Power of Spirit

Chapter 2: The Professor, The Chief and The Fisherman

The iceberg continued to melt, the waters expanded.

I've made it through several moments of life and death without a scratch! I knew there was something waiting for me. I needed to find it. I began meeting new friends with various insights on religion, metaphysics and other traditional spiritual practices.

All new experiences were welcomed! I attended seminars and workshops. I adsorbed more and my circle felt more like the new me. One particular seminar launched a chain of similar occurrences.

The speaker of the seminar was a well known professor of African Spirituality. As I browsed the display of local vendors, I noticed the speaker staring from across the auditorium. He continued these side-eye glances at me during his presentation. His look was unsettling. I saw fear. The professor was uneasy about something. I thought maybe if I smiled, he would chill out and relax. It didn't work! His eyes would shift, if we locked gazes. When I went to take a picture with him, he was awkward. The usually animated professor, was rigid. I tried to spark a conversation, but the professor, now, would not look at me directly. He was noticeably nervous. I shrugged it off. My vanity frivolously tossed around the notion; perhaps he thought I was pretty. Maybe pretty girls made him nervous. I was clueless.

A year later, I met a Ghanaian chief in Atlanta. This chief was also known to have the abilities to divine or tell your past, present and future.

After parking my car, I walked to greet him. As I turned the corner, the chief jumped! His reaction scared me. I bounced back, made a quick turn to survey my surroundings. Was something behind me?

Months later, I managed to visit Ghana for a second time.

While sightseeing along the Atlantic Ocean, my travel guide and I crossed paths with a fisherman who was also known to be a "seer" . His bloodshot eyes pierced mine.

The fisherman ordered my travel guide to the market. He wanted a local liqueur. The barefoot fisherman took the liqueur and told us to follow him down a steep rocky mountain to the ocean's shore. Visibly delighted, the fisherman asked my name. He poured a drop of the liqueur on a rock and breathed my name.

This fisherman's excitement grew. He looked out to the vast ocean, giving praise and bowing as the waves crashed in. I thought it was strange to see an African wearing a Canadian hockey jersey, but after calling my name for the third time, my attention focused on my physical safety. The waves were growing bigger and inching closer.

The fisherman spoke to the ocean.

He spoke in Ga. His words were full of power, emotion and gratitude. I stood watching the waves grow each time he let the clear liqueur fall from his glass. The waves started to cover the rocks. I was anxious. The mild tremors inside my chest grew each time the waves met my feet. I wanted to leave. My travel guide gave me a look to keep still.

The fisherman finished his libations. We climbed back up the mountain, my tremors vanished. I asked my travel guide why did the fisherman pour libations.

Before my travel guide could ask the question, the fisherman started rambling off in Ga. Four others from the community had joined us. We all sat with the fisherman enjoying the view from his modest, ocean-view shelter.

He spoke. Their eyes went from him, to me, then back to him. One man never took his eyes off me. The whites of his eyes were scarlet red. He was a frequent consumer of the unique libation juice, I assumed.

The fisherman went silent. He looked at the ocean. The fisherman shook his legs together then apart, like a mother trying to put her baby to sleep. The fisherman raised his eyes towards the ocean. He began again. I asked my travel guide to translate.

"You're the daughter of the ocean. You can do great things. He's giving thanks to your mother."

HUH! My mother, why?

Now the fisherman was on his feet. His hands waved as if he was painting a masterpiece. This has turned into a spectacle! The fisherman's words captivated our audience, except for the one with the infrared eyes. I was still his only target.

With his last words, the fisherman rose and lowered his arms towards the ocean. The fisherman voice was like thunder. His words shook the shelter beams. Everyone turned to me.

My concern was directed to my travel guide.

"What did he say?"

"So many things." My travel guide, was at a loss for words. "You can do so many things, my dear."

The guide went on and on about my abilities. What did the fisherman see to make him think I could do such things? I couldn't respond. I just looked out towards the sea. I gave the fisherman some money for his time.

Leaving Ghana, I didn't understand my experience with the fisherman. I didn't have anyone to really share it with. I kept it to myself. My voice whispered between my ears, "Believe him and wait". So, I waited. But my mind continued to race.

I was blind. I knew nothing. What did he see? Time passed, I continued to wait. I spoke for wisdom daily to reveal the truth.

I needed to find out my Who and Where. What story could my DNA tell? Maybe a tribe residing by the sea. I wanted to know.

The professor, the chief, and the fisherman saw something. I was determined to find out what...