When the world was still very young, Orula was sent to earth in search of a mythic land called Ilé Ifé, the spiritual capital of the world, where he was to teach Ifá and the proper way to live to the people who lived there. When Orula came to the world with his Ifá, he arrived at a place called Onika, which was on the shores of the sea. Leading out from Onika were sixteen roads, and Orula patiently began taking each road to its end one at a time. Each road was more difficult than the last, and on his travels he encountered all the peoples of the world, but none of the roads led to Ilé Ifé. There was finally only one road left, a desolate path leading straight into the shifting sands of the desert. Orula followed this last road until he was stumbling blind through the sand, his clothes in tatters, and with no food or water. As he was about to give up out of despair, through clouded eyes he thought he spied a tiny oasis with a small pool of water and somehow managed to crawl his way over to it.
When he arrived at the oasis, he found three sacred trees. An iroko, an araba, and a palm tree were growing next to the spring. Orula was delirious as he cried out to Olófin that he had failed his quest to find the sacred city of Ilé Ifé and that he was tired of the endless traveling and hardship.
Suddenly Orula heard a thunderous voice saying, “The more you look, the less you see. You do not even see what is right in front of your own nose.”
The voice then ordered Orula to take his Ifá in his hands, submerge the ekin nuts in the spring, and throw the water into his eyes and over his back. As he did so, he heard singing. “Alagba nfo gede … oju, alagba nfo gede … ofo.”
When he looked up his eyes were clear, and just in front of him was the entrance to Ilé Ifé.
And from that day forward that spring with its three sacred trees became the first Igbodú for the initiation of new babalawos.

When I wrote these words in my book, “Babalawo: Santería’s High Priests” little did I know our family was soon destined to make our own peregrination like the one described in this patakín from my own oddun Babá Eyiogbe…
My wife, Lisa Changó, our twins and I recently made the journey to Huautla de Jiménez high in the mountains of Oaxaca in Southern Mexico, the spiritual capital of the Mazatec Indians. While there we were led up the long, winding trail to the top of Nindo Tocoxo, the Mount of Adoration in preparation for a ceremony we were to undertake. This mountain is the center of the Mazatec universe and power, much like the Ilé Ifé of Ifá and Santería.
During our stay, our connection to the natural world was vastly deepened, with the help of Indians who have lived in much the same same way for hundreds, if not thousands of years. For them, and now much more for us, nature is not an abstract concept, but a constant direct interaction.
But we soon found this rediscovery came at a cost…
Our reentry into the ‘civilized world’ was jarring to put it mildly. Even the relatively small city of Oaxaca seemed disorienting, frenzied and somehow senseless, much like a speeding, out of control train careening toward some unknown fate, and probably not a good one at that…
After getting a taste of what the real world really is, it was more than a little difficult going back to Los Angeles, the
place which the Mazatec chota chjine or Woman of Knowledge she had referred to as “where their bodies were aged”, a place she
simply called “North.”
At that moment we not only knew we needed to flee Los Angeles in all possible haste, which of course was confirmed by Ifá, but that our plans to move to the relatively less neurotic Tampa had to be re-examined. And instead of merely changing the background scenery while continuing our old patterns of living and working, we need to find our true home, both spiritually and physically.
So our family is going on our own migration, traveling down many paths in search of our true home and our true way of life while spreading Ifá into new lands, in our own humble imitation of Orula’s migrations in the mythic past. It promises to be a great learning adventure for all of us.
At the same time our travels give us a marvelous and rare opportunity to bring Santería to areas that might not have access to the beauty and power of our religion. A kind of Ifá on Wheels if you will…
As we go about our travels, we will be writing about our experiences on the road.
We will also be posting our future stops here, so anyone who would like to learn more about our beautiful religion, receive a consultation in person or just say “Hi.”

I also have the joy of introducing you all to Lisa Changó, Santera and Apetebí, who will be writing about our travels as well!

Hekua Baba!!

Thank you Baba (y Orula) for my life. Thank you for soooo so much more than I could ever find words for.
You truly changed my life in so many ways that I am unable to count!
Happy Birthday Baba mi. I am so very proud to be your child and so very grateful for all you have given me.

