I had traveled nearly an hour to seek his wisdom, but it had actually taken me four years to be in the right place at the right time.  I was excited, nervous, humbled to be in the presence of Malidoma Patrice Some’ — this internationally known Elder, this great mystic of our time, this learned Professor of African Studies turned philosopher of West African traditional religion and beliefs.  I had read all of his books about his early life and experience, and studied his traditional wisdom and rituals like a ravenous student.  Finally, as if for my singular benefit, the universe had brought him within my reach on this cold, clear Sunday evening in December.

In my hand, safely tucked into a cellophane sleeve, were the drawings, notes and photographs I intended to share with Elder Malidoma.  I had chosen them carefully, as a way of conveying subtle and explicit information about who I was in the context of my family.  There were my child-like drawings from deep meditations I had experienced during my graduate studies.  There was an 8-1/2″ X 11″ copy of my father’s obituary with his face on the front cover, and a 3″x 5″ photograph of me as an infant, sitting on my mother’s lap, surrounded by four of my eight siblings.  And, of course, there was my most prized possession–a grainy old Polaroid photograph of my maternal grandmother, Nana Ruby, and her husband, who we respectfully called “Uncle Buddy.” I imagined her photograph, in particular, would provoke spiritual dialogue and open access to information that Elder Malidoma might otherwise overlook.

I had arrived 45 minutes early to the address in West Seattle, and the host, Queen, invited me to wait in a small space just off her kitchen.  The house was warm and comfortable, and I felt welcome and at ease with a steaming cup of herbal tea and Queen’s conversation.  I waited patiently for the appointment that preceded me to conclude, and,  sooner than I expected, my time with Elder Malidoma finally came.

He was situated in a small room framed by red curtains,  just off the front entrance to Queen’s home.  I hadn’t noticed the space when I first arrived, but now I could not help but notice the candles, the shrine, and the smell of burning sage that greeted me as I entered the room.  Elder Malidoma was just as warm and friendly as the space he inhabited with his intense aura.  He was smaller than I envisioned from the photographs and images I had seen of him through email and social media.  His rich brown skin seemed almost translucent against the backdrop of the lime green-and-white-embroidered dashiki with matching kufi he wore.  To my eyes, he was the epitome of a royal African Priest, a griot, a revered Shaman, adorned for a wedding, or some other special celebration.  I felt honored to be in his personal presence; so much so that I folded my hands as if to pray and bowed my head in deference.

We began talking immediately about the artifacts I had brought with me.  I felt immediately inspired by his reactions to my photographs and drawings, and especially my photograph of Nana and Buddy.  We were talking as if we were old friends catching up on new happenings.  I was caught up in the excitement and candor of our interactions, until I remembered I had failed to turn on my voice recorder.  Elder Malidoma smiled at me, and patiently waited for me to find the voice recorder on my phone and set the volume.  As soon as I was ready, he turned my attention to the table, where I noticed for the first time the mound of curiosities before me.

“Go ahead and move this clockwise with your dominant hand,” he said quietly.

I obeyed immediately, staring with anticipation and curiosity at the menagerie of cowrie shells, stones, coins, bones and tiny pieces of art that moved so freely under my control.

“Now go in the same direction again,” he instructed.

Again, I moved the mound, this time noticing how the pieces fell within the four quadrants that were painted in vibrant colors on the table cloth.

I took a deep breath and sat back quietly, waiting for him to speak.  I was receptive and open but had no clue what message lay in the shells.  It was divine wisdom, just beyond my conscious understanding, the complexity of which could only be translated and explained by the likes of Elder Malidoma.

“Yes,” he said assuredly, as if the shells had agreed with his intuition,  “it makes sense that The Ancestors have a plan that is associated with you.  It relates to a job that you need to organize in order to bring something out into the world that will be cleansing, purifying and soothing to community.  Also transformative.  You are put into a task of contributing change and transformation.  It might come across looking like a certain specific leadership you are meant to exercise.”

