should try, he thought I was kidding and I dared him. A Leo, and a man, of course there was a challenge to be met.

From where I was lying down, one of the open car doors blocked my view as he got up and began to walk. So as he passed the car, I called out, “Hey, close those car doors for me, I want to see this. You know we in the bush, miles from civilisation and it have no TV. This is my morning entertainment.”

“You just want to see if the cow is going to chase me, ent?”

He walked away, wiggling his butt with a definite air of insouciance, I lay under the tent, watching and smiling. Damn ass, he didn’t even get within six feet of the cow. He just stood up looked at it, and well you know how bovine creatures can be, the cow just looked back, blinking and chewing it’s cud, probably wondering what de ass this two-legged little Black boy from San Juan had to say.

YMK stood there for a few seconds, looking at the cow, then looked back at where I was lying down. Then he burst into laughter and started walking back to the car. Naturally, my laughter bubbled up from my belly, and I laughed loud, long and hard.

I have a dozen stories like that where YMK is concerned, if nothing else we have fun together.

We were just getting ready to start breakfast, when this apparent fisherman showed up and just started to cuss and quarrel. Apparently he  didn’t want anyone to use the fishing centre, and was using the most offensive possible way to let us know how he felt, short of trying to fight.

So we picked up all our stuff, and moved down onto a highish spot above the shoreline, and the work of pitching tents and making camp began.

Oh, there’s nothing quite as impressive as seeing men make themselves busy! You should have seen the four guys there, everybody put their hand and cut down bamboo, stripping it and making the notches.

They were lean-tos, but for the day or so we were there, they were more than adequate. B and his girlfriend K had brought one of those flimsy little tents with a zip, so they were sorted out. C and C shared the other tent.

As soon as the tent was done, I spread out my blankets and sheets, and fell into a sleep. I was exhausted from the three hour drive to reach Grand Rivere and having to get up early o’clock to see Osun, it just took a toll.

So I slept and slept and slept. The surf pounding just feet away made a soundtrack; Yemoja’s voice whispering on the backs and crests of waves. Chile, when you live in the Third World, mosquitoes become this ubiquitous presence, always there. But chile, country mosquitoes ain’t fucking easy, oui? Them big like airplane, and bold face no ass, so being deep in the bush, it was a constant fight to keep the overwhelming number of bugs off of you.

I went and took another little nap, and when I woke up we were there sitting, B’s girlfriend came up to me, sat down and we began a conversation independent of the joshing and assing around that the boys were doing.

As the conversation progressed, and she and I talked about things, she noticed I was reading a book about the Tarot. She told me that her sister had received a deck for a present, but that no one in the house knew how to read them because there was no book that came with them.

Of course, all this led up to me doing a reading for her. It went very well, and the cards really talked to me, and it’s true what they say, it’s easier to read for someone else than it is to read for yourself or someone you know.

Afterwards she told me that everything came up accurate. We talked some more about it, and she said she felt so much better. I felt good, since it was good to help someone, and that my knowledge is growing. I feel more confident about reading for someone.

That night, Sunday night, everyone kind of knocked out early. I blame the sea. With the kind of lulling music the waves played, it knocked us all out. An hour or so after dark, YMK crawled into the tent next to me.

We lay there, sleeping, talking, sleeping some more. Somebody woke up—we don’t remember who—and wanted to brush; the other person obliged. I remember getting up and hanging one of the blankets over the opening at the front of our tent, and blew out the candle.

All I really remember next is the crook YMK’s elbow, behind my knee, supporting it and keeping it raised, opening my pussy for him. He kept telling me to be quiet, “Don’t make noise baby…. the other’s will hear.”

So I tried to be quiet, and reduce my normal mewling, groaning and screaming, down just choked sounds and gasping, but the next morning, B’s girl K told YMK she heard me anyway. Bah… why bother, everybody knew B & K were brushing too, it’s not like they didn’t tell everybody that their tent smelled like break (cum) the next morning over breakfast. Why bother to pretend?

But I digress.

It’s when I fell asleep that the real profound nature of my life revealed itself, and the way answers come to me in my dreams.

There was this young woman, Sangobumi, who was working at LBC’s (the woman I called Iya) house as a maid late last year. She was a sweet girl, I liked her. She and I would sit and talk to one another during ijuba, and in general we got on very well. As they say in the Caribbean, we blood take one another.

Sangobumi, more than once told me that she didn’t like the way LBC talked to her, and fired the wuk early o’clock. In the end, according to LBC, Sangobumi became very disrespectful—in her own house, she snidely added if I remember correctly—and left LBC’s employ.

Well it was Sangobumi who came to me in my dream that night. I was sleeping in the same tent, where YMK was I didn’t know, but suddenly it was Sangobumi there next to me.

