Small Spiritual Emergencies

Five hours of sleep later, I’m awakened by hard knocking on my bedroom door, to run down the stairs in my robe and sit in the living room, talking to someone experiencing genteel, white panic. Vodou is unapologetically and culturally a religion of minorities. It’s also unapologetically both a shamanic tradition and a tradition of secrets, all of which means it’s not uncommon for people to show up with anxiety about what’s going to happen to them and some set of percolating ideas about what could happen.

There are times where this complexion is an asset, and talking white middle class people down before ceremonies is one of them.

I don’t begrudge people their panic. This is all so far outside most people’s experiences and understanding that it would be strange if they didn’t experience stress coming in for a ritual or ceremony. Most people showing up, no matter their race, are a little panicked around the edges. There are a bunch of ideas about what we do in vodou that circulate in the broader culture and make it seem like we’re up to all sorts of bullshit.

Unfortunately, the bullshit they can’t help but be aware of is nothing so innocuous as dancing naked under a full moon, which we only do for fun.

Sitting with people as they panic a little, or try not panic, is something I don’t mind doing. Healing starts, as much as anything else, with someone willing to listen, or even just to sit with someone and be a concrete reassurance that it’s going to be okay. A sleepy presence in a robe and nightgown, brewing early morning coffee in the kitchen, someone to sit and let you take up space—none of this is hard to do and it helps.

Being a priest is as much about these small, spiritual emergencies as it is the other stuff. I was up last night until 3 am with a spiritual removal, up again at 8 am for someone panicking before a ceremony. This is what we do, to serve our communities, our spirits, and our lineage.

Being mildly inconvenienced is an important part of honor and respect.