The Stolen

The missionaries became fearful.  The villagers who lived among them began to talk among themselves; they knew that they made a grave mistake in forsaking the ways of the Orisha, their ancestors’ traditions for thousands of years.  When the villagers tried to leave the missionaries tried to stop them; telling them that they would be committing a great sin against god and there would be no salvation for them in heaven and they should stay, but the villagers did not care, they left to find the Babalawos the high priest to make offerings and ask forgiveness from their ancestors, but what they did not know was that they were followed.  That night there was a ritual taking place.  Those missionaries, slavers and soldiers defiled what was sacred and they were doomed and didn’t even know it; by capturing the most powerful Babalawos and Egungun people their fate was sealed.  The slave ship that they were taken to was the Henrietta Marie, a ship that was cursed.  Many days before the raid the Babalawos and Iyalawos put a curse upon that ship so that nothing would work aboard it. They asked Shango, Oya and Yemoja to destroy it for stealing their people.  And they asked Olukun to swallow it with those responsible.  Not long after the ship had cast out to sea it all began.  The crew became sick with malaria and small pox.  It was during one of the rituals that Babaluae was invoked.  The crew became weak with fever. The shackles and chains that had been used to imprison the priest had corroded with rust from the sea air.  All day the Babalawos and others prayed to the Orisha Ogun to give them strength and finally when the time was right Ogun possessed them, and chains were pulled from the beams, and shackles were broken, now they were used as deadly weapons. In the darkness one by one they made their way up to the deck, concealing themselves in the shadows of the ship.  They quickly noted their position by the stars; it would be the stars that would guide them back home.  They remembered how they were brought aboard on the small boats. While they were searching the ship for the small boats one of the crew had gone below deck with evil intentions.  Reaching the cargo hold he saw that the chains no longer held the captives; sending him running and screaming for the crew, suddenly the crash of thunder shook the ship followed by strong and powerful winds; a violent uprising was underway.  The sickened crew was no match for the power of the Orisha possessed Africans.  It was the arrogance of the missionaries to underestimate the powerful religion of the village they invaded; thought of as ungodly heathens fit only for enslavement.  The chains that had bound them were used as weapons splitting open skulls and strangling the clergy who preached of their enslavement as gospels with sermons of servitude. Those that were left alive to weak to fight were left lying in their own vomit.  Others lost limbs and drowned in their own blood.  The captain and remaining crew were taken below deck and chained to the dead so they would know the feel of such cruelty.  Lightning struck into the ship like daggers.  When the boats were finally dropped from the ship strong currents carried the boats away from it.  It was said that you could hear the screams of the crew below deck in the holds of the slaver.  A final lightning strike sent the ship up in flames. Shango’s fire was a blaze that night while Oya’s winds fed his fire.  The fire found its way below deck partially burning the crew because Yemoja’s waves took the ship to Olokun. 

This was an excerpt from a Cultural-Sy novel titled Spirit Walk I hope you enjoyed another weekly segment of Another reality written from my 3rd eye for your 3rd eye. Please visit me at www.wix.com/soyinkaiyabo/chaoschronicals

First Black Secret Service Agent, Abraham Bolden, Speaks Out On BEing Fr...

Talk about shock and awe; an African American Secret Service Agent.  And during the John F. Kennedy Administration.  A totally turbulent era with the Civil Rights exploding and exposing the darkest evil imaginable. The infamous JFK assassination still perplexes to this very day with all of the mystery surrounding the events that lead up to that fateful day which still leaves us in a fog of unanswered questions decades later.  Abraham Bolden was a complete and total surprise to me. His courage and strength  fortifies his spirit he knew there was a higher power in play.   His story is enthralling compelling as it grips you at your core.  It's ironic how supposedly thing are said to have changed since this era has passed us by....yet they seemed to have stayed the same as if time itself had stood in place playing over and over cruelties that hate perpetuates all through history.  Listening to this man's story I couldn't help but to reflect on current events of today.  Back then there was no social media to tweet the physical,psychological abuses he was forced to endure.  The degree of persecution he was subject to for being the best in his field of expertise is simply mind boggling almost as mind boggling as Trayvon Martin, Micheal Brown, Freddy Grey, Sandra Brown, and countless injustices.  Our courage and strength fortifies our spirit to move forward through the abhorrent and horrific acts committed by those who abuse authority received under oath...from the lowest levels to the highest, but god is watching.