She said to me, “Do not bother up your head over LBC. She is being punished for something that she did. It’s something she did in another life, and in this one. Just don’t bother up your head about it.”

It was a relief in a sense, and a direct answer to one of my prayers in the river, to cool the energies around LBC, who is right now, engaging in all kind of spiritual work against me, and in fact venturing into the legal system to maintain her control and dominance over me.

The fact that it came at a time where LBC is being particularly nasty and wicked towards me, it meant so much to me that a message of release is what I got.

Hear what, sleeping on hard ground with nothing but a thin sheet between you and the hard packed sand and dirt, is like fighting with a heavy weight wrestler. You wake up the next morning feeling bruised and abused. Especially for six city-fied folks like us, camping on Grand Rivere beach last weekend.

When I woke up, YMK had already got up. I pulled on my jeans and the blue of the sky filled the air all round me it seemed; it was all that deep indigo shade you get when you aren’t plagued by street lights. That shade of blue I am beginning to love and adore.

I walked out of the tent and stood on the little overhang we were camped on, and rose my arms in greeting! I sang a little for Yemoja, told God good morning and then started looking around to see if YMK was nearby.

He was a little way up the beach, smoking a cigarette (yeah, he’s still at it) and kicking little piles of sand.

I rolled up the legs of my jeans, and jumped off the overhang, the soft sand cushioning my feet.

I immediately divided my attention between looking ahead, and watching the beach. This is an old habit I am yet to break. Since childhood I’ve always collected stones, shells and other interesting little things from the sea and rivers.

I did find some pretty little stones as I walked towards YMK. When I got close enough, he reached out his hand, and I slipped under his shoulder. He kissed my brow, and we kissed deeply, morning breath and all.

“Hello you.”

“Hello you.”

We stood there for a few seconds, quiet, watching the sea. Then we started chatting away. We decided to go up the beach a little further. Since the morning before when we got there, there were people going up there to see the turtles.

Leatherback turtles come to nest on Grand Rivere, and when we got there, about twenty people were littered all over the beach.

The first turtle we saw was a big old girl. She was easily about twelve or fifteen feet long. She was packing sand down to protect her progeny, and we stood there gaping.

“It’s so ugly!” YMK said.

“Don’t say that!” I protested. “She’s beautiful.”

“Look at it!”

“Oi! Yemoja is your Mother. She’s the Mother of The Fishes and all that dwell in the Sea; so that turtle is your sister. All that live in the Sea are your brothers and sisters.

“Look at it again.”

He did, but said nothing more.

The turtle finished the packing to her satisfaction, and then laboriously made her way back to water’s edge. As the first wave rushed over her back, I could feel her pleasure in the salt and the water and by the third wave, she could swim.

I watched her swim out for a good distance, and then walked down the beach some more as there were a few other turtles still laying eggs.

I was kind of sorry I wasn’t going to be able to come back in a couple of months and see the babies being born, but it was nice to know that at least a good portion of them were going to be alive in about fifty years or so.

We walked back to camp, talking and playing around all the way. The other’s were getting up, and I went with him to hold the mirror again so he could shave his head.

We were in charge of making breakfast. Of course this meant washing everything from the night before.

So we lugged the bucket down to the pipe near the fishing centre, and well YMK and I alternated. He washed some, I washed some. We talked, all our conversations come back to England. Leaving, pragmatic, practical concerns.

We had talked earlier that week, and we decided even if he does come up, that living together is impractical; especially at this stage in our relationship. I completely agree. As far as I am concerned, I just want him to be a bus ride, a train ride away, at least short drive.

We don’t need to live together, we don’t even have to be in a completely monogamous relationship, I just want him on the same land mass and nearby. Isn’t that at least reasonable?

He says he’s coming, and nothing is going to change his mind. He says he wants to see how far he and I can go, how deep we can dive, and high we can rise. I’m just glad he’s willing to bend his life for me. That means more to me than an iron-clad commitment does at this stage. This is the first man who has been willing to do that, in like ever for me.

So after the pots and plates had been washed, we headed back to camp, and he wanted me to keep him company while he fried up some chicken hot dogs for everyone for breakfast.

We ate, and after about an hour or so, without much fanfare, I plunged into the water for the first time. I swam and swam; away from the shore and to the shore, back and forth, just enjoying my body moving with and through the water.

We had a good time fooling around in the water, but after after a few more hours, it was time to go.

I really had to go home and pack, and well I had work the next day, and had to find a way into talking the superintendent in my building to give me a few more days to pack and get out of my apartment.

Monday night when we got home, we were both exhausted from the trip, so he went home and I fell into a deep sleep.