May Obatalá accompany all of you.

Frank Baba Eyiogbe

We’ve all heard the phrase “knowledge is power.” I had to look it up to see where it had come from, where I found that it apparently originated with Sir Francis Bacon, or at least his secretary Thomas Hobbes.

Here’s how our quick and handy friend Wikipedia interprets the phrase:
“Though its meaning varies from author to author, the phrase often implies that with knowledge or education, one’s potential or abilities in life will certainly increase. Having and sharing knowledge is widely recognized as the basis for improving one’s reputation and influence, thus power. This phrase may also be used as a justification for a reluctance to share information when a person believes that withholding knowledge can deliver to that person some form of advantage. Another interpretation is that the only true power is knowledge, as everything (including any achievement) is derived from it.”

But in Santería and particularly Ifá, knowledge very literally is power.

First of all, in Ifá, we see the universe as being entirely made up of ones and zeros, brought together in groups of eight called odduns, the signs in Ifá. This is exactly the same way computer information is made up of ones and zeros (bits) arranged in groups of eight (bytes). So you might say that an oddun is an ‘Ifá Byte’ of information. And for us everything in the world around us was born in one or another of these odduns. Here we find deep parallels between Ifá and quantum theory…

Knowledge, in its role as the fundamental basis of the universe is referred to as ‘information’ by physicists. Since I go into this a lot more thoroughly in my book Babalawo, Santería’s High Priests, I won’t bore you all with having to read all the details again here. But in a nutshell, in the physics community it is fast becoming widely accepted that the underlying fabric of the universe is made up of information expressed in binary form, ones and zeros (or somethings and nothings to quote the babalawo Pancho Mora). For instance Stephen Hawking and Kip Thorne, argued about whether information is actually permanently lost in black holes and made a rather famous bet over it (Hawking lost).

But the secrets and understandings we learn or discover in life, and particularly on paths of power like Santería and Ifá are very much power as well. In fact, for us knowledge and power are pretty much interchangeable words for us.

“You aren’t ready to learn that yet.” People may not be ready for certain types of knowledge and thus it would be injurious for them to learn it too early on. For instance, there are a number of ceremonies that precede initiations in Santería and Ifá designed specifically to cleanse and strengthen the initiate to be able to withstand the knowledge/power they become infused with. And there is always the danger that a person may misuse knowledge given to them, either for gain or through sheer malevolence, or both. And, just like building a house, it is important that the godchild first builds a solid foundation before going on to learn more advanced forms of knowledge.

“If knowledge is power, let’s not give it away indiscriminately” – Bruce Lee upon opening his “closed door school’ in Los Angeles.

Power shared in many cases, is power weakened. There are simply certain secrets that should remain just that: secret. In the larger social world, secret knowledge, once spread often becomes diluted and weakened in the process. We see it happen around us all the time. These days it is commonplace for a powerful concept, once transmitted through the media and online, to become diluted even trivialized. On a personal level, knowledge given away too freely can actually spiritually and physically weaken the person. This is an especially strong belief among many Native American cultures. That is a major reason why Native Americans are often so hesitant to talk about the deeper aspects of their culture, their beliefs and especially their ceremonies. These knowledgeable elders are especially hyperaware that giving away knowledge is certain to weaken them and leave them open to attack, disease, misfortune, even death. I’ve read more than one account where an elder Native American has said that they were only divulging information to an anthropologist because they were so old that it no longer mattered if they were weakened as they were going to die soon anyway.

