Shamanic force and insight

Now that I have achieved the task of giving my father the rough copy of his memoir, in paperback form, I am now relieved of my duties toward my parents — which is rather fine, at the age of 46.

I’m taking the shamanic road from now on, even more than before.  I’m free to do so.

The spirits have been talking to me.  I’m very clear on what is required to find my destiny and what is not.  My destiny and purpose are not with the industrialized West, but with allowing a certain spirit to express itself.  This spirit is male, in his early twenties, but robust as hell.  He’s very Spartan and wants to slow me down to make me disciplined.  We are supposed to go galloping across a flat, African plain together.  This may be Botswana or somewhere north of Zimbabwe.

To communicate this spirit and its intent has been my whole life goal.  In some senses this is a pioneer spirit.  It must find some avenue of expression to give humanity a roundness and earned pleasure in itself, or else we lose, collectively.

As a shaman, I must express the pioneer spirit.  There are not many avenues for it, at least right now, but it wants to make its inroads into the future,


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