Always writing for the 3rd eye in another reality of truth

The Desecration

On a cloudy and overcast day at what appeared to be blocks of empty vacant land and a neighboring cemetery tension and malice loomed overhead. A frustrated crowd standing along Rosa Parks Boulevard fed up with bureaucratic red tape, and dishonest politicians who constantly took advantage of the underprivileged for their own means stood by restlessly watching and waiting to see what additional propaganda would be propagated before the community and media in a small parish on the out skirts of Monroe Louisiana. 

A history of false truths seemed to have paved the way for inequality in housing, job availability and a soaring crime rate accompanied by a ruthless police force with a pension for excessive force.  A failing health care system spawned over crowded hospitals with insensitive doctors, nurses, and staff that set the stage for malpractice suits that drug in an out of corrupt courts while lives were ruined or lost.  Now the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back set in motion the second largest protest since the civil rights era almost sixty years ago was now in full swing.  The desecration of a 18th century Negro cemetery connecting to the Underground Railroad outraged and appalled the community. Heightened emotions flooded the city making not only local news, but national and international news as well.  News van after news van crammed into the parking accommodations provided for them while police stood by eagerly awaiting the opportunity to ticket and tow the media covering such a historical event that would eventually expose illegal and corrupt activities between politicians, police and land developers.

"400 hundred years...what more can they do to us...that they haven’t done already," the woman's magnified voice boomed through a megaphone standing in the path of a bulldozer.  A dozen cameras zoomed in on her with boom mics extended capturing every word.

 "They have stolen this land the same way they have stolen from the red people.  They have killed us and we have returned through the next generation...they have killed us again and we return in the following generation.  What is there to fear?  They have killed off our leaders, but their spirits are with us by way of the ancestors.  They have already taken from you...what more do you have to lose," she said continuing to inspire and excite her fellow protesters as more joined the ranks. 

"Sisters and brothers there is blood in the land we stand on.  The memory of our ancestors along with their remains lies in this ground.  We must respect their burial grounds.  Have they not given their blood...their sweat and tears in for this soil?"

"That's right our ancestors deserve better...the right to rest in peace," a man's voice shouted as he chained himself to another, and that person to another all linking themselves together combing flesh, and steel as their ancestors had been aboard slave ships. 

"You will no longer desecrate the remains of our ancestors or defile the ground in which they rest in," another woman shouted. 

The crowd gathered around the construction vehicles blocking their way to do any further damage to the cemetery.  "This is a historic site that must be preserved it has that right," she said. 

Eeriness lingered in the air. Illegally exhumed graves revealing decrepit wooden boxes containing the remains of the dead and up rooted trees created a dark atmosphere of malice. 

The University's forensic archaeologist department had already inspected, and carbon dated the site reaching the conclusion that the remains were more than three hundred years old, and of West African ancestry, and recommended preservation of the site.  Professor Moreni Ngosi head Louisiana State University of the department of anthropology stood by watching the events unfolding before her eyes wondering when the police's patience would wear thin with the obstruction of their new police administration complex;  a site that had become real estate for the taking. Adjoining row houses to the cemetery where so many were forced or swindled out of their homes by developers years prior to the present event contributed to the community’s resentment.  Moreni Ngosi continued watching the smug expressions of those in blue.  A look of contempt blanketed their faces as the speaker continued to spew out venomous, but accurate comments in regards to African descendants' turbulent history since coming in contact with whites at home and abroad.  Her words were like a double-edged blade cutting indiscriminately.  Professor Ngosi knew the young woman spoke the truth, even in Nigeria the African American's history was a sensitive topic.  She feared for the young woman's life. 

"How long do we have to listen to these porch monkeys," she overheard a cop say to his partner.

"Until we get the word...alright so stop your freaking wining."

"Well it would be nice to have a new H.Q. instead of that piss hole for a district house," he said as the two leaned against the cruiser with folded arms across their chest like the rest of their co-workers the majority being white; their black counter parts reassigned to lesser details.

 Despite the hot and humid temperatures she could not help but feel an icy chill in the air; the mounting tension from the police and the growing frustration from the community created all the makings for a violent out come.  “The university's board of directors could pull the plug on the project at any given time; depending on the politics," she thought to herself.

"Hey professor Ngosi," a voice said shaking her from her thoughts; turning around she saw Officer Sierra Sheldon a seven  year veteran that earned her reputation as a female Malcolm X and Angela Davis all rolled in one; a intelligent, assertive and conscious police officer.  She withstood the onslaught of racism and sexism like a damn holding back a river of ignorance from patrolmen to supervisors; intelligently putting them all in place.  Her first year was equivalent to hurricane Hazel.  One visit to a Lukumi root woman, and a Harvard University educated attorney resulted in a lucrative law suit against the department with three patrol officers and supervisor terminated extinguished any further harassment and a hands off policy.  Sierra Sheldon pretty much came and went as she pleased. 