Tuesday morning, he came for coffee and we talked and of course, he played with my nipples and sent me to work hot and bothered. Ha Ha, the bitch left my house that morning with a stand though.

That night, I packed and packed and packed. He came and helped me too, moving boxes and packing up the piles of things I indicated. In between he’d come and nuzzle my neck, pull my nipples and rub my pussy through my shorts. By the time we called it a night with the packing, I was horny, horny, horny.

It was our last night of having space to ourselves, the last night of me living across the street and having such easy access. Whatever happens next between us, the days of holing up in my apartment are over.

So we slowed everything down. He took forever to enter me, licking and sucking my back, worshipping the backs of my knees, my hairy unshaved in weeks legs, until there was nothing left for me to grasp or hold onto, everything in my life replaced by the moment and the pleasure, and him. It seemed like he was everything in my life for a moment, and it was scary in the intensity of my want, wanting him, coveting him like gold.

By the time his tongue melted onto my clit, and he found the rhythm he knows I like, I was primed, thrumming, vibrating, shaking loose my soul on the tip of his tongue.

I came, crying, tears spilling over, back bowed off the bed, his arm supporting my hips as they hovered and twisted in the air. How is it even then he can think of things like that?

After I collapsed, he moved up to lay on his side next to me, and by the time I caught my breath I leapt on him, thrusting my tongue into his mouth until we were eating at each other with lips, tongues and teeth.

I bent and slipped his cock into my mouth, shivering when he pulsed on my tongue and I swallowed him in, sucked him in, taking almost all of him in my mouth. His hands massaged my ears, and gripped my shoulders at one point, his hands tangling in my hair later.

The pulsing in my pussy was so phenomenally strong, it was torture for a moment, to want to feel him in both places at the same time, and not being able to get it. So I had to decide which I wanted more, and eventually my kitty decided for me.

I hopped up, threw my leg over him and he helped to settle over him; then I began to ride. To ride, ride, ride him…. Lawd oi! He held my hands gripped tightly, stabilising me as I moved, ground him deep inside me and wined down the house. He moaned under me, I moaned over him as I moved. It was raw pleasure, made even better by the holding back, holding back that we kept trying to pull off.

When I came, it was with starbursts and slight astonishment, because I hardly ever come when I am on top. As I shivered above him, he pulled me down and thrust his tongue into my mouth.

Our kissing is something that very easily heats as both. Sometimes we both have to forcibly pull away when the timing is inappropriate for more. His tongue incited, and his hands squeezed and kneaded my ass, pushing and pulling me gently over him, so I didn’t quite come down from one peak until I was scaling and climbing another.

Again, he held my arms, and let me take over. After I came the second…. no, it was like the fourth time that night, he turned me over, folding me beneath him and driving slowly, so slowly into me, each time he pushed inside I felt as though my brain was being stroked, because the tingling in the back of my neck was being amplified by the ebb and flow of our bodies.

I came again and again and again. My baby really knows how to push all my buttons. The last time, I started to cry. It was weird, it’s not just that I didn’t want the amazingly satisfying feeling of YMK’s beautiful cock inside me, it was that I didn’t want this part of our relationship to end. I wanted to live across the street from him for another year. I want him near me, and I have to tell you, it’s beginning to become apparent that I’m needing his presence in my life, and I was already missing him when I came around his cock.

The tears spilled over and I couldn’t hide them. He gathered me up and asked me what was wrong, and I explained it in a small voice. He kissed me and licked away the tears delicately, “I’m coming to England. It’s only going to be for a little while.”

My heart leapt the way it always does when he says he’s going to follow me. I still felt sad.

The next morning, he came for coffee and well, we brushed again. The morning sex was as mind blowing as the night before. I mean Daddy knows how to work it out, feel me? I was almost at the point of tears after again, because for me I just didn’t want to lose what we had.

That morning I went to the bank, withdrew almost every cent in my account, and created a Travel Money Visa account with Republic Bank. Then I went up to the British High Commission and got my passport stamped.

So I officially have my Visa. I can travel to, work and live in England now. I’ve given my job more than enough notice and I am set to leave in three weeks.

On Wednesday night, I left my apartment. YMK helped me move, and he brought a friend of his and he took my bed. It’s now in his room at home and he met my father and my big brother.

Last night (Thursday) I went back up to the apartment to clean it, and he came and helped me to clean up. Of course, he pulled at my nipples, my ass and my poonkie right through.

One of his friends, the neighbour who he was brushing late last year (the one of the menage a trois fame) called me his wife yesterday, teasing him.

What do we care? After we had cleaned, and we sat waiting for the landlord to come and pay me the remainder of the money he owed me for buying my dryer off of me, we kept talking each other into and out of a quickie.