This idea runs counter to the Western notion that all knowledge should be somehow ‘democratized’ and to be given to all and everyone should be free to use that knowledge as they see fit. It is often believed that restricting any kind of knowledge or power is merely a cheap tactic to manipulate and to selfishly keep that knowledge (and the power that comes with it) for themselves. While there are indeed people who keep knowledge to themselves for such reasons, those are usually the ones who do not have much knowledge in the first place. But some kinds of knowledge/power can represent a clear danger to oneself and others:

I once met a woman who told me how she had found a book one day which contained a number of pembas or sigils used to invoke Exu (the Afro-Brazilian form of Echu). The person took the sigil and put copies up all over her apartment thinking she would use them to open her roads to prosperity, love, opportunity… in short all the good things in life. But she soon found just the opposite was occurring: doors were closing in her face right and left. Even things she thought she was sure of in life were falling apart all around her. Finally, one day the santero who was her godfather came to visit and saw these sigils and told her, “what the hell are you doing with those things? Take them down… NOW! And never, EVER do something like that again without asking me first!” She proudly explained what she was doing, perhaps a little annoyed at the santero for berating her (“where does he get off telling me what I can and can’t do for myself. He’s probably afraid I’ll know more than he does…”). Then her godfather explained to her that the symbols she had all over her apartment was for a path of Exu used to CLOSE someone’s doors and roads in life (which was exactly what was happening to her), and that she was extremely lucky that this Exu didn’t open one door for her that she probably did not want: the door to the graveyard (which is precisely what that Exu is used for by people who practice the darker side of the religion). Needless to say, I am not going to reveal the name of that book even if it is long out of print.

In Santería, the traditional way is to make godchildren prove themselves before they will teach them much beyond the very basics of the religion. I had to prove myself to my elders before they would teach me. In my book I describe how, as a young santero, my Oyugbona the great Oriaté Guillermo Diago would yell at me in front of all the other santeros and santeros, greatly embarrassing me every time I would help him during a ceremony. Fortunately I was just smart enough not to talk back or walk away. And after a while between the all the yelling, he began to teach me… a lot. Before long he was having me lead parts of ceremonies. In Ifá I was tested big time before I was taught. For what my elders were giving me were pieces of treasure beyond any material treasure in the world. And one does not give away one’s greatest treasures indiscriminately. Especially those one has had to fight and struggle and sweat and bleed for so much.

Over time I’ve learned just how valuable was the lesson I learned: that knowledge and wisdom are truly the most valuable treasures of all. And although my style is not so firm like my Padrino Guillermo’s, I know our own godchildren must earn those treasures so they too will treasure them and use them well… just as I earned them, and just as my elders earned them and their elders before that. Because, as my Padrino Pete told me when the very first time I was seen with Ifá, “we are a teaching ilé (house).”

“We are as Obatalá made us, what we become is up to us”