"Well...look who it is...my favorite cop."

"Yo what’s up girlfriend?"

"I am so glad to see you ...I tell ya your co-workers make me nervous.  Is it necessary for them to be so...I don't even know the words for it?"

"You mean racist," Sierra laughed.  Without warning, her radio crackled with the dispatcher's voice interrupting them.  "Excuse me," she said sensing something about to take place.  An uncomfortable feeling settled down in her stomach.  "Hey...it looks like it's about to get ugly out here...you might wanna roll; a dispatch just came down from the chief...they want the crowd dispersed."
The loud boisterous command echoed with intimidation and hostility coating each word.

"You are to immediately disperse from the area or be arrested."  In less than thirty seconds police were donning gas mask. 

"I'm going back to the lecture hall where I belong.  I'll talk to you later be safe Sierra," she said heading for her vehicle,” let me know how everything turns out…you know how the media likes to edit out the truth."

"Oh I know that’s right, it's not gonna be a walk in the park...I'll tell ya that much," Sierra said looking at the vulnerable houses in the distance knowing how far the wind can carry the air born irritants.  It was summertime and most poor people did not have air conditioning which meant being trapped inside a hot box or choking on tear gas deployed in a densely populated area.  She knew how cruel those could be tossing tear gas canisters into and beyond the crowd knowing the wind could pick up at any given time.  "This is bull shit...they ain't gotta go there like that," she said while donning her mask.  The first canister popped rolling toward the protesters that were already dispersing the area.  The bluish white smoke sprayed out, and then pandemonium broke out as protesters and on lookers made a run for it as stinging eyes impaired their vision.  Some blinded by the gas ran headlong into police wheedling plexi-glass shields.  Instantly extendable batons dropped helpless protesters to the ground where boots found their way to torsos and other exposed body parts.  Spurting blood sprayed the ground as cries of agony rang out in the air.  Screaming women hysterical over children falling under the shields of the police as they tried to flee drew news cameras to film cruelty fueled by anger over the activist’s words of truth.  Even through the tear gas and chaos, the woman's words continued through the megaphone cutting like hot blades through butter.  Sierra was amazed at how the young woman had managed to evade the blows of the batons and continue her fiery speech; now flagrantly criticizing the boys in blue referring to them as closeted white sheet wearing Klan descendants; infuriating them further.

 "Yo what are you doing," Sierra yelled watching a co-worker unsnapping the holster of his weapon.  She caught his arm in a deadly death grip," there's no need for that...they're just trying to get away from the gas."  When the two looked up a host of cameras were rolling film  with lightning speed her hand reached up and snatched the officer's mask off his face in front of the cameras.

"COWARD hiding behind a mask and badge like the Klan did with our ancestors hundreds of years ago,” said the angry voice through the megaphone.

"Fuck," the exposed cop growled trying to hide his face; caught in the act of drawing his weapon on an unarmed man overcome with tear gas.  Sierra quickly lost herself within the crowd rendering assistance along with the medics that had finally arrived at her request.  As the gas began to dissipate so did the commotion as most of the protesters had managed to flee, but not un-scaved.  However, there were those who bravely fought back and were either hospitalized and or arrested, but to Sierra’s surprise, there was no sight of the outspoken young woman activist despite checking all the police wagons there was no hide nor hair of her.  "I'll be damned," she said to herself feeling perplexed and bewildered lost in her thoughts.  "Hey buddy...what’s ups...it was a real bitch out there with that full moon...got these Klan boys off the chain.  I knew I shoulda stayed the hell home."

"No shit...did you see that shit?"

"No what?"

"Fucking Wagner...that bitch was ready to shoot somebody," she said leaning over whispering, "I had to stop his dumb ass; snatched his mask off right in front of the cameras...dumb ass didn’t know it was me.  Two can play at those games," she said laughing as the two slapped five.  The area began to clear out as news vans and choppers returned to their news rooms; with the latest on how the city's finest conducted themselves at a civil  protest; an already bad reputation hung over the department like a dark storm cloud.  Now an officer's face featured on the evening news in the process of drawing his service weapon on a helpless protester created a continuation of open hostility, and criticism toward the department and not excluding the mayor’s office.  Overwhelmed the mayor's secretary and administration assistants were bombarded with incoming calls from City Council members to State Reps.  The phones never ceased ringing.  The press congregated outside the prestigious office with cameras and microphones at the ready.  The hallways remained congested as security struggled with distinguishing press from average citizens who had come to complain about the fiasco.

