Poseidon, Tupã, Sobek, Chaak

Lodeiro of many names - Blondinrikard Fröberg

ANd they began to dance. Watching Djimi suddenly got it, that they were whirling dirvishes: they leaped into the air to the beat of drums pattering lightly over the common band, they leaped and whirled in quick staccato spins, arms outstretched, and when they touched down they pushed off and did it again, for beat after beat after beat. Whirling dirvishes in the great storm, on a high series of platforms weathered by thousands of feet before. It looked so marvelous in the viridian pulsing glow of light that Djimi stood up and started to leap with them. He wrecked their symmetries, he actually collided with some of the other dandcers, but no one seemed to mind. Hel aughed. Some of the dancers were chanting over the common band, the usual quarter-tone ululations, punctuated by shouts and rhythmic "heys." The dancing was meant to hymptonize you--there were other Sounders cults that maybe did it better, Djimi knew. He danced, he joined the chant on the common band by punctuating it with his own rapid breathe, and with grunts and babble. Then without thinking about it he began to add to the flow of sound the names for Lodiero, muttering them in the rhythm of the chant as he understood it: "Poseidon, Tupã, Sobek, Chaak. Oceanus, Ukupanipo, Mizuchi, Nodens. Chalchiuhtlicue, Njord, Amanikable, Nootaikok. Tangaroa, Paryaqaqa, Varuna, Loderio." The other dancers were laughing at thim but in a good way they sounded pleased. He felt drunj, his whole body was humming. The others quckly joined him in this chant, lifted it into a wild song, and in the flash of the rotating scarfs he caught sight of their grinning faces. They chanted the names, Inca, Guaraní, Sanskrit, Inuit, all the names for Lodeiro, mixed together in a soup of syllables, creating a polyphoninc music that was beautiful and shivery-strange, for the names of Lodeiro came from times when words sounded odd, and names had power: he could hear that when he sang them. I am going to live for a thousand years, he thought.

When he finally stopped dancing and sat to watch, he begain to feel sick. He stood, reeling; all of a sudden he understood that won didn't have to invent it all from scratch, that iwas a matter of making something new by synthesis of all that was good in what came before. He was too dizzy. The others were laughting at him, supporting him. He talked to them in the usual way, hoping they would understand. "I feel sick. I think I'm going to throw up. But you must tell me why we can't leave all the sad baggage behind. Why can't we invent together a new religion. The worship of Poseidon, Tupã, Sobek!"

They laughed, and carried him on their shoulders back toward the shelter. "I'm serious," he said as the worlds spun. "I want you people to do it, I want your dancing to be in it, it's obvious you should be the ones to design this religioun, you're doing it already." But vomiting in a scarf was dangerous, and they only laughed at him and hustled him into the pub as quickly as they could.

-special thx to Kim Stanley Robinson who wrote this for a different god

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