For there to be a hero in any drama there must be an
anti-hero. That which opposes the work, the fruition, the very essence of the
hero. That which tries, and depending on whether a tragedy or a comedy,
succeeds in eclipsing the ultimate goal of the hero. The resulting tension
between the two opposing forces gives birth to the heroic act. The heroic act
is to overcome that which is insurmountable-- be it evil, corruption,
temptations, rain, drought, or storms. The anti-hero of our concern here is
everyone's anti-hero-- death. It is more so evident in tragedies where our hero
is the personification of an ideal man, a man of virtue and genius, in whose
work and essence beauty is personified, and is alas overcome by death. Beauty
is the river that separates this world from that world, or the above from the
below. Truly man is incomplete without beauty. Beauty being bereft makes the
hero's death all the more tragic.
Man can overcome vice, intolerance, tyranny, ignorance, but
there is only one antagonist that man cannot overcome at least on this side of
life. The belief in immortality and various forms of afterlife are a result of
man's effort to overcome death. In response to this archetypal dilemma, human
beings furthermore have cleverly devised casting death in a role which is not
antagonistic or an anti-hero. Instead we have cast it as a great teacher, as
the great leveler of man. This is itself a way of conquering the problem of death; simply by not making
it a problem. If death is not fighting you, and you are not fighting it, then it is not your enemy, but rather a
teacher. We see how it can be a teacher
in the admonition, "set your house in order", for we never know when
death will come calling. In this light, the fearful grasp that death has on the
human psyche is no longer the dilemma to struggle against.
Death is the personification of impermanence. And the
death's head and/or coffin is the archetypal symbol for it. Throughout many
cultures in Latin America, Europe and the East (i.e. the religious iconography
of Tibet, India) the prevalence of the death's head is a persistent reminder of
the impermanence of life. These symbols appear again and again in rituals
because, primarily, and despite our efforts to obviate the obvious, the struggle
against impermanence and change is man's epic and archetypal struggle. It is
constant and lurking at every corner. The struggle to not cling to the waves of
desire and material attachments is daily. As long as man has a fear of death,
he is not free. It is through the
vanquishing of the fear of death that we gain our liberation.
*
From the Yorùbá tradition we have a story where one
of their most important heroes, a prophet by the name of Òrúnmìlà is in conflict with Death. As the
story goes, Òrúnmìlà was once concerned about a dream he
had the previous night. He dreamt that Death was going to visit his house
dressed in all its terminal accoutrements and carrying his necrotic bloodied
spiked club. When Òrúnmìlà woke that morning he immediately
went to the Ifa divination oracle. Upon divination he was told that the wise
awake and remain erect. That Fear and Death had also gone for divination
wondering how they could have dominion over life. Òrúnmìlà was told that fear was actually what
he needed to conquer. He was told to stay upright. He was told to sacrifice two
hundred snails and thereafter tie the shells to a walking stick the length of
his body. Òrúnmìlà was the only one of the three that
did the sacrifice. He was to place this stick erect at the entrance to his
house and everyday upon going to sleep and waking he was to bang the stick on
the ground. The effect was a cacophonous clank that would scare the daylights
out of anyone if not at least wake the dead. True to his dream, one evening
Death (Ikú
in Yoruba) came prancing down the front of Òrúnmìlà 's house in full terminal regalia
just as he was beginning to beat the sonorous walking stick. The song Òrúnmìlà was told to sing by the Ifá oracle was,
"Oluwòwò ji odi ji Oluwòwò
nba
ri Ikú máà tè eee!"
which translates to, "The strong Ifá priest has woken, he has woken, when I see
Death I will stomp him"
Death was not accustomed to hearing such defiance. And it
never heard such a cacophonous sound accompanying the song. He thought to
himself, "if this is Òrúnmìlà just singing before going to sleep,
imagine what he will do to me when he sees me." Death immediately, and
unbeknownst to Òrúnmìlà , made a turn back to his abode.
