A Journal of my adventures in the world I inhabit while I'm asleep. |
I am an old shaman, in attendance with my tribe at a ritual springtime festival. The snows of winter are melting, and plants will soon be growing again. I am standing back at a distance from a large bonfire. The people of all the tribes in this area are gathered together, feasting on fresh game, and dancing before the fire on this cool clear night. The unattached young men and women of the tribes are talking and laughing, some are pairing up and wandering off to mate in private. A dark haired older woman from another tribe approaches me. She is beyond her childbearing years, but appears healthy and strong. "Why are you alone on this night?" she asks. "You should be celebrating with a woman, taking part in the rites of spring!" Although still strong for a man my age, I am old by the standards of my people, having seen well over forty winters. Being a shaman, I have the wisdom and knowledge of many past lives within me. I answer the woman: "The people taking part in the rites of spring are but children to me. I am shaman, I would need a woman who has seen at least a thousand winters to be my mate." She smiles, takes my hand, and responds: "What about seventeen thousand? I am shaman for my tribe, and walked the earth in many of my past lives long before your first." I look into her eyes and see that this is true. She leads me to the fire and we begin to dance to the beat of the drums… |