“You are at the edge of a river with Legba. The river is fast, it roars over rocks. You want to cross the river, but the current is too strong. You try to yell over the river, but the rapids are loud.”
“Legba hits you with his cane.”
“He hits you hard. Papa is not fucking around. He sends you reeling.”
“You fall in the water. The river washes over you, and you flail. The current is too strong! How can you swim in this madness?”
“You gulp water and air, a rock strikes you.”
“Sputter, scramble. Stand up.”
“The water is waist deep.”
This is a dream a mambo had about me in December, as I crashed into bankruptcy.
In essence, the same story I told yesterday.
I stood up, Papa. I stood up and now I must go down the river.