The crucial issue in the above myth is not the conquering
of Death per se, but rather the subjugation of fear. It wasn't until Òrúnmìlà did the sacrifice with snails, a
symbol of coolness and softness, that his heart was able to soften and cool and
thus become fearless. This softness and coolness is in direct contrast to the image we have of Death.
Indeed in the story he has a rather rough and harsh demeanor. He is after all
the anti-hero. It wasn't until Òrúnmìlà embodied the opposite
characteristics of Death-- coolness,
uprightness, fearlessness-- that Death was not able to prey upon him, that he
was able to postpone his day of death.
The other interesting aspect of this story is the object
with which Òrúnmìlà was able to scare off Death. It was
a long (the length of Òrúnmìlà body), walking stick that made
noise. It was to be used uprightly, that is, perpendicular to the ground, the
abode of the dead. By ritually using the stick, which can be further understood
to be a smaller version of a tree of life, or axis mundi, Òrúnmìlà declared himself, indeed imprints by
the simple act of banging the ground, his presence on Earth. He became the temporal opposite of sleep.
*
We are taught in so many of the ancient traditions, that it
is through inner work (though usually it not called as such, in fact the work
is usually deceptively materialistic) that we gain our freedom and hence our
true rewards. This work must not be done with expectations, but rather for its intrinsic value. Through this arduous
work, one of knowledge gained through initiation, purification, transformation
we gain a gnosis of impermanence, of selflessness, we remain upright,
vanquishing fear, and we are able to enter the center of our Self, the crypt of
our Self. It is there where we get our rewards.
"Behold now... I exhort you: All compounded things are
subject to decay. Strive [towards enlightenment] with diligence!", said the Buddha more than 2400 years ago. As
human beings we are truly unique in our precious births as we uniquely have the
opportunity to cultivate wisdom, virtue, seek truth, and so perform an active
role in improving our lives. Of the myriad of living species there are no other
on earth capable of doing this. Barring severe physical and/or mental
hindrances, each human being has the capability of performing the “great work”.
In Yorùbá the word for person is ènìyà n. It is a compound word formed by è a
possessive prefix, ni the verb to be,
and yà n meaning to
choose. Together it translates as "he/she that is chooses". Choice is fundamental to the identity of a
human being according to Yorùbá philosophy. Without going into too
much detail regarding the creation of a human being, it is believed that humans
choose their destinies in the spirit world before being born. It is one's Èlèdá, literally
the owner of your creation, that spirit that resides in everyone, the seat of
the divine within all of us, that chooses one's destiny. Once a person is born
that record and memory is forgotten. Hence this is one of the central reasons
followers of the Yorùbá tradition consult the Ifá oracle; as it is this divine corpus
that has the ability to direct one in the direction consistent with the choices
one made in the spirit world at any given moment. Of course everyone is free to
follow the directives of the oracle or not. The fact that one can even choose
to believe this theory is itself what makes one an ènìyà n. To choose
is quintessentially human. To choose to perform is fruition.
Vocational work, when it is honest and truthful, is the
seed of all societies and the root of its evolution. Just as the worker bees
collaborate to build and sustain the hive, so it is through our various
vocations and stations in society that it is built and sustained. Work
facilitates the positive esteem of individuals.
A society whose members believe themselves worthy and productive and
integral, is a society erected on a strong foundation. It is a society that will
build its cultural, civic, and political institutions from the ground up.
Ideally a society where a symbiotic relationship exists between the various
strata, each nourished by the other. However, man cannot live by work alone!
Spiritual work, on the other hand , is performed in the
most discreet, quiet, seemingly inactive way. No need to go somewhere to do it (though a sacred
space helps to accomplish it). No need to wear a uniform (though regalia and
iconography can help). No need to punch a time-clock (though discipline and
effort are crucial). No need to have a boss (though Nature and all its laws are
watching).
If a man acts only as if his father were watching him, and
expecting a reward, well that man is in the end a child regardless of his age.
