The Birth, Death, and Rebirth of Oché

There was a time when creation stood at its final threshold; Olódumare, exhausted, looked down on his work. There was crystal blue water and lush green earth; there were towering mountains and yawning canyons. Day and night, darkness and light, white clouds and crystalline stars—all these things filled the world. Everything was beautiful. Still, unfulfilled, Olódumare questioned his work. He contemplated his creation's vastness, its raw, primal beauty, and thought to himself, “What more can there be? What else can I create?” He looked at the spirits who had helped him create, the fifteen odu and the orishas who were born of them. They could do little more than marvel at what God's hands had wrought. Once again, Olódumare looked down on the earth and tried to see his masterpiece as if looking at it for the first time. As he gazed, love welled up in his heart, although he understood it not, and so enormous was its ecstasy that it poured forth all over the world. It was sweet, fresh; his divine love birthed the life-sustaining water, forming a wild, rushing torrent that surged over the earth. His love filled the small valleys, long rivets, and cracks in the uneven land. As these fresh waters gathered, they became the mighty, swollen rivers, the tiny, bubbling brooks, the muddy creeks, and powerful waterfalls that rushed and thundered over the terrain. Oché had come into being. From Oché came a single orisha: Oshún. Both were delicate, gentle, and afraid; yet both were sumptuously stunning, and all the spirits on Earth and in Heaven marveled at their beauty. None realized, however, that their elegance masked the most potent energies in the world.

For after the birth of Oché and Oshún, one by one the remaining spirits (orishas, odu, and humans) settled on Earth, and all flourished. Oché and Oshún were still fresh, their ashé enlivening everything. In spite of this, everyone learned that life on the new world was hard: There was much work to do. Daily, everyone toiled; no one took time to reflect on creation's beauty; no one took time to rest, relax, or contemplate life and its meaning. There was only one thought, one purpose: to do what had to be done so life would continue. Oshún and Oché were thought to be too delicate, too tiny, to do anything useful, and they languished in loneliness. Denied worship, adoration, or even acknowledgment, Oshún and Oché slowly withdrew from the world, and neither flowered to their full potential. Alone and isolated, Oshún grew ill and weak, and Oché, not knowing what to do, collapsed in on herself. The sweet, life-giving waters receded into the ocean; they no longer rained down from Heaven. Earth dried up. Life withered. Olódumare looked down in despair. So great and vast were his gifts that he could not bear to see them spoiled; yet because the orishas and odu were his emissaries on Earth, he could only wait and watch to see how they would husband the world. Olódumare had given all he had to give; and in sadness, he turned away. His final creation, his greatest gift, was unloved.

Of all the orishas, it was Oyá who felt creation's death rattle reverberating in the earth; the ashé to feel the moment between life and death was hers, and she felt that moment approaching. Others were too busy working to realize creation's fabric was unraveling. The material world, her marketplace, was about to take its last breath; she felt it dying. To Shangó she ran. He was a diviner by birth; it was a right given to him by Olódumare. Yet Shangó had not exercised his right. He had not opened odu, and no one had made ebó on the earth. Oyá, who knew that the secrets of life and death lay within the shells, implored him to divine. Only then did Shangó gather his divination tools, and he went to what had become Oshún's deathbed. For the first time in his life, he prayed to Olódumare; he prayed to all the orishas and the spirits who inhabited the earth. He called upon all the odu and the spirits who were resting at the feet of God himself. Olódumare's face turned again toward the earth; love was welling up in his heart once more. All the odu came, hoping to be the one sign that would open first on the earth, to heal and sustain all that God created. All, that is, except Oché. As Oshún withered and lay dying, so did Oché; the sign did not hear the prayers Shangó uttered to Heaven. There, with the entire world withering, he cast the shells for the first time. Olódumare's love opened Oché one last time; the last odu created became the first to open on Earth. Again, cascades of fresh water poured across the earth; that which was dry became wet; those that thirsted were sated; places that were brown became green. Shangó marked ebó to Oshún in Oché, and the entire world paid her homage. Her eyes fluttered open. There was power and strength in them. It was then that the world began to comprehend her place in creation.