On Lineage and Legacy
I’ve been reading an asogwe priest’s essays on various topics in vodou. It’s been rich, in terms of knowledge, and I’m generally happy to learn more about the way other houses or lineages do what they do, in part because there’s so very much to learn and in part because it often has the effect of illuminating something new in what I already know.
He’s been writing on and off about the topic of lineage and legacy. I’ve always found that topic a bit… well, useless for my purposes. I don’t come from a long family line of priests (that I know of), nor some long family involvement in vodou. The culture of my Cajun family is a bit elliptical to, though has overlap with, the culture of vodou. As the black sheep, I’ve always been orthogonal to these sorts of discussions. There’s never been any pressure for me to carry on the family name—in fact, my immediate family hoped I would die early, so the question of whether I’d be involved in any sort of legacy of family was moot. I was content to survive.
As someone whose childhood was mostly spent traveling the world, I have no particular ties anywhere, nor any particularly strong sense of patriotism or place. I do not have anywhere I think of as “home.”
As a mambo, I am forced to reconsider the question of lineage and legacy. Part of the service we do is to our lineage: we serve in memory of those who went before us. We also serve in memory of those who serve with us, together as a unit, helping each other serve. We do honor and respect to the spirits and the houses we are adopted into as a part of our participation in that lineage.
For me at least, it is a part of love. An outgrowth of the love we are shown by adoption. In my experience, love binds things a lot more securely than simple obligation.
On the question of legacy, I remain ambivalent. So often, when we speak of legacy, we are really talking about an attempt at limited immortality: something people use to comfort themselves when they consider their own death and the end of consciousness. Priests are not immune to this.
I remain ambivalent, in part, because I never expected to survive this long. I do not expect to be remembered. Perception is slippery enough when I am standing in front of someone, and the faultiness of memory is so well documented that I don’t need to bother to explain. I might not be replaceable, but people’s lives will fall into pattern in my absence without any sort of effort. I will slip from the world as I slipped into it, and I doubt there will be much commotion.
It makes me glad of humility, which allows me to recognize my limitations and where I end. I have no legacy, only distorted memory, and I am not worried about it. I am far more concerned about lineage and my service. I am more worried about the honor, respect, and love I show the spirits, the people I serve, and others serving.