I hope you enjoyed an excerpt from "To Resurrect & Avenge"  written with with consciousness in mind.  Another reality continues to keep your 3rd eye fed with thought provoking articles and speculative and historic fiction.  To read more visit www.wix.com/soyinkaiyabo/chaoschronicals 

To Resurrect & Avenge Book Trailer and Inspirational Concept

When the past of a Louisiana plantation and the present collides a vengeful spirit defies the laws of nature.  Havoc erupts as he seeks retribution using a recently murdered victim’s body to manipulate the living and using criminals as a means to an end.

Recently re-instated homicide detective Sam Richards is thrown into a precarious situation by a department steeped in corruption looking for a scapegoat.  Plausible denial envelopes as Richards pursues dead end leads as  his only hope is an elusive mysterious Creole woman who must show him the ugly and unbelievable truth about the victims of one of the South’s most brutal slave revolts. Having found themselves re-incarnated 400 years into the present both oppressor and oppressed find themselves in a modern day Louisiana police department steeped in corruption, racism, bizarre murders, and unexplained disappearances.  With this knowledge Richards realizes that there is a very thin line between fact and the unimaginable. Without appearing to look insane he must find his way through a maze of horrific events and seek alliances he never thought possible; evade his department’s saboteurs, and last but least stay out of the path of a vengeful spirit hell bent on revenge.

We all think and wonder about reincarnation at one time or another and its not to say we have over active imaginations...well some sci -fi writers have to have that .  The thought crossed my mind during my 25 years of law enforcement; retired now I can pretty much speak openly about what Iv'e observed experienced and was subject to as a African descended woman in this sea of blue. One thing  I'm truly grateful for were the ancestors' guidance and protection while on the streets by myself most of the time in those later years. However most my drama didn't come from the streets it was internal. Which lead me to the mind set that was needed in writing this 5 book series.  It was a way to alleviate stress, tension, aggravation and stupidity from not only individuals I worked with but those who later came with their own agenda waging war by over policing a community of color. Of course passive resistance kinda flowed through my spirit because at the end of the day I would still be a black woman when the blue came off.

 My inner eyes began to open with a spirit vision especially after completing an ancient ancestral Rites of Passage...not to mention bouncing back and forth between here and West Africa; in and out of the Slave dungeons performing libations. I began to write from my 3rd eye especially while I was in a place that over flowed with contempt and malice..my work place of course.  I was there physically, that's all my spirit left as soon as my feet touched back on American soil after experiencing another Rites of Passage in Togo West Africa with the Fon people of the Vodun. Even at work my mind would write while I was there in the physical, and it even edited the work .  The mind is a very powerful tool when its not ruled by fear, and that was the one thing I would not succumb to. Anger was more useful than fear. 

I was referred to as a passive aggressive... a cop with Tribal scars across my face and Dread Locks... totally not the norm; how you gonna control my spirit. I naturally went against the grain of contempt and hatred because there was "no protect and serve" honor or integrity...only war against a community and any officer who did not oppress and subjugate.  I always asked what was the use in putting my foot on someone's neck who was already oppressed repressed and depressed...so against the grain we went...lol. But I did see a fair amount of fear and intimidation take its toll among co-workers as micro managing became the norm as those in positions of rank submitted to immoral, unprincipled, unscrupulous, and unconscionable orders from tyrannical cowards hiding behind position of authority. That's when things really hit home making it feel as though I were sent back in time but looking at everything in the present tense, and that's how I was inspired to write and publish "To Resurrect and Avenge" a five book series that took me nearly 4 years to complete, and publish; which was probably a catalyst for the out right hate and loathing.  Same mind set directed toward those ancestors in the past. Dictators, tyrants and oppressors always honor their ancestors' ways like I honor my ancestors ways.   Remember my ancestors weren't  allowed to read and write...and here I come publishing and building websites, with book trailers, and an e-store at amazon.  That's to honor my ancestors with their stories and mine.  I hope you enjoyed Another reality

 http://astore.amazon.com/wwwicosochch-20

www.wix.com/soyinkaiyabo/chaoschronicals

Momma Tutu

“Serve your slave masters well an when you die you will be rewarded in heaven,” his voice boomed as if it were magnified; while Getty mimicked the de-humanizing words craning her scrawny neck around to glare at the field slaves.

