one woman's journey to wholeness…

Archive for the ‘Drum Spirit’ Category

I’ve Got A New Rhythm…

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Sacred Djembe – Photo by Toni Roberts

 

one day

in…

next day

out…

being…

doing…

being…

doing…

dobedobedobedo…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Memories…

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Memories – Photo of photo on altar; by Toni Roberts

Windswept beach

Moonlight walks

   Drumming

with

My

   Lover

Time

to clear out

Inner Space

for

New

Life

New

   Love

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Drumming Back To Freedom…

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Photo by Toni Roberts; Djembe

Ah

   the weather is finally warming…

soon it will be time to

return to the

   park…

to the

   drums…

drumming back to freedom

   under the heat of the city sun…

back to

   Africa…

back to

      freedom

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Yemaya–Photo by Toni Roberts

 

dancing to the call of the

orishas...

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Photo by Toni Roberts

in the wild abandon of

forgetfulness

we are back in the

   bush...

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Tools for Journeying…Photo by Toni Roberts

 

released from our

   rat-infested tenements

from the

drugs

crime

grinding poverty

and

devastation

that has not abated since first they

dragged us

bound

and

chained

across the waters

to this

new world

this new version of

hell

called

modern

western

      civilization

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Grandfathers and Drum; Photo by Toni Roberts

   and so…

in the noisy

crowded summer heat

of a Harlem park

we beat our drums

and dance our way

back home

to

Africa...

to the

   Motherland

to

   Freedom

Toni Roberts’ Artwork and Photography are available at:

http://www.cafepress.com/DaughtersofGaia

http://www.cafepress.com/orishatreasures

http://www.fineartamerica.com/art/all/toni+roberts/all

http://toniroberts.imagekind.com

To All Djembefolas…A Message From Spirit!

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I am Djembefola

I am Woman-through-whom

Spirit speaks

When Djembefola is connected to her drum

As one instrument…

The Drum is Woman…

The Woman is Drum…

The Voice of Mother Africa speaking

It is the energy of Woman

Feminine Energy….

Openness…receptivity…giving…love…

The creative, unifying Energy of Djembefolas…

Rippling out in beats of Love…

Nourishment from the Mother…

Healing the souls of Her wounded children…

Drum on! Djembefola!

Become One with your Drum and continue your Holy Work!

Drum on!

 

After The Rain…Light…Understanding…

after the rain...

after the rain…

 

Instead of drumming this Saturday, I spent quiet time at my window altar–with the river.

Rising above the chatter of my “monkey brain,” I sat in the peaceful silence of my rain-washed world–listening within:

This drumming, my dear–just like the words that you write–comes through you. You, the ego-personality, are not the owner of your creative productions. The words, and sounds come through you from a Source that also determines the why, what, when, where and how of it all.

Do not attempt to order your gifts; trying to determine whence they come and go.

Life is not yours to order. It is yours to remain open, receptive and in service to That Which lies behind, beneath, above and at each side of all form. 

You are learning to understand–and more importantly–to accept and live a reality which is the only authentic Reality there is.

It is a process of opening the heart in trust and releasing the pain you did not know was there.

It is truly living from the inside out: letting your 3-D world unfold in, as and through you; bypassing the ego.

It is not the human way  of being. 

It is a process of “un-conditioning” the mind.

Have patience with yourself.

I am with you.

We are with you.

On Death…Dying…Souls Leaving Without Saying Good-bye…Tears…Laughter and Drumming For My Life In Marcus Garvey Park…

souls leaving without saying good-bye…

Spoke to my old college buddy, M., this morning.

Her husband, C., keeled over and died in the middle of their conversation

in their hotel room

in Atlantic City

Friday morning.

There he was one minute yammering away

and then he was gone

in

a

split

second.

M. was asking him from the bathroom,

having just gotten out of the shower herself,

if he was going to shower next or

wait until morning?

“Now.” He answers her. “I can smell myself.”

Then...thud

She hears what sounds like something dropping on the floor

in the next room.

And sure enough…

something had dropped on the floor…

her husband.

He was stone, cold dead.

That makes me weep.

I weep not

for my friend, M.

nor for her husband, C.

I weep because life is so fragile…

so temporary…

so uncertain.

As I sit here at my window altar

writing these words,

I have no way of knowing if they will be my last

and if in a week or so

my daughter will  be using her

emergency key to enter my apartment

to dispose of my rotting, stinking body

after my soul had up and decided to leave today

without even saying good-bye.

That thought makes makes me laugh…

And think.

And I am then filled with gratitude

another beautiful day of life…

for having left this apartment yesterday

to meet up with my Sister Drum Slut, Y.

in Marcus Garvey Park

where I drummed my ass off

along with a handful of diehard drummers

squeezing in as much drumming as we can

before fall turns to winter

and it’s just too damn cold

to sit out there in the park

drumming for hours as if

our lives depended upon it.

And they do…

our lives…

depend upon it…

at least mine does…

We drummed as if our spirits

would up and leave

without

saying

good-bye…

if we didn’t drum for our lives…

Drumming in Marcus Garvey Park…

And yesterday…Saturday

after the gift of Friday with K. in Central Park

came the ecstasy of drumming in

Marcus Garvey Park

A Holy Circle of

modern-day santeros, babalawos, curanderas

women, men and children

who are called by

the Spirit of the Drum

Grandfather blessing my drum…

Gathering weekly to pay homage

to the Motherland: Africa

Lending body, mind and soul

as vehicles upon which the Orishas may ride…

Giving oneself up as intermediary

between the two worlds

vessels to be filled with the

Voice of Drum Spirit…

Holy Rhythms of Healing and Love

rippling out from the village of Harlem

in never ending circles…

through the city…

the nation…

the world…

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