We broke down and locked the door, and because there was no furniture and no curtains, we fucked standing up in the bathroom, his arm supporting my leg and keeping it raised, while we both took peeps at what we were doing in the bathroom mirror.

I came three times.

When I was getting ready to leave, the rain came pouring down so we huddled on the back steps of the building and talked. He assured me again not to worry, that my leaving the apartment and across the street didn’t mean we were going to peter out. He told me again he wants to see how far we can take our thing. He’s sure I’m going to get tired of his shit, and tired of seeing his face. His solution is that if and when it gets that bad, that we should head off in opposite directions, take a few months away and meet each other on the other side of the world. He says he’s sure after a few months of missing him and his dick, I’ll warm up again.

I’ve been working on this entry, now 8000 plus words, since Tuesday when we got back from Grand Rivere. Allyuh know how it goes, you have to steal time here and there. I’ve not been able to properly express the depth of my experiences over the last week, but it’s been both stressful and relaxing.

YMK has been right there, taking care of me in very real ways, experiencing much of it with me and being there for me and with me.

I can’t tell you how much it has meant. I haven’t forgotten his little slip of the tongue either. However, I’m not pressuring him where our relationship is concerned. I want him to decide for himself what he’s doing.

I know enough about my heart now to tell you I want him, I want him for my own and while I simply cannot admit I am in love at this stage, whatever it is pushing us together I’m hoping will be strong enough for him to follow me, and for us to continue to build on what we have even with thousands of miles between us.

(I had to take this out of the main post and add it to the bottom…. please don’t take it out of context, and the date this incident occured was June 1, 2004.)

Part 6 of 6


That evening, the woman I called my spiritual mother for almost a year and I got into a confrontation. She’s trying to manipulate me into giving her an enormous amount of cash, even though she owes me almost $2500.

YMK was to go with me when I went to see her, because I was afraid of going there by myself. I simply didn’t want to face the emotional, mental, spiritual challenge of confronting her alone. All we did that day, we couldn’t get in contact with each other. In the end, the Padawan went with me.

The confrontation was ugly, and devolved quickly. She lied about a number of things during the conversation, and I was shocked at the level of animosity she directed towards me. She made me so angry.

I couldn’t believe this complacent, incompetent old bitch was trying to brazenly mamguy (fool) me the way she was. What was worse, that she was scamming me, or that she had been scamming me for more than a year? That she was scamming me, or that this was someone I went to seeking spiritual guidance?

You know, I had been warned about these people in the Orisa community and their behaviour, their grasping money hungriness, and would just never have believed that this woman who professed to be my spiritual mother, who did nothing to help me when I was most in need, would try to scam me. It’s not everyone, but the bad ones make it so hard for legitimate workers of the tradition.

At one point, when she was trying to convince me to myself in her position, the padawan spoke up, “She has been putting herself in your shoes. She’s done too much for you already.”

She accused the Padawan of unmannerliness, claiming she hadn’t said good evening, and the Padawan don’t hold water in her mouth, and snapped right back, “Oi bitch, don’t talk to me like that.”  I was shocked, I had never spoken to her like that ever, and even then I didn’t answer her harshly at all. I watched her eyes and noticed how she didn’t seem able to meet my gaze square on.

Later the Padawan told me it was blatant and clear that the woman was scamming me, and to get a lawyer to deal with her. YMK, said later that night that it was God’s will he wasn’t there. He said he didn’t think he would have been able to control his anger and would probably have slapped her down or broken out the windows in her car and punctured her tires or broken out the windows in her house, and STILL slapped her ass down. He told me he would rather see me crippled with no legs or hands than see me give her money, respect or consideration in any form ever again.


BTW: The chick I did a reading for down in Grand Rivere, wants me to read for her again.

Related Posts:

On Psychic Attacks, Sacrifice and Healing

Deal Breakers

How to Choose A Spiritual Worker

So You Think You Found A Teacher


Drowning In Honey

Blanchisssuese, Bad Boys & Big Thirty & Birthday Bliss

Cooking For My Baby

Hey Man, What You Doing In Here?

The Skillfully Employed Moue

Are You Sure?


dayo's mama, writer, web developer, orisha devotee, omo yemoja, dos aguas, apple addict, obsessive reader, sci-fi fan, blog pig, trini-bajan, book slut, second life entrepreneur, combermerian, baby mama, second life, music, music, music!

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dayo's mama, writer, web developer, orisha devotee, omo yemoja, dos aguas, apple addict, obsessive reader, sci-fi fan, blog pig, trini-bajan, book slut, second life entrepreneur, combermerian, baby mama, second life, music, music, music!


Oshun Chant
Women of the Calabash
109 days ago