 By now something other was making its way on to the physical plain; something of spirit; something of a fiery nature, something invoked to protect those descendants of very powerful and ancient ancestors. 

The more the good reverend Windwood preached his fire and brimstone sermon demeaning the field slaves the more offended the Congolese Nkisis spirit became.  The more verbally abused they were, the more the powerful Nkisis spirit rose up in anger. On and on the good reverend Windwood ranted his fire and brimstone sermon, then suddenly the painting of the crucifixion of Jesus fell from the wall.  The field slaves trembled with anger and resentment; knowing within their spirit, they were to be no servant to any man. The sermon paused momentarily; taking notice of the falling painting one of the ushers removed it from the floor.

“The lord wants obedience and no other heathen gods shell be worshiped before him,” he shouted pointing to the field slaves causing the rest of the congregation to turn and glare hateful looks.  Again, the air filled with tension bordering on hostility.

“Some house of the lord this is,” Buck muttered, “they about a second away from lynching us...even if we is somebody’s property.”

“You nigras hush ya pie holes while the reverends preaching,” one of the ushers growled.

“Damned slaves oughta have they own nigra church, and not in here wit good Christian white folk.” 

 Mae bit down on her lip until it bled trying to hold her tongue while she held tight to her high John root. 

“It’ll be over soon, “ol man Reese whispered.

“Not soon enough...Indians snuck up outta here before it got started...lucky,” Buck grumbled. Momma Tutu seemed to be the only one unaffected by the sermon as she stood quietly with closed eyes; giving the appearance she could be standing up sleep, but little did they realize she was fighting hard to keep Zarabonda from lashing out.  In her mind, she was in another world as Zarabonda spoke to her inner ear.  He re-affirmed thoughts that had previously visited her mind thoughts that were horrible in nature.  Zarabonda revealed images to her mind’s eye concerning Missy the master, and the good reverend Windwood.  A flood of imagery poured over her making her nauseated.  The wickedness of the good reverend Windwood and Ebeneezer Everts was unlike anything she had ever seen before.  The images were almost maddening, but she withstood them, and their extent of their evil.  Her legs buckled almost dropping her to the floor.  Reese and Manny steadied her, “the heat must be getting to her,” Manny said.

“Ain’t no heat can get to a pure blood Congo woman...them visions she be having...now hush up,” Reese whispered as the hell storm sermon went own. 

“We all need to pray sisters and brothers...pray for our president’s salvation of his soul...because disobeying the lord, and setting nigras free, he has doomed our great nation to HELL.  Pray sisters and brothers...pray to Jesus for the confederate south to be strong...pray for them godless heathens to find Jesus and be good slaves...pray for our brothers and sister that suffered from the slave revolts that left good Christian plantations in ashes.”

“YES JESUS,” a voice from the congregation cried out.

“Let no man steel from the lord,” the reverends voice bellowed out.

“That’s right rev...Let no man undo what god has ordained not even the president of this United States...amen,” a man’s voice barked.  The congregation had become so excited with the reverend’s hell and brimstone sermon it was like a wild animal catching the scent of blood in the air.  Whispers wishing Lincolns demise flowed around from the various pews, “they need a rope for that no good vermin,” another voice spoke from the front of the congregation.  Intentions of violence filled the air like smoke from an erupting volcano as the good reverend Windwood’s words fueled the hatred.  Hooping and hollering in the name Jesus ensued with hand clapping, and feet stomping to the chants of amen save the south sweet Jesus.  The congregation was so excited and riled up that they had forgotten all about the slaves in the back of the church.  By now, Getty and the master's children had begun to feel uncomfortable. Having never seen the whites in such a state of mind, the closer it came to Lincoln's emancipation the stranger their behavior became, as true feelings revealed themselves.

"These white folk is smelling blood in the name of their god," Momma Tutu said; snapping from her trance.  "I say we need to get the hell outta here...they is a split second from a lynching," Buck whispered nervously motioning them all to the door.  It was not difficult to slip out un-noticed.

Back at the slave quarters, Momma Tutu sat in silence rethinking the events of the morning as did everyone else.  "Is that what a good god fearing Christians is suppose to be like," Maggie asked shaking her head," they ain't no better then rapid dogs...calling us heathens...they just as evil as the night's long."

"I can't take no more of those words of the lord," Buck said laughing to himself.

"I don't know how those dimwits in the master's house do it...them white folk hate them just as much as us, and they sit up there Sunday after Sunday sucking it all up," Mae said in disgust.

