World Building: Shaman

Dear Reader,

Our last world building post brought us to a far Western Island in a different universe than our own, while I directed everyone to sit before a stranger, a shamanic individual, a wise person on this floating ball of dirt and metal.

His gaze shifts across each of your faces. Judging, perhaps gauging ability, probing deep recesses while accessing secret thoughts. All but the thoughts that remain locked in the safe at the bottom of the locked closet, behind a locked room protected by a strong front door and security system, that is stressfully maintained by 24/7 security personnel, whom are trained by prestigious participants of each nations special forces programs. In essence. creating a militia of super soldiers who are relegated to the position of rental cop. Those secrets he allows to remain tucked away. He knows they will be revealed on your final judgement.

Waving a hand across the fire pit between him and you, he liberally sprinkles red powder which releases a gas rendering you into a liquid state of being, lubricating you for the journey ahead.

Holding a finger to his lips he ushers in silence amongst our circle. His voice trails out of his mouth, like a picture show. Our wandering minds travel down the linguistic painted trail of imagery. Each step revealing the painted landscapes, paper machete animals, and macaroni shaped people before they were molded by their creator into humanoid shape. He spends time telling us the story of the baker who loves to spend his mornings watching the sunrise. Then he tells us how his favorite child is an orphan who surfs on the setting sun every evening in hopes his parents might return from the horizon they crossed.

As his stories continue his family comes in carrying trays over laden with nourishment of all types. They urge everyone to pick from the trays too their guests desire. Everything imaginable and unimaginable were found as the family passed through the room in a clock wise rotation, swooping from the kitchen and back out again, a new tray each time.

Having our fill, we focus on him again. He had never stopped speaking, still winding his tail. He takes notice of the return of attention and only gives a wide welcoming smile. No judgment or anger, he’s only glad we’re there. His warm welcome, his love, no boundaries, without beginning or end, an always his love is.

He ends with a question for another day, another hour, who do you believe the least important person is in your universe, why?

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