"It always seemed to me that those who claim to know that others are going to hell must already be very familiar with the way to get there."
--Mark Landers

I don't believe I need to say anything else.

Voodoo was alive and flourishing during the years I resided in New Orleans. The sister of my dearest friend was the Voodoo Queen; it only made sense that I should be exposed to the method and form of the religion, plural in versions though it was. Of what I could derive from Olympe (January's sister), the religion evolved in the tribes of West Africa, a mesh of ancestor worship and reverence for the deities of nature. The over-arching figure of the religion was the loa or lwa, believed to be a single spirit that worked through all things. It was the loa these people called upon when slavery found their tribes and trapped them, chained them, tearing them away from field and home to America.

Among these people were herbalists, priests, midwives, all carrying the gods of their homeland. They also retained the knowledge of how to petition the loa thousands of miles from their native homes. Such knowledge was a treasure to them, closely held to breast as the very last strength and connection they had to the society they once knew. The strength of this religion showed through music and dance, in healing and other forms of charms and invocation. Not all slave owners enforced Christianity upon their workers; the belief did not get stamped out as many other things did. Spelling was, regretfully, one of the aspects that the creole French and the English of the time swept beneath the rug. Most researchers fall to researching the Haiti practices. I couldn't begin to give what terms I knew to Lexi, French or any language ends up getting filtered out of my vocabulary when I front and she's never been exposed to/immersed in them.

What encounters I had with voodoo were almost fully accidental, save for one. I took to flirting with this fellow's lady friend and he discovered, eventually, and bought a curse from his sister or cousin. Olympe later informed me I was damned to a life of loneliness and despair, my fertility lost to me. I didn't pay mind to it at the time, though now I wonder if there was any truth to the curse. If so, it rises only in those dark hours of the night when nary another soul lies awake but myself and my thoughts. Remus thinks his insomnia a curse all on its own, and I sadly must admit to selfishness. I was happy to have someone to talk to in those small hours before the dawn, for those are indeed the loneliest hours of the day.

Portland's hosting a flower show tomorrow. I truly wish I could go, and I also wish I could go as myself with all the knowledge and papers I had while I was living in Wales. Gardeners are a tetchy group; if you don't have proof of your experience (Master Gardener certificate here in America) they won't pay too much attention to you. If you do have certification, they'll give you their interest until you say you've done something they've failed to do. In a way, gardeners are like collectors with a ware of knowledge around how to properly care for their creations. At one point during my life, I would have been able to trade off experience with the best of them. Sadly that knowledge doesn't hold over to this side, and I do miss it on a fairly frequent basis. At least it is enough that I may garden on the inside with August's full blessing to manage his plants.

A few people have sent me some absolutely lovely music, and I'd like to thank them. I'll soon wear it out with how often I listen to it. It keeps a sometimes lonely and reminiscent ghost company through the night.

Our English teacher has been giving class assignments circling the Arthurian legends. I love it, I love reading them all again. I read them twice before, once during the 1800's and again in the 1990's. The tales are always changing, editions are updated and revised, wandering farther and farther from what once might have been to the legend it is today. I love to pay attention to the discussions, to throw in my comments when people are getting carried away with the Welsh Dragon (my country's flag standard); Dragons are all well in good, but do keep in mind that the country's plant is a leek. Leeks! Ah, people. At least the discussion about the Family Tomb of Jesus was interesting. Jay immediately (and somewhat predictably) burst out with how it couldn't be real, he wouldn't believe it because you can't test the DNA and Jesus rose to heaven spiritually and physically. (Just for the sake of clarification, Jay's a physical person and not someone living hereabouts with me.)

I can't help but wonder if Jay's faith would be shaken if solid proof could be formulated. If the Christ did not rise to heaven, would he cease to believe a wonderful man once walked this Earth trying to spread kindness and understanding of a monotheistic God? I should know by now that it is not enough for people to believe in a truly good person trying to help others. I honestly should know that some extraordinary thing must happen in order to inspire any sort of faith in the minds of the general population. Anyone can be nice, how hard is that? It's another thing to raise baskets to the sky and receive food in response to prayer. Clearly my faith is of a different nature than most would consider valid.