Shaman and the Lonely Traveler (Tale 4)

Shaman and the Lonely Traveler

It was serene, chilly night, when Shaman would hear someone knocking to the door of his shack.

Although half asleep, Shaman would scramble out of his bed and welcomed the visitor.

– Greetings – he said as soon as he opened the door. The man on the threshold was tucked in a long, rusty coat, and was shivering from the cold, evening breeze.

– Greeting, Wise Man. – muttered stranger – Will you invite a Lonely Traveler for a drink?

– Come in, please. My shack is not a palace, but there is always place for wearied journeyman. – said Shaman and invited Lonely Traveler to take a sit.

– Would you like something to drink? Tea, coffee or mate?

– Coffe please. – said Lonely Travaler eagerly. He was traveling so long that a taste of fine, black coffee seem to him all but forgotten.

– Ehm… There is no coffee – Shaman noticed after a while.

– Oh… will have tea than.

– Sure – said Shaman and poured two cups of mate. – Long journey you’ve been through?

– Oh, yes. I have just crossed the Desert of Thousand Tears.

-The one that is said to turn into a Thriving jungle when a thousand of human tears are going to be shed on it’s sand?

– … which is never going to happen as all water evaporates before touching the ground… – chuckled Lonely Traveler – Yes, the same one.

Than they would both sip in silence their mate.

Eventually Shaman acknowledged Lonely Traveler’s patience and asked.

– What brings you to my shack? – He perfectly knew the answer, however. After all everybody was coming here for the same reason.

– I have came here for answers. – said Lonely Traveler, not surprisingly.

– There we go… – mumbled Shaman and assembled his old wise man pose – Tell me than.

Lonely Traveler would clear his throat and started his story.

– I am a Traveler and I walk alone.

– I have climbed ,mountains so high that their peeks would melt so close to the starts they were. I have sailed through waters so immense that they would close the horizon in their embrace. I have seen wonders and horrors, tasted delights and suffered tortures.

Among all I have met people from many cultures and nations. And despite their origins they would all be amused on why I would keep walking.

You see Shaman. I wander because I seek.

Because I chase my Dream. I am searching for Love, I am searching for Happines , I am searching for Purpose.

I have been offered shelter many times and far more than that. I have been asked to stay, to settle down, I have been asked to give up my Quest. To stop searching for what is never going to be found.

I was offered comfort, I was offered relief. All I had to do, was to quit trying reaching for impossible. And than a Wise Man in other village, a Witch Doctor similar to you Shaman would say something I would never forget.

He would say: Life is about seeking compromise between your dreams and the reality.

But that’s what he said. And that is not what I believe in.

So I thanked him for his words, and still kept going. But the doubt has been sown in my heart.

Now I have cometh to you Shaman.

I have cometh to ask you for an advice. Should I try to find the Dream although it means risk of having nothing in the end. Or should I try to find compromise?

Shaman would stare at the distant for a long while, sipping his mate and enjoying the view of the stars.

Than he would speak.

– The choice you make has to be determined on if you are ready to face the greatest challenge of your life.

Lonely Traveler would just smile.

– I am prepared for that Shaman. And I have been asked countless times for it. Am I really ready to face the disappointment? Am I ready to stand up to the the moment in which I realize that what all I was chasing was just a mere illusion? I am ready for that moment, because at least I will be able to say: I did everything I could.

Travelers face was expressing determination and it was Shaman who was smiling now.

– That is good, Traveler. But that is not the challenge I was talking about. – he would say.

– What is it than? – pressed Lonely Traveler – What could be bigger challenge for a man than a moment in which his dreams are broken?

Shaman would just sigh.

– A moment in which your Dream will be realized.

Nothing challenges man more than his dream becoming true. So before heading out, ask yourself Traveler:

Are you truly ready to face the Dream you have been trying to reach that hard?

Lonely Traveler would frown puzzled by those words. He would say nothing more.

He would bow, finish his mate and than he would leave the shack.

And he would keep walking until he disappeared in the darkness.

The End

Shaman meets the Warrior (Tale 3)

It was a windy night when a Warrior appeared on a doorsteps of shaman’s shack.

Shaman would see this coming, as the evening breeze brought cold promise of the fierce

battle ahead.

–  Here I am – said the Warrior, as he passed the threshold.

– Here you are – replied Shaman, sipping his mate and staring at the distant hills.

– I have come for your wise words old man.

– You seem to lack the polite ones young man.

Warrior shrugged and said nothing. Shaman also shrugged and had one more sip of his mate. They watched the sky turning dark, as the time passed in an unruffled silence.

–          I can see you are a man of of deeds not words – said Shaman eventually – And yet you have come to listen of what I have to say.

–          All is true Shaman…and forgive me if I brought any disrespect…

–           Now, that’s better warrior.  Tell me than, what worries you?

Warrior frowned as if words that where about to come out of his lips where wounding him.

– I am scared , Shaman.

– Let me guess. There is a battle ahead with the vicious tribe from marshes…

– Unga tribe, our hated enemies. – confirmed warrior. – Most savage of all in the jungle. They dwell in darkness, feed on cropses, torture their slaves and drink the blood of fallen warriors.

– So you are afraid of the Unga demons?

Warrior burst in laughter.

– No, Shaman. I am not. All I feel for Unga is anger. It is not my enemy that I fear.

– Spoken like a true warrior. – admitted Shaman – What is than that you are afraid of?

– Failure.  – whispered Warrior – It is fear of the possible defeat that grips me. I am scared that I will dissapoint those who count on me. It is not the sharp teeth of Unga that makes me pale, but the menace of shame that could overshadow me and my clan if I fail to be strong enough…

Shaman nodded in silence. And than he spoke.

