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In Memory Of Leon Thomas

One of my most gratifying experiences in creating and maintaining this website was meeting and becoming friends with the late Leon Thomas, who sadly died this past May of complications from Leukemia. I remember in about 1976 I first heard "The Creator Has A Masterplan." A friend of mine--a revolutionary activist, back then when it was not quite SO weird--had the gatefold LP of Pharoah's KARMA, and lent it to me since I had become interested in avant garde jazz. The shrieking saxophone was a kind of gauntlet, laid down at my feet for me to understand: that took time, time that ultimately proved well worth it. But the percussion hooked me, and above all I remember being taken away by the voice of this amazing singer who could summon other worlds with his voice. 20 years later I was a new initiate in my religion, wearing nothing but white, and according to the dictates for the new iyawo, forswearing a mundane social life for a year and 7 days. I put together this website in my spare time--suddenly I had a beneficence of that. Time that was meant for me to connect with the meaning of life; to discover, if you will, the Creator's masterplan for me. And so Leon Thomas' music became part of my focus: to apply my knowledge and spirituality and computer knowledge and design skill to something that would enrich my life's spirituality (and, of course, fill my time). And then one day, a few weeks before the celebration that was to mark the end of my year's devotions, the phone rang. My heart leapt in my chest as the booming voice on the other end of the line announced, "Ian Scott Horst? This is Leon Thomas."

Leon told me that his girlfriend at the time, Vienna Carol--an herbalist and healer--had stumbled across the site while surfing the net. He was overjoyed. I was both embarrassed and awed that Leon Thomas was grateful to me, ME, for giving him a presence in the cyber age. I hardly knew what to say to this man that I was so grateful for enriching my imagination and spirit. I invited him to my ocha birthday celebration, and he and Vienna actually came. Having some experience in the Yoruba-derived religions himself--he once had his elekes and was marked for coronation as a child of Shango (which, Lord knows, he was, kabiosile) he saluted Obatala and offered him a ritual candle and coconut. I have rarely been so honored in my life as by Leon's presence in front of my orishas.

And so I got to know him a little...I would go to see him sing, and once in a while we'd talk on the phone as he attempted to rebuild his career. Attempts I hope this website helped. His personal life was never calm nor easy, and success was often elusive, but he was blessed with the love of good women when he needed it, and the guidance of the ancestors when he needed that. Despite his failing hearing and his hearing aid, his indomitable heart and spirit always came through in his music. When he fell ill in the winter I went to visit him in the hospital once, his demeanor jovial despite the hissing of various contraptions in the ICU where he spent far too much of his last months. Spirit gave Leon one last chance to sing, the night before his passing. By all accounts it was a deeply moving appearance at a club in Brooklyn. Anyway, the next morning, I received the sad call that Leon was gone. Well, if it could be said that Leon would ever leave us. Leon, God bless you: may your voice and spirit sing forever. It was an honor to know you. Mojuba Leon Thomas, ibae bae torun.

Let's see, other credits:

The paintings of Obatala and Yemaya on the Yoruba religion page are by my friend, and priestess of Yemaya, Ona Kiser (see her beautiful artwork of the Blessed Beatrice of the Kongo on her own website.) Thanks to Baba Afolabi for the cool gay pride orisha flag which appears here. Thanks to Swamini Turiyasangitananda (Alice Coltrane), Pharoah Sanders and all the other musicians for the music. Thanks to the late Leon Thomas for reminding me in person that spirits known and unknown really do work wonders. Maferefun Obatala. Thanks to the source of everything, Olodumare, who is all that is. Thanks also to the ancestors.

Thanks also to Larry Nai, Tetsuro Kubo, Derek Tarr, Jim Flannery, and the Kozmigroov mailing list for discographical info I didn't previously know about (isn't the internet amazing?).

Here's a poem I wrote for my godfather on his birthday, a few months before my kariocha:

Obatala

With cathode rays of red, green, blue,
miraculously, technologically,
my computer creates being out of electricity
pulling rays of different nothings into something
steered by fingers, tapping, and minds, whirling
and blood, rushing,
driven by irresistible sparks of hidden origin,

Red, green, blue lights; tiny beams of tamed fire
become one light, white light, brilliant,
all one thing suddenly,
shape and pattern revealed in form and shadow

One thing not another,
someplace else no longer,
now made distinct, crystalline:
One thing, one piece, white cloth.
No seam visible, no beginning, nor end,
like magic.

Like everything. Alive.