Unle Is Born

It was early morning, but still night, and Olódumare was alone, standing motionlessly on a balcony overlooking both Heaven and Earth. His eyes were closed to what lay before him: His mind was focused on things in other worlds. So deep was his concentration, so motionless was his body, that he seemed a black marble statue, permanently poised over creation. A light breeze lifted the diaphanous robes swathing his body; they filled the room behind him with their fullness as they twisted and turned in the night air.

God took a deep breath and opened his eyes as if he had only blinked. He lifted his arms to the sky and felt warmth as the sun rose above the eastern horizon. The sun, the body of Olorún, as it had for thousands of years, trailed above, slowly dispensing ashé throughout creation.

“As above, so below,” he whispered, knowing that as Olorún spread ashé through Heaven, he was also spreading it on Earth.

Olódumare, unmoving, again seemed a marble statue on his balcony as he delighted in the warmth on his face. The muted morning light made his black skin seem phosphorescent and rich.

Then came the predictable morning knock at his chamber's door: Every morning, there was a knock at his door, some new soul who yearned to travel to earth, experiencing life. Today, however, this knock came earlier than usual.

In a single motion as fluid and effortless as breathing, Olódumare withdrew from his balcony, and seated himself in his throne. His light, gauzy robes were still drifting and trailing through the air as he extended a hand toward the door, and bid it open.

It was Unle, and the odu stiffened with awe as he stood in the doorway and saw God for the first time. Sitting in state, his statuesque quality returned, and had it not been for the supple sheen of his face, or the soft glow of omnipotence in his eyes, Unle would have thought him a statue. But most impressive to Unle were Olódumare's white robes. It seemed God wrapped himself in all that was pure and clean, a tapestry of white light, not cloth.

For what seemed an eternity, Unle stood and gazed at his creator. Ashé filled the room; it suffused everything in it and swallowed Unle like a hungry beast. It was love, it was life, it was power, and it was thick. He could barely move.

Olódumare smiled, and that simple acknowledgment brought tears to Unle's eyes. Finally, he knew God was seeing him face-to-face; it was intimate, like the love a father feels for his child or a woman for her lover. Having no words to express the feelings welling up in his heart, Unle, his head bowed in submission, approached the throne, and put himself on the floor in reverence.

He felt strong hands on his shoulders; fingertips brushed him firmly and sent currents of ashé through his body as the rich, elderly voice intoned, “May you be blessed. Arise!” Strong arms lifted him, embraced him, and for a moment Unle forgot he was Unle, and he was one with Olódumare.

Gently, Olódumare broke the embrace, and Unle shivered. It was loss, it was sadness, it was separation, and for a moment he couldn't bear it until God spoke, “Why have you come, Unle?” It was an invitation to speak, not a question. God knew everything.

“I have come to request my destiny on Earth.” Unle's voice wavered, and it ended in a whisper. A destiny on Earth meant a separation from Heaven. Here, in God's presence, he couldn't bear that thought.

Olódumare touched Unle's chin firmly, and lifted his head so their eyes met. “What would you like to do on Earth, my son?”

A thousand and one desires rose in his thoughts, but Olódumare's voice plunged deep inside, pulling Unle's true destiny to the surface. And before he could answer willingly, he found himself saying, “I want to help others.”

“How would you help others, Unle?”

Again, Unle thought of the many things he wanted to do; but again, Olódumare's question touched something deep inside him, and Unle found himself saying, “Teach me how to divine so that I may know how to divine. Teach me how to appease the orishas so that I may appease the orishas. Teach me how to prescribe sacrifices so that I may prescribe sacrifices. For wisdom is all that I am seeking, and this wisdom will be my wealth.”

“Wisdom and knowledge are your grace. But what you accomplish with your long life and wisdom is in your hands. As a diviner, you will know how to avoid all manner of misfortune and bring all types of blessings to yourself. Use those gifts wisely.”

Olódumare stretched out his hands, taking Unle's head into them. He felt a powerful ashé flowing; it was warm like fire, yet liquid like water, and he shuddered as God cried, “Fun mi ashé lenu lati nsoro. Ashé tó, ashé bó, ashé bima! Ashé ishe'mi!”*22 His voice caused the very fabric of Heaven to rumble and shudder, and in his hands appeared a wizened, humbled head. It was Unle's new head, the one that would accompany him to Earth. Olódumare whispered, “Good luck, my son.”

Unle was in Heaven no more.

There came another knock on Olódumare's door . . .

Unle remembered very little of that day in Heaven when he requested his destiny; the trauma of forced separation buried the knowledge of perfect love and union with Olódumare. To remember the loss would be too painful, and in his wisdom, God blotted it out. But he knew he always existed. He knew that as God unfolded, becoming self-aware, he was one of the first-born, and he knew that he had no mortal parents on Earth save Olófin. Unle knew, and remembered, that unlike the other odu who came to Earth before him, forced to endure mortal childhoods, their memories of Heaven erased by undeveloped brains incapable of holding even shadows of their former selves, he simply was a grown man. The natural law of birth did not apply to him.

As he pondered this mystery, the sense of separation from Heaven deepened until he could take it no more. Unle almost regretted being on Earth. He looked up into the sky and tried to see Heaven, but all he could see were white, amorphous clouds that rolled lazily through a backdrop of blue. As he strained to see beyond the clouds, to see his true home, Unle felt a familiar sensation welling up in his heart, a tingling that he could only describe as ashé. It filled him, and he realized that Heaven wasn't as far away as he thought.

He looked at the world around. It was like Heaven, but different; it was alive in ways Unle had never experienced. Everything had weight; Unle felt the weight of his own body, and tried to move. The act was . . . pleasurable. As his mind opened to the new possibilities the mortal world encompassed, Unle felt two forces at war with each other: iré (blessings) and osogbo (misfortunes). The iré in the world brought him joy, but the misfortunes he sensed brought him sorrow, and stained his pure heart.

“I can help all these people who live here,” he thought, “with my skills of divination.”

Unle walked; his mortal body felt alive in ways his heavenly body never provided. After some time, he felt a new sensation: thirst. He stopped at a river to drink. The current was slow, and Unle saw his own reflection. His face was that of a young man. “This can't be right,” thought Unle. “This isn't the head that Olódumare gave me in Heaven.”

Unle was confused, but he wasn't worried. He came to Earth by Olódumare's grace with a working knowledge of divination and ebó. He knew how to help people overcome misfortune and lock in blessings. He set out to do just that—help people overcome the misfortune in their lives, and evolve. He had faith, and with that faith he knew all things in his life would work out in time.