and the rain fell down like a blessing from Olorun

My mind is thinking back to that dance production about Oshun I saw last month. The story was a bit of a different spin on the story of Oshun and Ogun. In the play, Ogun and his warriors were wreaking havoc on the earth, spreading destruction and terror in their midst. In one scene, the drummers started playing a slow mournful beat and the singer sang a song of praise to Olofi, the Supreme Creator. Normally most orisha music sounds joyous but there was something different about the way he was singing it. It was so slight but it sounded more like a cry for help although sounding like praise still. Two women entered on the stage. One was an old woman in a white gown with long white hair. She fluttered in and looked like she was suffering. Her body contorted in anguish. A younger girl in a red dress came out and clung to her. They looked like a mother and daughter clinging to each other in sorrow, distraught by the suffering caused by tragedy and war. They leave the stage and Obatala enters declaring that Ogun's raw brutality must be kept in check and there will be peace. Much later the girl becomes one of Oshun's handmaidens.
Oshun and her handmaidens enchant Ogun and his warriors and the drums of war become the sensuous Ijesha rythmns of Oshun. Love conquers War and peace and civilization are allowed to continue. The old woman who in my mind represents the human soul burdened by suffering now glides on stage and her daughter leads her to Obatala. She kneels before the King of the White Cloth and prepares to enter the next world. In Candomble, Obatala is sometimes associated with death, the final ending that brings peace and a ceasing of suffering.
This play brings to mind another story of when Oshun in the form of a peacock flies up to the throne of Olofi to beg the Creator to send rain. The sun blackens her feathers and she becomes a vulture. Once again she saves the world from extinction.

Sometimes I feel like that scene in the play where humanity cries out to the Creator for an explanation. But sometimes the explanation is there is NO explanation. Our human minds were not meant always to grasp these mysteries. Sometimes the only answer the orishas can give me is We love you. Sometimes I pray and the rain falls down like a blessing from Olofi.
I'm not always sure what path to take. I know what I have to do in this life. I may have to do it alone or perhaps may have someone at my side to love me. In either case, the only strength I can rely on is my own. I thank all of you here, whom I have mentioned and those not mentioned for giving me such love, good advice, and friendship.
In the words of a fellow priest, Omi Leti "The chains are broken and my waters will engulf the world." I say let the rain fall, whether its tears of joy or tears are sorrow, both are equally sacred. Whether a smooth flowing sweet water of love or an angry tidal wave in the end all that is negative, all that is not of the divine is washed away. Ashe.