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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required It was late afternoon in the red dust of Benin. The spirits were awake. And the world grew thin. An old man called me. His eyes were storms. His voice was a door. He handed me a mask. Carved from ancient wood. Soaked in elephant blood. A key. A vessel. A forgotten science. “Tonight,” he whispered, “We go to Sirius.” Darkness fell. We wore the masks. And fire swallowed us. We vanished into the wind. Leaving no trace in the world of men. Sirius rose before me. A burning sun. A kingdom of light. A realm with one hundred forty-four planets circling like silent gods. Some entities were not flesh. They were vapor. Gas. Water made conscious. Beings of breath and memory. And I knew. Voodoo was not witchcraft. Voodoo was advanced science that Europe feared and Africa forgot. The unseen universe opened like a wound. Or a prophecy. Or an ancient map folded inside the soul. The rays of light became roads. We walked upon them as if they were stone. My crown chakra broke open. Voices of stars poured in. I spoke with gods that wear no names. They say God is one. But I saw many. All woven into the same eternal breath. I learned that life has no beginning. And no end. Only cycles. Only return. On that night voodoo became the father of quantum physics. The night spoke creation. The day spoke beauty. And the cosmos became my teacher. When scientists ask, “How do we reach the Sun? How do we reach Mars? How do we reach Pluto?” I simply say, “Ask the Voodoo Master.” For through voodoo I traveled beyond time. Beyond form. Beyond the known world. Let them call it witchcraft. Let them mock what they fear. But I say to mankind: Voodoo is pure science. A door already open. Waiting for man to walk through and see the hidden universe inside himself.
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