Makimachi Misao* from Rurouni Kenshin says, “Yoooooooooshi!”
(*Misao is the given name. // Translation: All right!)

Stay tuned for more anime drool and a possible Rurouni Kenshin fan-fiction novella. Oh yeah, and when I say “possible”, it means it might get finished, or it might get forgotten for the next two years. ^^; Yeah, I’m such a moron.

Akatala

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Now, as I find myself sailing through the calm center of yet another trial, I am forced to remember the ugly along with the beautiful. Now, more than ever, I must force myself to return to writing about this journey of mine. Perhaps, some day, my tales of my own shamanic journey will help others figure out the puzzles of their own paths. To start on on telling of this journey, I am drawn to tell the curious about the full package that comes with living such a life filled with metaphysical and paranormal experiences as mine is.Life as a shaman priestess is both beautiful and horrid. One of the first things that one is taught in following shamanic ways is to expect the unexpected, even if it means some force of fate denying the plans one makes at nearly every bend of the river of life. The second thing a follower of the shamanic journey is taught is to expect the unexpected. Those visions you see while looking at ordinary mundane objects and the voices in your head might actually be something other than your mind trying to convince you that you need Prozac. Since I began my own journey, time and time again, I have been forced to confront old society-imposed ideas about the universe I live in, how it functions, and what sorts of things are actually possible to encounter within it. The phrase, “Within every myth lies a thread of truth,” is made repeatedly and abundantly clear. The third thing that a follower of the journey learns is that the journey is a river who’s current cannot always be controlled and whose path follows a bizarre roller-coaster pattern of periods of bliss and periods of agony which are never predictable save to learn to recognize the signs that one or the other is just around the river bend.

As I walk my path, I am constantly learning, even if that learning is often-times on a subconscious level. I was, after all, never aware of how much and for how long my guides had been training me until I returned one weekend to the place where I grew up as a child to look upon it with adult eyes. Imagine my shock when I saw that everywhere I went and everything I did as a child and teen had some sort of magical connotation! Even during the years when I consciously tried to bury and deny all of it, I was still being taught. Anything that is consciously repressed eventually finds a way to re-emerge in a manner that makes it clear that such things cannot be locked up and forgotten forever. Now that I am a conscious participant in my journey, I find that each new day, no matter it mundane or bursting with magic, has a lesson for me to learn. As with everything else these lessons of the shamanic life come in packages of varying sizes from large and obtrusive to tiny and requiring aid to see properly.

Ah, yes… We come to those juicy stories of my bizarre experiences. At this point, I ask the reader to recall that old saying, “No good deed goes unpunished.” In the shamanic journey, I have come to realize that phrase is altered to read, “No good time comes without a price.” This price varies depending upon how strong one’s special gifts are wired. Those who are wired for parlor tricks get prices that are more of an annoyance than a problem. Those who get wired or rewired for higher level work such as communicating with spirits, having lucid or prophetic dreams, seeing sides of reality that others can’t such as auras and ethereal beings, these people find themselves paying much higher prices for such gifts. These prices range from social rejection, problems performing simple mundane tasks that were once easy, on up to allergies restricting one’s diet and medical conditions appearing or getting strikingly worse than before. For every “Wow!” moment I have where something amazing happens, I receive soon afterward a period of misery and madness. Anymore I have taught myself to look at misery and madness as the way to the “Wow!”, thus making such times far more endurable than they would be otherwise.

For more information on maladies that have been encountered by people traveling down the path of the shaman, I refer you to Raven Kaldera’s web article on Shaman Sickness. Though his words come from the perspective of his Northern Tradition (Norse Paganism) group, this is something that all who delve into the realm of magick sooner or later come to experience in one form or another. Also keep in mind that the symptoms listed are only a small portion of what has been encountered. Many other physical and mental ailments may also arise. Even some maladies that came at birth, such as bipolar, ADD/ADHD, and high-functioning to mainstream autism have been found to be indicators of strong potential for magickal ability arising at some point in life.

My life as a shaman priestess has taught me to learn to appreciate everything I have and experience. Both the good and the bad, because, without them, I would not be where I am. I must also treasure what I have at the given moment as I never know when what I have might get taken away. Life is for living in every moment, and acting each day with the expectation that tomorrow I might no longer be among the living. All along my way, I hope and pray that despite my tendencies for selfishness, that I do my job as a priestess and make a difference in the lives of those are sent to me for aid.

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Songs used for inspiration: “Ring of Fire” and “Good People”

Good people deserve a good leader to guide them. His grandmother had often told him this. It was something that had been burned into him in his youth. Yet now as he stood watching the ring of fire consume the pyre of his father, the prince thought about himself and wondered if he was truly that good leader that his father’s good people now needed as their previous king moved onward from this realm to the Other. Over a thousand people had gathered to witness his funeral pyre. Earlier, his uncle had spoken of his father’s legacy, and of a need to carry on that legacy yet alter it to meet the times. His uncle knew far more about politics than he did. So as the young man drew over himself a dark travelers cloak and waded away through the sea of people, he thought that surely his uncle could do a far better job at leading the people than this young whelp of a prince ever could. Sure, he had endured much schooling, yet he still felt as though he knew nothing about everything he needed to and everything about nothing he needed to.

The flames of the funeral pyre brightened the sky, yet the crowd was too busy watching the ceremony to notice as one of them gave a mornful final bow toward the pyre. Then, in silence did the prince fade into the night. Surely, somewhere out there on the roads he had never traveled at his leisure was the answer to what he was truly meant to do with his life. Whatever it was, he knew he no longer belonged here. He felt a great pain for the sorrow he would leave in the hearts of those who cared for him. Yet, the pain he felt from visions of failure was even worse. He could not lead his people when all his heart knew was fear of failing them. So, he left without even so much as a whisper.

A boy must grow into manhood before he could think of doing such great things for others. Though, he was by far no longer a virgin, the lack of purity never meant that a boy had become a man. Such was another odd saying of his grandmother’s. She had been a strange one, bowing to authority and rules when the light was cast upon her, yet always whispering her true heart in the dark as she did what she pleased. What she pleased had always been to help others and teach her grandchildren the ways of the world from a different point of view than their tutors. Though many a male would disagree or perhaps even have her hung for such blasphemy, for whatever reason, the prince believed her words to be truth. How could they not be when it was always she who had breathed light into darkness and life into void?

Aye, the young man agreed. He must learn what it was to be a man before he could truly learn try to learn what it was to be a king worthy of leading those good people he left behind. He wasn’t sure what he would meet out here on this dark road. As he rode a sturdy bay stallion he had hidden in the woods in preparation for this flight, the wayward prince knew that he was riding into uncharted territory. He knew that he would face challenges and perils throughout this journey that he had begun. Yet, he welcomed them all. He knew that only through losing would he learn how to win. Only through trial and ordeal would he learn his true strengths and desires. Likewise, he knew that someday, perhaps as suddenly as he had known it was time to leave, he would know it was time to come home.

The prince had no idea what kind of place he would find when he finally returned home. He could only hope that his people would not suffer over much for the loss of him at the same time as they lost their king. He hoped that his uncle could lead the people in a good direction as he had promised. The truth would have to wait to be learned. If it turned out to be otherwise, then the prince hoped that by then, he would have gained the confidence in himself to be the good leader his good people needed to lead them back into the light of salvation.

End total word count: 772

Time taken to write: 1 hour

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