Though this refrán or proverb is specifically aimed at our destinies revealed during our Itás or deep divination performed at initiation, it also applies to regular consultas, the advice given during regular consultations when we are seen with Ifá.
The road or path Ifá that shows up is a broad one, or more precisely each oddun contains a number of possible paths and choices included within it, although all of these paths come from the same root. Nowhere is this made clearer than in the different versions of what is essentially the same patakí or mythic parable.
For instance in Ogundá Meyi there are two different versions of the same patakí with two very different conclusions. The first version, often referred to as “Olófin Splits the Difference,” illustrates how one day Ogún was walking down the road. He had run out of food and had become very, very hungry. As he walked along, he spied a river below which sparked an idea in the powerful Oricha’s mind.
Soon he set to fashioning a makeshift fishing pole out of a branch, a line out of some nearby vines and a hook he created from a nearby thorn bush. But he still lacked one very important element: bait.
Remembering having seen a meat salesman a short while back, Ogún walked back to the salesman’s stand asked him if he might give him a tidbit of spoiled meat to use.
Now fully prepared, Ogún went down to the river to try his luck. Before long he hooked a tremendous fish and within minutes the mighty Oricha had landed his prize onto the shore.
Hearing the great commotion, the man who owned the land and the meat salesman ran to the scene to see what had happened. When they saw the magnificent fish, they each wanted it for themselves. Thus began the arguments…
“I own the land, and I own the river. So the fish is rightfully mine.”
“Hold on, it was MY meat that lured the fish, so I should get that fish.”
“I… caught… the… fish… and… it… is… MINE.” Roared Ogún.
The fight went on for some time, and the argument kept escalating. Then, with unrestrained rage gleaming from their eyes, all three men drew their weapons to prove once and for all who would get the fish. They began to circle each other warily, searching for any small but fatal flaw which would allow one of them to slay his opponents and win him the prized fish.
Suddenly there was a blinding flash and the very earth trembled as Olófin appeared. All three men instantly prostrated themselves before her.
“Why did you summon me?”
“But we didn’t summon you,” the landowner stammered.
“But your actions forced me to come. What is this argument about?”
“I caught this fish fair and square and these two thieves wish to steal it from me” spat Ogún.
“It is my land, it is my river and therefore it is MY fish.”
“There would be no fish if it weren’t for my meat, so this fish is mine!”
With this they all began to bicker and squabble anew.
“SILENCE” Olófin roared and the very ground trembled anew at the sound of her voice.
Then, with her voice lowered to the point the men had to strain to hear her, she continued. “I own all the land. I own all the meat. I own all life on earth and.. I.. own… YOU. Give me that fish… NOW.
Ogún rushed over to Olófin with the fish.
“Your machete if you please.”
With this Olófin took the machete, sliced the fish into three even sections, and handed each man their share.
Then with a baleful, penetrating glance which needed no words to bring instantaneous shame to all three men, Olófin was gone.
But there is another version of this patakín…
It begins pretty much identically to the first one. Except this time Olófin does not appear.
This time, as the men were occupied themselves with arguing and threatening one another, the fish managed to flop its way back to the water and made good its escape. And, instead of ending the argument, the fish’s escape only served to fan the flames of the bitter exchange as they argued over whose fault it was that enabled their mutual loss. Again the three drew their weapons, and again the antagonists circled each other like something from a Tarantino movie. But this time since Olófin did not appear, the men furiously battled until all three are killed, with only the groans of the dying and the stench of swiftly approaching death marking the events of that day.
The two versions of the story show two very different possible outcomes based on how Ogún acts in each one, even though one version Ogún only acts differently through Olófin’s interference. These two almost identical versions of the patakí illustrate how each camino or road of Ifá contains within it several alternate and potential futures. Alternate paths branching out, some of which lead to very different destinations.
How we interact with an oddun can greatly affect the final outcome. In this case either we can take the more diplomatic and compassionate route and, by “splitting the difference”, all is saved, and everyone is left content in the end. Or, we can let greed and stubbornness get the better of us, leading us down a path that can only end in argument, recrimination, and failure. And, in this instance, perhaps even violence and death.
During a consultation, the babalawo may tell the different versions of a patakí to illustrate the possible paths the client may take and the likely outcome that lies at the end of each path.
But the implications hint towards something much deeper. These implications begin to seep in when we ask ourselves one simple question:
“Which version of this patakí is the ‘real’ one?”
To explain the deeper implications of the different ‘versions’ or paths which arise in the odduns I would like to borrow a little from particle physics. In particular, what is commonly known as “The Many Worlds Theory” or the ‘Multiverse.’
In this theory, is also known as the Wheeler-Everett Many Worlds Theory. Although it was actually Everett’s theory, Dr. Wheeler put his name in front on the paper only to ensure Everett’s theory would get the attention he felt it deserved. This Many Worlds Theory is an attempt to explain the weird fact that the tiniest particles making up our universe(s) seem to be doing a lot of different things in a lot of different places at a lot of different times until they are observed. At that moment all these possibilities collapse into one version which is the one we observe. According to the Many Worlds Theory, the universe actually splits off into two or more different universes at that moment and all these various possibilities actually occur, but in different universes. Thus we don’t really just live in a universe, but in a multiverse where all the possibilities occur in their own universes. Therefore there is one world where Olófin split the difference and there is another where Ogún and the others died in blood, pain and agony.
In other words, our decisions really can make a ‘world’ of difference…
I hope this little thought will keep all your noodles baking until I can find my way to write my next post. And those who would like to delve into these ideas further might enjoy the delightful and thought provoking story by Jorge Luis Borges “The Garden of Forking Paths” (“El Jardin de Senderos que se Bifurcan” in the original Spanish). I must warn you this story may be far too thought provoking to make for good bedtime reading.