Pilgrimage – Espiritu en Fuego/A Fiery Spirit

Troglodyte Incursion

Enter the great unwashed masses. Sprinting greedy effigies racing past eons of art, music, and literature oblivious to beauty serenading a few keen chosen listeners. Rampaging ill-mannered thoughtless grotesques concerned with filling swollen bellies with endless Pablum unable to digest nutrient rich low hanging fruit readily displayed within the garden.

Plodding, pushing and heaving along like a sea of hairy troglodytes with cameras suspended from no neck bodies. Vermin with whose wallets and purses are ready ATMs doling out money for designer duds and Apple technologies. Lipsticked hydras crashing colliding corridors rampaging through the galleries like so many porcelain shop bulls.

Sentinels posted to hold bay destructive stretched out grasping talons. Buy! Buy! Buy! Said the Barker to the throng who willingly sell the souls to the highest bidder. Comical costumed gargoyles begging for Fashion Police disciplinary action.

Pungent Yeti-Sasquatch body odors invading my space. Breath like fire lit manure emanating from their unbrushed oral cavities. Their joint cavernous maws eating, chewing spitting belching pollution into once refined atmospheres. Mischievous imps on hunting expeditions looking to capture but never to absorb. Cramming for ungiven exams thereby failing all cultural and social graces. Not once pausing to study only to add to collections trapped in snapshot memories bound for jealous friends and relatives who failed to make the pilgrimage.

Yes tomorrow returns of the holidaymakers who desecrate the House of Learning.

Jump Sankofa Kindred????????

If I Jump back into time. Jump the broom back Mother Africa who will I find? And why do the ancestors call my name?

Though I’m separated from the Motherland for over 200 years there is that spiritual umbilical cord that binds me to Mother Africa. A Mother always cries for her lost children.

Was I being and speaking Yoruba, Igbo, Bantu, Akan, Twi, Tsonga, Nyungwe, Ronga, Ngoni, Chopi, Tonga, Ndau, Tswa, Swahili, Makhuwa, Sena?

In a distant time was I Nzinga Mbande Warrior Monarch of the Mbundu people? How many souls are in my spirit and what bloods run through my veins?

Perhaps my ancestors have chosen me their earthly Sankofa bird to reach back and pull their souls from suffering and oblivion. They are saying, “Remember us!” Redeem us Dear Sister that our deaths were not in vain. Their voices cry out to me from the depths of the oceans. Their spilled consecrated blood from hallowed ground. Yes I hear your cries sacred ones and deliverance is on the way.
Pilgrimage is nigh on Sankofa bird wings Oh land of my ancestors!