Every action has a cause and a reaction. They say the bat of a butterfly's wing
can cause a typhoon half-way across the world. What then of acts of kindness,
charity, and love? There are many opportunities in life to express these
qualities-- parenting, brotherhood, philanthropy, even vocational work. Many of
us unfortunately fall victims to our own selfishness and expect rewards for
these acts. Those of us who give to charity expect at least a government
write-off. We work merely to make money, to pay bills, or at best amass a
certain amount of wealth for relative comfort today or the far-off future;
unaware death or impermanence can undo a lifetime's work in a day. We have many
opportunities to labor, perform, act without fee or reward, simply for its own
sake. Some would say it is because of duty
that we should perform such acts. But duty, when there is an expectation of
reward attached to the action is no longer duty, but just what it is-- an
action with an expectation of reward. In the end a selfish action predicated on
a reward. This genuine attitude of duty and work are no doubt very difficult to
achieve, but is nonetheless available to anyone, regardless of class,
education, upbringing, etc., precisely because of our precious human birth.
We have to labor on many levels-- psychologically, spiritually,
morally-- for work to be truly transcendent. But we must labor with the firm
belief that our work will bear fruit in some way. We must make our labors
equate a prayer. Laborare est orare! We must however be vigilant not to labor because it will bear fruit, but rather
because it is best and moral and of benefit to others, ourselves, and family.
There is a winding staircase that each and every one of us must climb. We can
never be certain what, if death itself, is lurking around the bend on the next
step. So we must be sure of our steps. Sure that they are honest and genuine.
That they are of benefit in general. That they at least do not contribute to
the baseness and demoralization of society. We must be sure our labors do not
shred the fabric of society (unless of course it is corrupt, ignorant, and
tyrannical), crumble the stones on which it rests. Most importantly we must be
sure not to debase ourselves by acting callously, crudely or maliciously. We
must work diligently in polishing our personal temples that others can emulate
it, build upon it. So when the day arrives to call us back to our source, we
can reflect back with a sense of accomplishment. It is arduous work but the
best work.
Adrian Castro is a poet, writer, and interdisciplinary artist. Born in Miami, a place which has provided fertile ground for the rhythmic Afro-Latino style in which he writes and performs. Articulating the search for a cohesive Afro-Caribbean-American identity, Castro honors myth on one hand and history on the other. He addresses the migratory experience from Africa to the Caribbean to North America, and the eventual clash of cultures. Castro creates a circular motion of theme, tone, subject matter, style, and cultural history, giving rise to a fresh illuminating archetypal poetry.
These themes reach their climax in their declamacion – the call-and-response rhythm of performance with a whole lot of tun-tun ka-ka pulse. He is the author of Cantos to Blood & Honey,(Coffee House Press, 1997), Wise Fish: Tales in 6/8 Time,(Coffee House Press, 2005), Handling Destiny, (Coffee House Press, 2009), and has been published in many literary anthologies. He is the recipient of a USA Knight Fellowship (2012), Cintas Fellowship (2008), the State of Florida Individual Artist Fellowship, NewForms Florida, the Eric Mathieu King award from the Academy of American Poets, NALAC Arts Fellowship, and several commissions from Miami Light Project and the Miami Art Museum. He has performed with many dancers and actors including Chuck Davis and African American Dance Ensemble, Heidi Duckler and Collage Dance, and Keith Antar Mason and the Hittite Empire. He has toured extensively through the U.S. and abroad.
Castro has taught at University of Miami, Miami Dade College, and FIU as visiting professor, and/or guest lecturer. The New York Times Book Review selected Wise Fish as an editor's choice saying, "Sinuous, syncopated verses about the Caribbean melting pot." And "…even a cursory glance suggests his poems—which seem to be trying to dance off the page…would truly come alive on the stage. "Wise Fish" is a serious and seriously enjoyable contribution to our flourishing Latino literature." Adrian Castro is also an acupuncturist and herbalist.
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