The dancing’s running late;
I have to wait alone;
When I’m in this state
They think I’m in some mystic zone,
Communing with the Fates
And Furies of the infinite unknown.
The Sun is getting low,
My time will soon be here;
One staff-length to go
‘Til shadows cloak the sacred clearing
To begin the show
Of summoning another rainy year.
Heat rises from the clay;
I’m sweating in the shade;
The makeup takes all day
And very soon will drip away;
Yet none will dare to say
I’m not the great Creator, Ípilé.
I hold the key
To every mystery,
From curing snake bite to eternity.
I am the guide
Who’s seen the other side,
Where all our souls and gods reside.
But I am not so sure I’ve really been
Where this world ends and other worlds begin.
Am I possessed?
Have I been truly blessed?
Are all these incantations meaningless?
Some days it feels
Like there’s nothing to reveal,
And I am just performing for my meals,
Repeating sounds of practiced ecstasy,
Made up by men who lived in doubt, like me.
We all do what we must;
We have our part to play.
If no one’s here but us
We’re still together in our ancient way,
Protected by our trust,
Connected by the homage that we pay.