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 Strangers in paradise, bonded forever by Vodou
Shakespeare wrote - "Misery acquaints thee with strange bedfellows." In 2003 I met Papa Steve under such conditions, and as is often the case, we became fast friends for life.
In January of 2003, I had traveled to Haiti to kanzo - the ritual rites that would confer the title mambo to me and make me a priest of Vodou forever. Under a thatched roof restaurant, I met 10 characters who I was to become smitten by. Like any rowdy family, we loved, fought, argued and bonded with one another intensely for those two weeks, but ended caring deeply about one another. One of those characters was Steve Marich.
He opened the conversation with the least likely pick-up line I'd ever encountered - "Want to know about my Hawaiian lineage?" I'd have accepted the etchings one better, but hey, it was Haiti. It was hot (95 degrees in the shade), humid (95% - my straight hair was curling by the second day) and I had no where to go, so I figured why not? What proceeded was the most amazing recounting of a spiritual journey I'd ever heard. From astrology classes in 1970 New York, to Hawaiian shark shamans to Peruvian mystics and Nigerian witch doctors, this guy had seen or done it all. I kept listening, because I just couldn't believe half of it. Over the next five years, I'd come to be a believer.
We survived our Vodou "Bootcamp" as we came to call the grueling dance rehearsals, song sessions and lack of food and sleep. On Batem day, we truly felt out of the ordinary. During the course of the rites, I had tied Steve's pakets, strung his kolyes and made his asson (along with four others - it's no easy burden being a good artist. You get found out and then -WHAM - you're making everyone's ritual gear while they are all off in the corner, drinking rum and playing...but I digress.) On the morning of our departure, Steve burst into tears and hugged me fiercely - I was moved by his display of emotion and forever bonded to him by the same thing. This macho guy was showing his real side - and I loved him for it.
We kept in touch nearly daily touch for five years. Our conversation covered the gamut of occult topics - Haitian Vodou, Renassaince astrology, New Age Paganism, Hawaiian shamanism. He taught me many things and I hope I did the same for him. I grew to admire the way he had put together his systems of magic. He talked to me of Tanith, his beloved Godmother and initiator. I actually met her one time, in a moment of pure magic and spiritualism. So good was Steve at what he did, he could raise her energy for me from afar and invoke her presence for me, so that I could meet this amazing magician he so loved. But even the most powerful mages must succumb to this plane of existence at some point in their lives.
I never got to see him again. My husband and I raised our sosyete and life in all it's glory and mess over took us. My aging parents grew ill, and passed across the waters. My husband's family needed us more and more. And the spirits needed us more and more. The thing about Vodou is this - when the Spirits know you can see Them, They never leave you alone. Vodou grew into our lives, taking it over. We built a new temple, and began monthly services We started a charity. We taught classes and began working in the world as priests. It was all good - but I had less and less time for long conversations. We organiuzed our Vodou sosyete on the principle of family - something I know Steve admired. "Come out and serve with us," I said more than once to him. He had a standing invite to come whenever he could. But money, time and life always seemed to get in the way.
My connection to him was strong. So strong, that in September of this year, I knew something was up when I couldn't get a hold of him. I kept calling, leaving messages. Finally, I began searching out his family numbers, hoping I could get a message to him or find out what was wrong. It was the longest I had ever gone without talking to him. And then, his beloved caregiver called to give me the news. That his brilliant light had gone out and we were left standing in the dark, wondering what had happened, that so gifted a man would be taken from us all. Papa Steve had departed for the shores of Ginen, and we were left to pick up the pieces and go on.
Shakespeare also said every journey starts the same way - with tears and a kiss. I remember Steve's tears at our departure in Jacmel, that hot sunny morning. I barely knew the man and yet his display of emotions moved me beyond words. I returned them with my own love and affection over the years. And now here again, I found myself in tears, but with no kiss to help soothe me in the parting.
I went to California in November, to complete the journey. With the help of Adelle his care giver, I poured water at his house, to release his spirits there. Then, together, we went to the ocean at sunset with his ashes and poured them out on the rolling waves of his beloved mother Yemeya. I carried his pot to the waters edge and began to sing the Priye for him. As I got to the part of LaSiren, the pot exploded outward to the sea, and a huge flock of birds swooped down out of nowhere. They hoovered for a second above the pot, then gathered into a group and flew directly out over the ocean, into the setting sun. At that moment, I lost control and wept tears of farewell, sending Papa Steve off on his final journey of this lifetime.
I have the empty pot on the altar next to my LaSiren things. And I have this place to write about him and give you all my memories as well. They are all good ones. Full of laughter and smiles. We always laughed in our talks. I think it's the best magic he had - the ability to laugh and find humor in life. It kept him alive and in the world. I choose to remember how he lived - full. Of curiosity, of knowledge, of magic. Full of life. Ayibobo.
I hope next time, I meet him sooner and he stays longer. I don't know when or where it will be, but of this I am sure - it will be in a strange place, with strangers. Because that's where you always meet and make the best of friends. Ayibobo.
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