From pot to bowl

The old lady was sitting next to her cart. It was not yet time to make the changes. She had done this for so long, that it was well beyond anyone’s consideration of a career. She started with the heating of the water, when the water war beyond warm, the meats were added and the water was left alone for hours. After that the chopped vegetables were added, carrots, White Radish, cabbage, and egg plant. The last stage was adding the herbs, spices and Soybean Sprouts and her own mix of specialities in a paste, only the old lady knew what was in there. Yet now one more element was added, she was clearly told, no more than 5 drops for one pot. And she adhered to that. She knew what was at stake and she knew the extra time was essential to finding the reincarnation of her husband, it was so important to relay the message she had held onto for a lifetime. It was important, perhaps the most important thing she had ever done, as such she made the soup and she handed a bowl to all who passed, even if they forgot, she never could and the spirit she sought could never remain hidden in front of her. And as the years passed she never wavered in her convictions and now it seemed that the new soup would give her more time, for as it is with one, it is with all, we all have a date the pass on and that time for Lady Jiang was slowly approaching and she still needed time to find the man who she had a message for. 

And as the pot was ready she saw the faces of the people, she saw the good, the bad and the undetermined, she saw the fading of souls and she kindle nodded to the fading ones and offered them a free bowl of soup. Most accepted, some did not and she always courteously bowed as she had done for decades. Those who got the bowl nodded kindly and sipped the soup. In this stage she handed at least a 100 cups a day. The people never wondered, it was really nice soup, it was free and some would come back, but the next day she would be somewhere else. 

There was a man, he was sitting at the Sacred Grinds Coffee House enjoying an espresso. He liked sitting here, even as it was not his favourite place, but the coffee was good. He liked being close to the St. Patrick Cemetery. The area had significance for him, over time things changed, yet he always saw what was behind the change, the more things changed, the more they all stayed the same and here, he was truly a ruler of the graveyards and ruler of those who were about to pass and those who had passed. It was his sight that allowed him to see what was coming, even if the people were unaware. It was more than patterns. When sight and smell united there was a whole range of visible elements that people could still not comprehend, perhaps they never would. Yet here he was, one of the loa, looking at the mistakes that people made again and again and it gave him powers, more then ever before, because when he was young, the world was young, the world was still young, but now the people did not add to the thousands, the added to the millions and they all died, they always did and it was a good time for him, his family and several others. Yet he also saw what was in the future and it worried him, it worried him that there was a limit to the time he could enjoy an espresso, or a Café Caribbean. In all this he knew there was finality, as there was finality to all, no exceptions. Even now, no matter how strong and powerful he was, there is always someone stronger. Those before him learned that, he knew that lesson would come to him and those who followed would also learn that very same lesson. In eternity time was a set of chains binding all and everyone, no exceptions.

It was then that he saw a sight he had not seen for so very long, a shape, a man that was not from here, not of here, but he looked like anyone else and there was the problem, this man was not one who would respect his monarchy, a person who would take whatever he considers his and there was no stopping him. He had known this for a very long time. Yet he never came here, he once saw him on Haiti, but that was the only time and he almost lost his existence that day. He remembered it well, so he kept quiet and watched the person approach, there was no hiding from this man, so he did not try. There was no need to make matters worse from the start. The man approached and spoke slowly. He asked for one of his potions, it was not a problem, but then the man told him that payment would be swift, it would be long term and it would make him stronger, stronger then he had been in a very long time and it caught his attention, he nodded and gave the man a small vial. This contains three doses, I can get more in 12 days, the moon must be out for this one. The man spoke make more, a lot more all you can make and it will be worth it for you, even for you. The man walked away, he did not need to wait for confirmation, there was just the stage to accept, or to be trapped forever. The man never offered alternatives. That was the lesson he once learned in Haiti, so he finished his espresso and walked away, he needed herbs and he needed a lot of them, he also needed bones from a powerful Serviteur, he knew where one was, but he wanted to make sure he had the freshest bones, those with a hint of life attached to them, power fades in all things, in bones they merely lasted the longest. Yet this man does not like to be disappointed, so he was making every effort to create the best and a lot was expected, time to bring greetings to maman.

And thus ends another small slice of Residuam vitam.


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One response to “From pot to bowl

  1. Pingback: Never forgotten | Lawrence van Rijn - Law Lord to be

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