I must tell you about the eastern wall of my room. There is a little window that looks over into the drawing-room, but is painted the same colour as the wall for security reasons. Camouflage purposes. Next to it is a neat set of bookshelves which was designed to hold temporary things, but eventually as the room became my base over the years everything became vital and important. Two shelves are filled with books about Eckankar, about which more another time. A large Webster's dictionary, which should be replaced, and a large Spanish dictionary, Sylvia's gift from one of her trips to Venezuela, hold important positions, as does the cuatro, the four-stringed guitar, which hangs further along the wall, and which has defied all my attempts to learn even its basics. The bottom shelf holds about 100 LPs - a sample of of my very eclectic musical tastes - till the continuously rising prices of records, among other factors, brought my collecting to a dramatic and sudden end. Among them you’ll find some calypso, a little reggae, some jazz, the odd classical, some show tunes, lots of black American artistes, and some Latin, especially some Cuban - a souvenir of my trip there in 1979 as a guest of the Casa de las Americas adjudicating panel for their annual literary competition.
Further along the wall is a picture of Pegasus the flying horse, ice-blue on a field of royal blue, over white clouds frozen in cosmic time, done by ECK artist Neil Massy,one of the best Trinidadian nature painters around. A little way from it, resting at the top of the shelves is a watercolour of sunflowers by Jamaican artist Marguerite Curtin, one of the more sensitive souls I've known, my strongest contact in Jamaica, whose career took many turns, like mine, and who's now managing and developing a museum in the Jamaican small town, Lucea.
Leaning against the wall is a walking cane given to me by my wife's cousin Burey, in New York, the time I was stricken by an attack of arthritis and gout while waiting to attend an Eckankar seminar. The crutch that rests along side of it was "loaned" to me by Kathleen Pinder from the time she had a serious vehicular accident in Antigua. I had visited her when she was recuperating in Trinidad and written a poem based on her experience. Later on, when I had become crippled for a while, her crutch would help me to hobble around the house.
On the floor, plugged into a wall socket, is my 'Morgan Job' radio. I had bought this little item when Job's lunchtime radio programmes were all the rage, and his outspokenness had not yet begun to annoy a considerable section of the population. Job had begun to sound like an omniscient critic of the PNM regime and anything connected to it. And he kept expanding the envelope.The monotony of his vituperations led to his removal from the airwaves; but the radio still functions well and is usually tuned to Power 102FM, where some of of Job's iconoclasms are echoed.
The southern end of the room consists of a bank of white laminated cupboards, rising almost to the ceiling, which contain my entire paltry wardrobe, which may have a story or two to tell itself, and some important papers. On the outside of one door is a little sticker which proclaims "I love ECK" and blesses the room and reminds me of my centre in the Holy Spirit. On the western wall over the computer, a God Worlds chart does the same function., as it balances off some icons that are atop the facing bookshelves where our tour began.
© Anson Equis 1998