The worst ones are the nameless.
I have not been a babaylan long, my initiation only a few months previous.
It was only happenstance that I met the great spirit.
There was a woman whose pregnancy had difficulties.
The villagers called upon me to intercede with the spirits.
But it was too late.
The wake was sparsely attended, she had no family to speak of.
I proceeded to bring the infant’s soul to the afterlife.
I don’t know what possessed me to follow its spirit. Something was calling to me.
I set my soul adrift through the cosmos until I reached the great spirit.
She was more accommodating than I would have thought.
I have met other gods before, yet none were like her.
She asked me to stay by her side.
I acquiesced, feeling that I was not worthy of her presence.
She must have felt my trepidation and told me to sit.
It had been many eternities since she spoke to a babaylan, in the old times they would do the rituals and send the spirits to her for safekeeping, but now none would take the time for a conversation.
I didn’t know what to talk about.
But she said it was fine to listen.
She pointed to a spirit, suckling on one of her breasts.
She told me that the spirit’s name was Chinhok, a strong name fit for a hunter.
The parents were warned that there was an aswang in their barangay.
They searched for months for the missing baby until it was time to surrender him into the night.
Their anguised cries followed their child to the afterlife.
I looked more closely and I saw a red splotch on the baby’s stomach.
I asked the goddess why it was so unfair.
I couldn’t count all the spirits on her breasts, and more had to have the same story.
She told me that it wasn’t up to her.
Mebuyan was only a caretaker, the other gods are the ones that consider fairness and justice.
She would remain even after the great spirits have gone.
There was a part of her body where the sold had a greyish tint.
She saw my questioning glance.
‘The nameless’ is what she called them.
Babies whose lifetimes were cut short even before entering the world.
It was locked in with so many other spirits that I almost didn’t recognize it.
The soul that I had followed.
Its faced showed joy, a stark contrast to its mother’s wailing cries.
Mebuyan softly kissed the spirit and told me nothing would ever harm it, not as long as her spirit was strong.
I asked her about the other gods known to her and she just sighed.
Banua Mebuyan is only a stopping point for these spirits. They remain here until they stop taking milk from her breasts and go to the other realm of the afterlife, Gimokudan.
It is not only the spirits of infants that pass by Banua Mebuyan, her realm is a transitory one.
The spirits wash themselves in the black river that passes through her territory.
This bath is to make their spirit at home so it will not return to its corpse in the earthworld. (If not don’t then the spirit would want to return and repossess their old body.
I noticed a tree behind the great spirit and asked how it could bear fruit in such a place.
She said that it was a tree of life, one where omens would portend.
In days long past, babaylan would consult her about the deaths of her people.
If she shakes the tree, someone in the earthworld will die.
If a ripe fruit falls, an elder will die, if the fruit is green then the one that will perish will be young.
I wanted to know more but I had left my physical form for far too long. She sensed my spirit tether calling back to me and nodded.
She would see me the next time.
Written by Karl Gaverza
Copyright © Karl Gaverza
Story inspired by the Mebuyan myth from Demetrio, F. R., Cordero-Fernando, G., & Zialcita, F. N. (1991). The Soul Book. Quezon City: GCF Books.
Mebuyan Illustration and Watercolor by Yanna Gemora
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