"I even heard that oldest dimwit spouting off like that reverend Windwood; call'em self preaching to the others ....craziest thing ya ever wanna hear; a house slave imitating a country preacher putting down his own kind," Reese said noticing Momma Tutu's despondent look," you alright? Ya scared us for a minute there...ya having another one of them visions wasn't ya?"

"Yelp, and it was mighty powerful...them folks is something evil...offended Zarabonda to no end...took all the strength I had to keep'em back...I is still feeling a bit winded.  He woulda tore that place apart!"

"I saw the picture fall from the wall," Mae said.

"Wasn't no falling...it was knocked from where it hung.  So much wickedness up in that place....Zarabonda saw them white folk...all of them and how they’d rather see us dead than freed....and that girl Missy....I feel sorry for the girl...she got the devil's seed growing in her belly."  Everyone gasped at the old woman's words.  "What you be saying?"

"I be saying she got the seed of that evil preacher up in her.  Poor girl been passed back and forth between the master's bed and the good reverend Windwood's bed.  Master's seed wouldn't take ...him being all sickly and everything," Momma Tutu said with disgust twisting her face, "make me feel unclean just talking bout it."

"Me too...been feeling something awful every since setting foot in that church," Rufus complained.  It was not long before they all complained of ailments and bad feelings. 

"That's the evilness in them words they be preaching...pure evil that just grabs a hold of ya.  Me people called such evil the Bucra; an evil thing birthed from hate," Momma Tutu said turning down her mouth and frowning as though she tasted something sour.

“Ain't nothin but one thing for us to do...we gotta get cleaned from the white man's evil on us...cause if we don't it'll just eat us alive bit by bit eating us from the inside...all kinds of sickness be on ya before ya knowed it."

"Like the Massa?"

"Yelp ...just lik’em."  They all cringed at Momma Tutu's vivid description as she went on.

“When the owl hoots we‘ll meet in our special place, and you all knowed what to bring."

"Momma Tutu....I hate to say it but something's telling me we is gonna need a little more than just some roots and all....remember what we all talked about? You saw how riled up they was in that church...it ain't gonna be long...we gotta be prepared to make a move.  We is gotta protect ourselves."

“Reese is right I knowed about a path that leads up in the hills to those red people's village...them ones that don't come down to here, and they ain't friendly wit whites either.  They know we is here and that one day we is gonna run away...and they know they is the only ones we can run too."

"I heard it was some slaves living up in them hills already from other plantations after the uprisings," Buck said.

"Is that right? Well why ain't we gone," Rufus said impatiently.

"Just hush boy, ain't time yet," Momma Tutu snapped, "tonight just bring what ya need," she said in a whisper as they all dispersed from the shack.

An imminent sense of danger cloaked the descending night while an undeniable resentment filled the air with hostility all stemming from the good reverend Windwood's Sunday morning sermon of superiority and supremacy only hours ago. 

What was it about those who came from across the ocean in chains stripped of everything they owned; doomed to a life of misery providing comfort and wealth for those that spilled the blood of the original inhabitants.  Laboring from sunrise to sunset day in and day out; seven days a week was their blight.  Was it the determination of dreams of freedom?  Was it the desire to exist in a humane existence that fueled such animosity and resentment from whites to the point of unspeakable acts of cruelty and inevitable violence that set the stage for an imminent demise?

 Finally, the owl’s hoot echoed through the night catching the ear of those who sat in anticipation of invoking the powerful Congo spirit.  One by one, they all slipped off carrying their meager belongings and farming tools with sharp or blunt edges. They all blended into the night. The full moon hung low in the sky with a hint of red around its outer edges as if to suggest some catastrophic event approaching.  

Again, they seated themselves around the fire giving thanks for the little they did have and to be able to pay homage to the creator in their ancestral way despite the fire and brimstone sermon’s threats of physical violence from those who hated and feared them.  Their prayers to the powerful Nkisis spirit asked for safety, protection, salvation, and to be delivered from the cruelty of those who would see them dead before setting them freed.  They prayed to be relieved of an existence of torment and misery.  They prayed to the Congo spirit to be cleansed from evil that had tainted their spirits upon entering the white's place of worship.  Again, roots found their way into the fire sending the pungent smoke into the air.  The spirit's mantra echoed repeatedly.  Small rattles and other items that served as handmade instruments kept a steady and hypnotic beat enticing them to dance around the flames that demanded more of the pungent roots and herbs.  Soon the wind made her presence felt as she whipped at the flames.  Dark clouds made their way to block the moon's illumination.  An entire atmosphere became charged with something ancient and primordial as another presence ripped through the material plain washing over everything like a vast ocean. 


