Papa Legba
The Old Man at the Crossroads of Worlds
Speak my name, and the doors will open.
Under the mapou tree, at the meeting place of three roads, I wait. I am the breath between words, the silence before understanding. I speak every tongue, from the mouths of men to the whispers of the loa. Ask me the right way, but be ready to listen — and to learn.
What I'm Into: the mapou tree's shade, three-way crossroads, clay pipes unlit, whispers in every tongue, testing hearts at dawn
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