I invoked Oxun’s forgiveness and her gifts of the heart, over and over and finally with the last of my blood poured out on floating altars of flowers on her river, staining it all bright red, watching the drops dissolve into the water, knowing that that part is over forever, my heart was torn out, and I walked waist deep down the river following the altar, not wanting it to be gone from me. But it is infinitely gone from me into her, and she returns her gifts to me. And I thought no one would ever know, that no one would come after who could hear or understand. I went to the temple of the Priestess of Oxun, goddess of Sweet Water, the voice of the Muse, of love, of luxurious well being, of the secret golden mirror that Aphrodite carried, in Ituapua last August on my birthday. I had come to realize that I had never made offerings to Oxun. Perhaps because at first when I was in Bahia, I was wounded in the heart, I didn’t want to go bearing gifts to the goddess of love. And then when I was unwounded, I didn’t want to bring anything to me of that nature, so somehow I neglected her. And she is very jealous. Particularly of Iemanja, the Mother of Salt Waters, Queen of the Sea, who I had made elaborate offerings to. And Iansan, goddess of hurricanes and transformation through destruction who rides on my crown. I went to this priestess, who is Oxun’s daughter, and I said I am ready to make amends to the Queen of the Heart, if for nothing else for the sake of balance. And for peace in the heart. She gave me instructions and I have carried them out. And continue to carry them out. This is true.

YOUR BRAIN ON DRUMS:

The Mob of Angels with the incomparable Laurel Masse.., the fantastic Steve Gorn and Eva Atsalis. The rocking rhythm section of Jagoda and Tommy Be:

Tranceformation, composed by Layne Redmond. Performed by Bob Becker, Tommy Be, Stacey Bowers, Russ Hartenberger, Garry Kvistad, Rick Kvistad, Layne Redmond. At the Woodstock Beat concert, 1995:

Glen Velez with Layne Redmond:

Zohar Fresco and Layne Redmond, rehearsal in Cyprus, 2007:

Marcos Suzano, Robertinho Silva, Tommy Be, Layne Redmond, Maranhao, Brazil, 1996:

I was out on Shatz Island on Crystal River as a thunder storm blew up towards me, trying to photograph the lightening but just not fast enough. Later I would look at photographs of ominous black skys without a trace of glimmering light in them. My younger brothers, tired of waiting for me in the car, were sure that much more interesting things were happening somewhere else. I took them back home to their comic books and tv and fell asleep on the couch like I often have to do after chasing lightening. Falling into a dream, I found myself still trying to photograph the lightening bolts. Now high up but somehow very close to me a brilliant electric yellow opening doorway had appeared in the deep smoked purple sky. As I quickly set up my camera to catch this shot a tremendous clap of thunder split my mind open. In the ensuing swirling chaotic brilliance, my brain exploded into a supernova, shattering me out to the ends of the universe with the force of a nuclear bomb. Eons later, I became aware that I was laying on the grass, paralyzed, a crowd of people gathered around me. I had been struck by lightening. Someone said, “She’ll never be the same.” And I knew I never did want to be the same. Something pulled me out of the dream, and in a hazy state I took my tambourine, went out the front door and sat out on the steps under an ancient pine soaring up into the clear afternoon sunlight. Trying to bring back the essence of the dream, I relentlessly played my tambourine, until a deafening explosion of the wild dream thunder struck the pine in front of me and I was in the midst of shattering splinters and sparks of burning wood for real this time. Shocked and stunned into silence, I carefully shook off the burning embers and backed into the house. But from then on, Iansan, mighty goddess of lightening has pursued me through my dreams, striking me with her bolts of lightening as she so chooses, and in waking life pursuing me with tornados and hurricanes until I have fled to her domain in Bahia where there are no hurricanes or tornados but where she lives indeed.

Portals appear and disappear. Open and Close. Throughout our lives. Some are open to us forever, some only for a second and some never. Which ones we walk through determine who we become, just as much as the ones we do not make it through.