When I was four or five years old, my first year in what American’s call ‘kindergarten’ and West Indians call ‘Infants School’, I learnt how jealousy can make someone do wicked things.
A little girl in my class–Marilyn is her name–was a girl with a ‘funny’ eye. I mean that her eye kind of dropped, and I don’t think she could see out of it very well. I guess you could say she was my first friend in Barbados. She was a little ‘douglaish’ looking, and she had what simple, ignorant, backward people of African descent refer to as ‘good hair’.
We sat next to each other, but I have no memories of what we talked about. One day, althoush I remember not, I must have said something that set her off, One minute we were standing there talking; she was sharpening a pencil and I was waiting to use it and the next, she had jabbed that pencil into my eye.
Of course, I screamed bloody murder! She was taken to the principal’s office and belted or whipped or whatever, and I was rushed off. I have forgotten everything else that happened. Everything but the point of the pencil rushing to my eye and my eye squeezing shut reflexively and the pain of the thing. Everything but that and the little bitch’s name.
Well, I wish I report that was my last experience with a woman’s jealousy.
My life is littered with stories like that. Stories of these, these, these….. sad, sad, twisted creatures.
There was Elaine, another memorable bitch in training. We were in Second Form, (I dunno the grade in the American system) we were about thirteen or fourteen and I was hanging out with a tough set. I can barely remember this girl’s personality, but she did me this real spiteful thing. We were in the bathroom playing around with eyeliner. I put some on my bottom lids, and was just hanging out on the long bench with the other girls engaged in various stages of dress and undress, makeup application and such. As the bathroom emptied, and the talk dwindled, I saw Elaine applying eyeliner to her shaved eyebrows.
Somehow I managed to agree to her applying some to my own eyebrows. I know I asked her why she did it, and doing it was her idea. She smiled as she did it, telling me it looked ‘sooooo good’. She also diverted me from looking in the mirror before she pushed me out of the bathroom, already ten minutes late for my next class.
As I walked down the empty corridors, one kid ran out of class, saw me, stopped dead in my tracks, stared at me in shock for a second or two and started laughing. He ran past me, giggling. I immediately became uneasy, but went into the class anyway. When I walked in, the first few kids that saw me started laughing. The whole class turned, and finally more than just the first few were laughing. My one or two real friends were dismayed. Everyone else was laughing.
My teacher came up to me and told me to go back to the bathroom and wipe my face. As I walked out, Elaine walked in and smiled evilly, before taking her seat. When I went back to the bathroom, I saw what she did. Drawing these huge Groucho Marx-like squares above my eyes. I started to cry, and wiped my face clean, washed it and feeling humiliated, went back to my class.
I sat there, she was a few seats up and in the row next to mine. She looked back several times and smiled at me, so satisfied with herself.
There was the little white girl at the Convent who spit in my face almost everyday for three weeks; there was my supposed best friend, the one who’s father molested me when I was thirteen, she stole almost everyone of my boyfriends, and she wasn’t the only one.
The other stories are both worse and not very bad, but dealing with women and their jealousy, has been my real life since I know myself. My mother has told me that many times. She reminds me of stories of attacks be women, that I forget. Some I never will.
The thing is, I never have that intent with these women, these girls, these twisted and selfish people. I always end up in these conflicts with women based on their complete uncontrollable jealousy.
A few weeks ago, when I wrote about the young man Nicholas and how he told me about the woman who was doing me wickedness. He said part of the spell was prevent me from finding out who my enemy was. He stopped as we were talking, closed his eyes and prayed. He said he asked Baba Ogun to clear my memory and my perception and to reveal the name to me.
He told me I kept passing over the name, and ignoring it for one reason or another.
I told you about Sango in manifestation told me there was a light on me. It was like pieces of a puzzle locking together and building a bigger picture, and understanding of what has been happening to me, and why and who it is that is doing it.
I wrote about Astra’s reading and the continued messaged received from manifestations…..so, as much as I want to think the best of people, even in their anger and hatred, I cannot pretend this isn’t happening. I cannot dismiss this thing as not happening, because the last ten years of my life have been marred and effected by the hatred of someone who has no cause for it. None.
Last week Tuesday, I went to see a Shrine Mother, to seek help and to see about these prescribed baths and getting protection, and regaining my equilibrium. I chose to see someone as far removed from the shrine I’ve been in as I could possibly get.
She couldn’t see me because she was sick, not feeling well. She asked her assistant to show me how, and asked for me to set down two lights for Baba Ogun and say some prayers in His shrine.
The next day, my friend, a guy who is a book seller and a merchandiser of sorts in African goods and clothing, called me out of the blue and asking me to go up to Barbados and do him a favour. I cleared the time with work, and by Saturday morning I was in Barbados.
I called my UT and got Astra’s number, and early Sunday morning, my mother drove me there and sat in the car for over and hour and twenty minutes while she gave me all the messages and the guidance I needed,
Going up to Barbados was a divine intervention. Not only that, my dreams are becoming very powerful…. very telling. The are separate entries.
The Scales and Justice, The Clearer Of The Pathway, The Builder Of Civilisations, The Owner of Iron, Ogun, moved the energies just so, to allow me to go to Barbados, and arrive at the doorstep of a gifted, talented mystic, so the answers I needed could come. Astra read me for free and I have the whole conversation on tape. I’ve been transcribing it. I wrote until the battery on my laptop died on Monday night. (I forgot my adaptor at work. This speaks to the dazed state of my mind. Scattered, nervous and anxious. Jumpy and eager to get this shit on the road.)
Today I finally got to see the Shrine Mother. It wwas a torturous wait in the palais. I waited for three hours until I could see her. In tears at one point, because the weight was at both it’s heaviest point, and my conviction and faith that the reign of terror was it’s end, caught in a prism of weight and the reality of gravity and an almost calm, serene, lightness of being. I crossed her palm and she divined for me,
Today–tonight, the cleansing and change begins.
These are not the ramblings of a crazy person, they are the words of a Goddess’s child whose faith has brought her to first real step on the road to iwa pele… I am going to meet my destiny, with this first step. I am not alone. There are people that love me in the world, and Spirit and The Universe are protecting me despite this misuse and abuse of power directed towards me. All my loves, my men, all my work, all my money, my very life has been threatened and gripped in the fist of this thing. I have survived because of the goodness of my heart, and the love I share unconditionally.
All healing required will come. I will become strong… strong enough to engender healing in my tribe, my kith and my kin. My warrior’s heart is strong and bore this destruction and destructiveness with my own shield, protected by nothing and no one, fighting a demon, a witch, a sorcerer and dragons… with a shield of pure intent and blessed intervention.
I bless my voice and I bless the voice of the earthy, celestial, connective, Spirit-filled, gifted people who have helped and journeyed with me.
Jealousy will never, ever defeat me. Osun’s daughter will not succumb to dark witch craft. I am, and always will be a survivor.
The difference between me and the jealous bitch doing this, is that the day I see her, stumbling and with nothing, in need of help… I would pick her up, dust her off and help her to walk again. She is my Saruman….
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