I hope you enjoyed an excerpt from "To Resurrect & Avenge "
Book one available at amazon .com
As usual I'm writing from the 3rd eye for your 3rd eye in Another reality 

The zodiac and our body’s physiology

Who would think that the sun would be so influential with the heaven’s constellations so very far from planet earth. The sun  plays such a vital role in distributing various types of energy activating vibrations that effect how we feel, relate to others and the world around us. Is it any wonder why the ancient Egyptians or Kemites venerated and paid homage to the sun god Amen-Ra.  Further more how is it that these constellations within the sun’s ecliptic not only affect our moods but our physiology as well.  We are but a microcosm of the macrocosm.

Every zodiac constellation dominates, and governs a particular part of our physiology; not only are these zodiac signs responsible for our mental, and spiritual depositions, including character but you will find a common denominator between the zodiac sign’s characteristics, and the body’s parts, and or systems including circulation, reproductive system, digestive system and so forth. This  metaphysical science was originally a part of Astronomy.  How it became separated... totally stupid is another discussion.
 Each zodiac constellation supports the next until it is a continuous circle of 360 degrees. 

The zodiac begins with

 Aries the ram which we know as the head of the zodiac so to say it represents the self this signs governs the physical head.

Taurus the bull supports Aries the head by governing the neck, and shoulders. No one stands in the way of a charging bull.

Gemini the twin; this sign of duality is the owner of the body that exist in pairs such as the lungs arms chest, supporting the previous sign’s domain.

Cancer ruled by the moon has dominion over the stomach, and breast; note the previous sign rules the chest of the male body.

Leo the lion; The heart is where courage lies hence the heart of a lion.  Leo also governs the small of the back, the part responsible for good posture back bone and courage are attributes of Leo.

Virgo the virgin; analytical and discerning Virgo has a propensity for detail.  With Virgo it is the pit of the stomach where feelings lie; is it any wonder that this constellation governs the bowels and intestines?

Libra the scales is about balance therefore the kidneys and liver is the focus here along with the veins that run through our entire body carrying our precious life force containing all that is needed for the entire body to function efficiently and effectively.

Scorpio’s still waters run deep with secrets and mysteries.  It is the reproductive organs that are governed by Scorpio.

Sagittarius the archer symbolized as a centaur half man half horse governs the thighs. The horse’s strength comes from its legs.

Capricorn the goat a mountain animal climbing rocky terrain its strength comes from the knees. Capricorn governs the knees and circulation. Circulation runs throughout the entire body along with the life force.

Aquarius the water bearer maintains the back and legs supporting the previous signs.

Pisces the fish, up stream down stream.  Opposite motion as the feet are left and right hence Pisces has dominion over the feet.     

As above so below we are part of the cosmos and their attributes reflect not only in our spiritual make up but our physiology as well.  Each zodiac sign is supportive of the other.

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Africa's Stellar Gnosis

Our galactic sun 4.5 billion years old is a medium sized star sum 93,026,724 miles away from the earth at a temperature of 9,900 Fº degrees.  This sun is a stellar (G) type with a magnitude of 4.83.  Such a star absorbs strong metallic lines in its spectrum, not to mention the solar flares generating geomagnetic storms that sometime disrupt communications satellites and even our techno toys here on planet earth making life somewhat miserable for us earthlings.  In astrology the significant “other” of astronomy the sun is considered the giver of life representing our consciousness.  It is our personal power, the self, the ego, the pride.  The sun represents creativity, vitality and health. The sun is positioned within the 12 zodiac constellations traversing them at 30º degrees every thirty days intensifying the vibration that particular zodiac constellation emanates.   Zodiac is a Greek word meaning circle of animals.  In the Zulu creation story, or genesis story it was said that the animals came from the star constellations.

The sun is our life force; imagine if our sun no longer existed or simply refused to function; providing warmth and illumination chasing away that which brings darkness whether it be the frigid cold or fear.  How would the crops survive?  

For thousands of years our ancestors and other cultures paid homage to the sun for its many life sustaining gifts.  Their Health practices included the sun’s healing properties to optimize health. 

