Seems like yesterday…

E.J.

 

We took a journey back in time. That was supposed to be a stroll with the master of macabre. Tourist offices were attracting people by tempting advertisements such as “New Orleans’ sinister, ghostly and bizarre history will unfold before you” Hard to resist isn’t it?

We wanted to visit St. Louis Cemetery from the start but wished to have someone who could tell us a history of that mysterious place. All of a sudden we saw a woman walking in our direction with a grin on her face. The very funny lady turned out to be knowledgeable and experience guide. She was short, round, bursting with health and energy, wearing a cowboy hat and sipping her water every third minute. We were told about French and Spanish whose influence is easy to notice in the city of N.O. It reminded in architecture as well as sayings. New Orleans is called for a little Paris. Majority in N.O. are Blacks from former French colonies in Africa who were slaves under different French rulers.

That was what strokes us first when we entered the city.

Little girls coming back from school, an old man having his nap on the bench, choir singing in the backyard… all of them were Africans-Americans. It was very exiting…to be in city were jazz was born.

As soon as we reached a Congo square known from its slave gatherings we found out one of the reasons. Comparing with other States, Louisiana was famous for being liberal, due to church, in treating slaves. They had their rights that were obeyed or at least more of them in comparison with other States. The’s how N.O. became an attractive place for people seeking for “liberty”.

 

From the French Quarter we took a walk to the St. Louis Cemetery.

Suddenly my courage failed me and cold shiver run through my neck.

I knew that it was just my sub- consciousness announcing its presents after retaining information heard and read in various places about that district.

 

Cemetery turned out to be a fascinating place. Every grave had its own history or histories rather, since amount of people buried in each tomb was uncountable. Long ago in the times of yellow fever people use to drop off like flies. City was lacking places to burry its citizens and cremation was not yet applied. Yellow fever was killing regardless of age and status. Every person after being in coma for twenty four hours and having no pulse (which as found out later on was one of the symptoms) was considered dead.

That was when people heard gruesome stories about Zombies…

There were gossips about sounds and scrims coming from the graveyard but no one dared to speculate. Until the time when someone found out that described noises were anguished screams of those buried who recovered in tombs. They awakened and fell into despair finding themselves in stinky, stuffy, sickly chambers without way out into the living World.

Each grave was like a cupboard filled with shelves where a poor thing was inserted. There was a chain being installed and almost instruction written to it. Message was addressed to children and adults, women and men to every one who would by chance be buried alive. ..

”In case of emergency pull the chain, stay still! Don’t do any sudden movements, this can cause downfall!”.

A chain which was hanging down and crossing each shelf ended with a bell.  Its sound was like a red light for rescuers and a flicker of hope for living corpses. System was smart. Each tomb was locked with a lid kept only by one screw which made it easy and quick to open the door to hell.

 

Following the guide we were introduced to the grave of the catholic voodoo Queen M. Lavean. The inscription said: ‘This Greek revival tomb is reputed burial of this notorious voodoo queen. Marie Lavean was the most widely known of many practitioners of the cult. A mystical cult voodoo of African origin was brought to this city from Santa Domingo and flourished in 19^th century’ The rumor is that her daughter who was alike replaced Marie body while she had most probably  left the  tomb and  was not heard of any more. Intriguing……

 

If that wasn’t enough, in the end of the trip we were taken to the active temple of voodoo. There, welcomed by a weird lady who was to show us a way to the priestess Miriam. Excitement was high and expectation reached the zenith. Nobody could predict what else could happened that day.

To surprise of all we were sited on the floor and p. Miriam burst into a panic laughter of no reason. Embarrassment of everyone was so funny that I decided to accompany the priestess.

After around 15 min., with big difficulties, she managed to contain herself.

She told us about the importance of possessing psychic or inner eyes which can often be a key to answers that we search for.

I agree with the women who advised us to leave intellect before we enter the temple and pick it up on the way back. There you have to operate on your instincts and intuition. It is only up to you and your needs with what you leave. But then again it depends on your abilities to be here and now without questioning situation before it ends. Let your consciousness under go an operation!

 

I will take you know to the streets of New Orleans…

After an hour of relax we would sneak out of the hotel to mingle.  Every evening was dedicated to the Bourbon Street. We were leaving when the night fell like a  hungry eagles ready to hunt… for unknown, for fun, people, sexy bars, theatres, people of all colors and temperaments, for food, beer and moon over the Bourbon Street. 

We traverse every square meter all over. Our eyes were round and happy.

Good humor and positive energy of people so infectious that it was not possible not to join them in dancing, jumping, clapping joking or singing “God bless America”. Colorful mixture of sexy girls walking up and down the street tempting men to rush in a bar and have a drink or two, stands full of sausages, beer and gadgets, people dressed up in the medieval style. Kings and Queens…there was place for disable, dwarfs, fatties, cheaters, musicians, actors, famous directors, transvestites, homosexuals and Member of Parliament. Every one had a permit to be there at the same time being unrecognizable. They were guaranteed inviolability or a personal immunity. Nobody care from where you are, what you are and whether you leave now or tomorrow. Feeling of freedom and joy describes the atmosphere. It was generally believed that every one will need to vanish before the dawn to come there again fallowing night…..

 

Jazz was being played on every corner. How wonderful it was to sit in Storyville at half past eight, sipping beer and listening to “I play blues for you”. The magic of an artist was like a spell. I was sitting there praying for the moment to last. That particular musician became a orchestra for himself. There was him, his instruments, spot light and the stage. He was shifting between trumpet, drums, flute, saxophone and singing. The picture was completed by his classic shoes, shiny blue shirt, simple black suit and twisted, checked peaked cap. I wanted to come over and thank him for bringing that instant to my life…I almost didJ!

 

La Rovue…Theatre Fleur de Lis and its old-fashioned, sexy performance.

Technique was to build up a atmosphere of suspense together with a sexual harmony. Fit, enticing girls, with sophisticated but here and there scant clothes were driving man crazy. The performance was like a good, old cabaret… mystery and greed were hanging in the air…

 

I could go one for hours mentioning cigar factory, steam boat Natchez ( with a man sitting on top playing on the steam organs), amazing acrobatic show, ‘India House’- hostel where we spent the first night…There were two types of rooms. One with 6 people and bunk beds and double one as the receptionist admitted ’for those desperate for privacy… unfortunately all were taken.

Close your eyes and recall that stocky women with a cigarette which never left her mouth. She was wearing leggings, had unshaved legs and flip-flaps…mom welcome everyone back home….The hostel itself was a cozy place where cultures and habits enriched every of the occupant…

 

Here is just only one more thing that I want to mention tonight…an unexpected meeting on the Jackson Square.

Without knowing why, where and how we got there I happen to find myself surrounded by occultism. Even though there were several things going on at the same time my attention got attracted by a quite man hitting a metal bowl with a metal tube. The sound of it “om” was as I found out later mantra. With each hit he would accompany it saying “om”. Melody released vibration which pushed me toward him. I wanted for no reason sit there, look into his eyes and see what he has got to tell me. I was prepared but still hesitated. I guess he felt that energy, turned his head and once our sight met I became sited. I can not tell you exactly the message I was given since it is very personal. I can’t describe in details things we were doing…I will just tell you that the meeting was profound and meaningful. That is how I met a Shaman of New Orleans who wrote “God dwells in you as you; see God in each other”.

 

I also met once upon a time someone who wrote that warning:

‘Never, never license the eyes of chanting man to pierce your soul… the gods-charmed by his lyrics, are bound to fulfill his intention.

 If this be evil you are a thing of the past’.