“These ancestors want to use you as a vessel to effect this change, but they are even more interested in how it is going to look like.”

“You have a lot of healing powers that were passed on to you.  In fact, it is in your bones, in your DNA — a lot of powers that are ancient, plus some devotion –devotion to change and transformation, all having a specific authentic signature that can be literally traced all the way to the Main Continent.  It is that old.”

“In this day and age, it (your power) has to come out into the world as this –a personal medicine that is achieving just that.  You see,” he said, pointing to the shells and bones, this piece and this piece are the same.  Your personal medicine is meant to translate into some transforming powers that you are able to wield.”

“It simply means that at this juncture, you are shaped in the likeness of OShun, the deity of the water, which suggests that you have a connection with the Middle Passage — the Middle Passage which means those ancestors who were scheduled to come here in shackles and didn’t make it.”

I could sense that Elder Malidoma had found a new source of energy.  Perhaps OShun had infused him with power and passion at the mention of her name, for his earlier tiredness had given way to excited exhortation.

“The point at hand,” he continued, “is that the work you are being called to do is indeed healing work that is rooted in love– love for your people, love for the younger generation.”

“OShun is the archetype of the loving mother, the loving feminine.  That ‘s why,” he said as he gently touched a heart-shaped rock,  “you have the heart right in the midst of community.”

“It is important that you look at this from a programmatic perspective.  That’s why you have these blueprints here,” he said, looking at my drawings.  To be able to do that will require that you get back in touch with the dream channel — we call it the contemplative or the imaginal.  That puts you in a position to be the dreamer of community.”

“Your intuitional instincts are very, very alive, high vibration, sensitive to the maximum –which means they are being underused right now.  They are being tapped on by the ancestors, and it would be therefore a good idea for you to use your mind to pay attention to that.  If you are going to write something, it is not going to come out of your head, it’s going to come out of your body.  If you are going to convey something that is as symbolic as this,  it is not going to come out of an analytical mind that is there to explain this or that.  No.  It is going to come out so condensed, so cogent, that it is the mind that is going to get into what has come out in order to expand and to spread it out.”

“But, the first and foremost thing will  have to be channeled.  By channeled, I mean putting yourself on loan to an other-worldly intelligence that will then provide the expanded blueprint of that which, later on, will be subjected to a translation.”

“It therefore defines you as a translator, a communicator, yes, but also a translator.  This is why you feel the mystery, the mysticism associated with this discourse that you can’t translate.  They have to be there as the stimulant, the one that stimulates you to see meanings that are independent of human standard words, to reach understanding or picking up the semantic of them without the need to actually give an English translation of them.”

“And, so, as I look at this,” he said referring to the incoherent words I had scribbled on my drawings,” these things are like headings — like titles –subject matter that need to be put like this, and then a story is narrated down below to convey their meaning without a literal translation of them.”

“And, so, it is critical that you see yourself as if you are a conveyor belt for some gems of wisdom that belong in the other dimension, wanting to come through into this world as teaching material for too many young people who are really struggling to find their way, and being the symbol of the archetypal feminine mother with the capacity to guide.”

Elder Malidoma shifted his torso and took a deep breath as though some new message required extra energy for him to speak it forth.

“You see all these shells?  These are children, these are young people!  You are guiding them to the place of their power, uniting them in their core identity.  It is critical that your mind be dwelling in what kind of stories do you need to use as a meal to be served to their psyche, to their spirit, so that they can be moistened and imbibed by this in such a way that as they grow, it is growing with them. This is an important and very overwhelming duty to dwell on, and yet it is unavoidable.”

“The posture that you have here is indeed the proper one.  It is one that is sandwiched between the task of cleansing generations away from negative conditioning that is keeping them stuck in one gear, unable to make it through, and a duty, a job that needs to be structured, organized in such a way that it becomes, when delivered, an instrument of hope, an instrument of vision that gives a chance to others to see possibilities where before, they couldn’t see any.”

“And so, in the end, what this means is more like a task  that has to begin with you being able to tune into this reality.”

More to come…