– Than you have to do with your fear and your doubts the same thing that are ought to do with Unga.

–  Tell me?

– Fight them.  Defeat them. And than you will understand that all the vicories in the world start with the most ancient and most vicious of all battles that man has fought  – a struggle in his own heart.  And once you overcome such powerfull warrior as yourself, no Unga will pose a threat to you anymore.

Warrior smiled. He nodded as if admitting those words.

And than he left, without saying anything anymore.

Shaman poured some more water into his cup and watched the storm clouds gathering in the sky.

He smelled the air as it was filled with the anxiety of the upcoming battle.

Shaman meets the hunter ( Tale 2)

Today shaman had a guest.

shack3

 A hunter would visit his shack.
– Greetings wise man – said hunter.
– Greetings hunter – replied shaman. – What makes you think I am a wise man?

Huntsman would shrug his arms:

– Look – he said, and pointed at what was below the cliff – Out there, there is a jungle. You are indeed wise man to stay away from it.
– What makes those cold rocks better than the place that is down below? – shaman kept asking.
– Jungle makes you filthy, shaman. – said hunter. – To survive in it, you need to become part of it. You need to step in, obey it’s rules even if your heart does not agree with them.
You see…. I have a big family, I have many women and many children. They all need me and my skills. They all need the food which I can deliver. They all depend on me. I don’t have the luxury of being myself anymore. I am part of a jungle now. I need to be a predator, and I need to be the cruelest one.
I set up booby traps, deceive, hide in the shadows, cover my face with mud. And eventually, at the end of the day I bath my hands in the blood of my prey. I cannot feel regret, I cannot feel compassion, I need to consume the others so the others do not consume myself. I dwell in the darkness, and my eyes hurt when they are approached by the light. I cannot escape the dirtiness of the jungle, as I live it every day.
In the end – I am becoming the jungle.
But up here, shaman… – hunter would make a pause, as he was dazed by the beauty of rising moon – Up here you can be liberated from all of the darkness below. Up here on top of the mountain you can remain pure, you can remain who you truly are. That’s why I think you are a wise man, shaman.
And a silence would occur.
Shaman would pick up his matte and took a long sip. For a moment he and the hunter would look at the stars. Both with the same affliction.
Than the shaman would say:
– Maybe you are right hunter. Maybe not. Once you are in the jungle you experience all it’s trouble, all it’s pain, but also you can taste it’s fruit. Once you are in the jungle, you are living among the others, you don’t feel cold in the night, you don’t feel alone. But on the other hand you have to sacrifice bit of yourself to fit into the tribe.
Once you are in the jungle you feel the thrill of the hunt, and the passion of your tribesman while joining them in a ritual dance. Up here, hunter, the only thing you can feel are – the cold embrace of the wind, and the enormous sense of the loss, missing all the things that you can see down below, but which you cannot experience. Once in the jungle you live the life, once above it, you are just observing it.
You remain pure, but for what cost?
-So what is the right way than? – hunter would ask.
– Maybe there is no right way. Or maybe both ways are right. Maybe we would find out if we would exchange our places…one day.
– A shaman would hunt capybaras, and a hunter would start telling a stories?
They both laughed at this idea.
And they they would go their ways.
One would pick up his spear and merged into jungle. The other other remained here on top of the hill, drinking his matte , listening to the wind which brought a new chant.

Shaman and his shack ( Tale 1)


Shaman built a shack.

But this happened later.
Before that, shaman would have a dream.In this dream he would see a mountain, and a light on a top of it.
Mountain was as high as heavens, it’s peek would soar up to the stars, shining a like lighthouse among the obscure seas of the night. Shaman would have know, that the light on the peek, holds the key to all the questions he would have gathered in his wearied heart.
However, it was only a dream.
When shaman woke up, he would discover that he sees the light no more.
That he is in a middle of the jungle. A jungle which was dark, dense and dangerous.
He would remind himself that he is in a strange land, among the people of a savage tribe. A tribe that would despise him. A tribe that would not want him.
There is no place here, for the ones like you, the people would say. You want to admire the beauty of the sky, while in a jungle you can barely see a sun ray, so thick are the tree leaves. You want to talk with the Spirit who dwells among the stars, while our only desire is the warmth of our women and our campfires. You want us to tell us stories, but all we need from you is to hunt down fat capybaras and catch big fish, like all the other man do. We do not need shamans here, a tribe would say.
Go away, and tell your stories somewhere else, maybe a wind would listen to you, they laughed.
And the shaman would go.
He would pick up his sack, and he would go. He would be casted away, forced to enter the deepest jungle. He would march away from his people into the abysses of the unknown. Away from the warm and safety of the campfires.
But he would not get lost. He would have known the way, as it was shown to him in his dream. He would find a mountain and he would climb on the top of it.
And once up there, he would discover that there was no light like he would have imagined. Just the cold rocks and a view.
Shaman would see a vast, green carpet, a labyrinth of a trees, full of dangers, full of rush. He would see the jungle from the above, he would see the place, which was his home no more.
And he would feel disappointed.
I was casted away, he would think, I walked through the deepest jungle and climbed the mountain high as the heavens but in the end I would find nothing but sorrow.
And shaman would sit and start crying. But after a while he would see a river flowing, down below and a light reflecting on it.
A light that wouldn’t come from the sun, as the sun was already hidden beneath the horizon.
Shaman would look carefully and than he would understand where the light had it source.
It would come from the top of this mountain, where was nothing but him alone.
Shaman would smile, because he would finally understand the meaning of his dream. He would, lay down his sack and he would say:
Once you are above your problems and your world, you can finally see where is your place in it.
And so shaman built his shack.
And he would start telling a stories.
And the wind would start to listen.