Our ancient ancestors were aware of the pineal gland’s spiritual connection to the third eye, or what is commonly referred to as the black dot and how the sun’s energy activates it elevating our consciousness especially during meditation, and other metaphysical practices.  The ancient people of Kush and the Kemites were known for their spirituality around the globe as the name Ethiopia was a Greek name which translated to “people of the sun” while another Greek name for Egypt translated to “people kissed of the sun”.  That is how many of the Greek philosophers referred to the great teachers of ancient Kemit as they sat at there feet leaning of the advanced sciences of astronomy at the temple of Lunu “place of pillars”. The Arabs referred to this place as “Ain Shans the well of the sun”. It was the Greeks who named it Heliopolis temple of the sun as they paid homage to the great fiery orb in the sky.

The ancestors referred to this celestial body as Ra, Helios, Sol, Amen-Ra, Olofi, and many more.  The ancient Kemites were not the only ethnic group to pay homage to the sun.  From Africa’s east coast to her west coast, and from the Ganges to the Euphrates Rivers and continent to continent homage was paid to the sun.  When we think of the Sun god automatically we think of Ra or Amen-Ra.  However Alkabulan / ancient Africa consisted of numerous Sun Gods and Goddesses and other sun deities.

Wai, this sun deity of Zaire, and central Africa was believed by hunters to control the animals.

Asis was another sun deity of the Suk and Pokut in Kenya and Uganda.  A number of ethnic groups in the Congo, and Tanzania acknowledged a sun god known as Iruva.  The people of Cameroon referred to this deity as Loba and paid homage at sunset to assure he would appear again at sunrise.  In addition to Ra who was depicted by a sun disk and falcon in Kemit / ancient Egypt in the Nile delta was another sun god representing the sun’s more destructive power and extreme heat known as “Mahes” depicted in the form of a lion; hence Leo the lion in astrology.

 On the coast of West Africa the Dogon of Mali who where colonized by the French lived along the cliffs of Bandiagara not far from Timbuktu.  They possessed extremely advanced astronomical knowledge.  The Dogon knew Sirius was the brightest star in the night sky, and it had two companion stars (Digitaria star) and the female (Sorghum star) the second companion star.  When Digitaria is closest to Sirius it is the brightest, when it is further it gives off a twinkling effect. The Dogon are also aware of the rings of Saturn and the many moons of Jupiter. And least we not forget the Yoruba of southwest Nigeria who referred to the sun as Olofi and have sacred rituals performed at sun rise prior to any rites of passage, or ritual.

Our ancestors and numerous cultures knew the sun’s power and how it was responsible for elevating the spiritual energy referred to by many names, mana, ase, chi, and prana      

The ancients knew of the metaphysical effects their stellar star had on man, plant, animal, food, water, mineral, and the earth itself.

Ashanti Kings and other rulers along Africa’s Ivory Coast were abundantly rich with alloys of gold and brass, but mostly gold.  Gold was not only a symbol of physical wealth but metaphysically this alloy contained a projective energy whose element was fire associated with the sun emanating great spiritual energy considered a source of wealth as well. 

Many Kemetic / Egyptian ornaments and artifax contained precious gems, alloys, and crystals because of the spiritual vibrations that emanated from them that were similar to the sun’s vibrations.  For example clear quartz was another invaluable gift from the earth that not only projected energy but was receptive as well, influenced by both the moon and sun.  Citrine was worn to remove fear present in nightmares, hence its projective energies of fire; fire giving illumination.  Amber another gift from the earth associated with the “Akasha or Akashic records” better known as ancestral memories, or DNA markers whose element is the sun was worn for spiritual development. 

A stone all too often taken for granted is the zircon crystal, or zirconium which possesses a fiery vibration associated with the alloy gold. 

The most adorned stone by the Kemites was the Topaz because of its association to the sun god Amen-Ra.  Another stone of the Kemites that was associated with the alloy gold was tigers-eye a stone of invaluable and innumerable properties also associated with the sun. 

And last but not least, South Africa’s precious gem the diamond this precious gem vibrates a projective energy possessing a fiery quality whose element is the sun of course. Many Africans have lost their lives over this precious stone, and many lives have been ruined because of the wealth, and status it generates.  Is it any wonder so much blood has been spilt over this gem?  

An ancient wisdom echoes from Africa as she was the giver of civilization birthing the sciences of astronomy, medicine, art and mathematics.  Socrates, Plato, Herodotus, and many other Greek philosophers and many cultures sat within her temple walls digesting and absorbing the stellar gnosis of ancient Africa.  None surpassed her in spirituality as she was blessed by the sun. 

As usual writing from the 3rd eye for the 3rd eye in Another reality please visit again for thought provoking articles and short stories. You can visit me at
www.wix.com/soyinkaiyabo/chaoschronicals