Sacred Walkers through Brooklyn—and Historical Bahamian Palms

Okay, here goes again.  Yesterday, like the storyteller that I am, I started relating a sacred Brooklyn walk tale which got to be a tad lengthy; then when I switched over for just a second to copy a link to share with you--abra cadabra, alla kazam!--the lengthy blog story disappeared into the nether world of the Internet, never to be heard from again.  Yes, I know I should have saved it--and had actually copied it into the clipboard to do so but when I went running after that link...oh well-ll-ll! :( 

Not to be outdone, I took a break from blogging for the day and vowed to return refreshed and with "divine determination" on the morrow.  Well, "the morrow" has arrived and here am I.  With every challenge comes an opportunity, and having lost that story, this time I decided to accompany the blog with a podcast story lending voice to that which initially inspired me to share these ponderings.  You can hear the companion story at this podcast station.

Allow me, though, to just tell you a bit blogwise about the accompanying photo collage and the sacred walk which motivated it.  This story was inspired by viewing a group of palm-ladened worshipers chanting as they took a sacred walk up Vanderbilt Avenue on this past Palm Sunday.  It reminded me of stopping  kind-faced strangers on previous Palm Sundays to inquire if I might have one of the many palms they had in hand.  They were always graciously obliging; but this Sunday while photographing the sacred walker with my reliable l'il forest-green digital camera, (now a regular travel companion at home and abroad), I did not bother to ask anyone for a palm as I thought, "What you want and particularly what you need is often right within your own world." 

 I recalled that I had a palm on the family altar and even better I had a palm from the tropical shores of Nassau, Bahamas--one that I had asked my husband, Papa, to choose for me for my Black Seminole memorabilia display--in honor of his people who had fled their l9th century home in Florida to escape being enslaved.  They had landed on the shores of Andros, Bahamas, and well over a century later we had met on the shores of Nassau, Bahamas--a Bahamian culturalist and Black Seminole descendant; an ancestral storyteller and purveyor of the history of the underground railroad freedom seizers, of whom his family, unknown to him or to me at the time, had been most prominent. 

This palm in my world from the Bahamas as well as from a sacred Palm Sunday New York walk had heavy significance.   Oh, almost forgot--the Bahamian palm is reminiscent of the palms used by the Seminoles to make their sturdy open-aired palm thatches which resisted strong winds far better than fancy, contemporary dwelling places.  Then, of course, there were the Tibetan monks on the sacred Brooklyn walk last summer...again dutifully captured by "Forest Green"...

 Well, let me tie up all of these elements and, as promised, close by telling you a tad about this collage, rapidly whipped together via my Printshop software so that you can both see and feel the essence of the sacred walk story--(and now thanks to yesterday's seeming misfortune) you can hear the story via the companion podcast.  On the left are the sacred walkers and chanters from this past Palm Sunday as they trod up Vanderbilt Ave.; on the left is the Nassau palm Papa collected for me and which resides on my bookshelf behind the bust of the Seminole shaman.  Just below that on the lower left are the Tibetan monks (most probably) on a sacred summertime stroll.  Next to them is the basket from Andros,Bahamas, the site of my husband's ancestry accompanied by the two coconuts and sea shells representative of our union.  The palm that rests on the basket is one collected from a kind sharer from a past Palm Sunday; draping the artfully woven basket is the beautiful creation of Brooklyn jewelry designer Sharon ("Shaz") Williams of Shaz Gallery.  The rich-toned ambers and turquoise, my favorite colors, remind me of many wonderful Caribbean and balmy Brooklyn summer days.  They all rest atop the aquamarine, sea-shelled decored Androsian batik (also created in Nassau-born Papa's ancestral roots spot of Andros, Bahamas. His grandfather, Rev.Bertram Newton, in fact, wrote the first history of the Black Seminoles who migrated there. 

Touching upon our cross-cultural linkages are the Androsian batik nestled against my colorful quilt created by an African-American fabric artist.  Now I said I wasn't going to "talk" this much here because after all you can now hear the story.  Then as a story lover, listener, and culture embracer, you can mosey over and download to your trusty l'il e-reader my e-book on the international underground railroad, my cultural travels as a historian/story gatherer, and of course beaucoup coverage of the Black Seminoles and their colleagues the Native American Seminoles--and then of my own familial Black Seminole descendant that vibrant Bahamas Junkanoo man we all fondly call "Papa".  Guess you're thinking, "It would be nice if you gave us the title of the book and the link sometimes before 2013 is over!"  Okay, here it is, FREE GLOBALLY! - The International Underground Railroad.  Whew!  I made it back safely with that link this time, and this blog did not, thank God, disappear into Internet oblivion.  Well, even if it had, I had a copy safely stored elsewhere.  This Brooklyn ancestral storyteller learned her lesson of yesterday quite well.  Hope you enjoyed this account of a sacred walk through Brooklyn (and also The Bahamas) and that you'll equally enjoy the twin podcast of the story at this e-locale. 

copyright (c) L. Cousins-Newton 2013