How does an encounter with a fortune teller become a story in me?
How do spoken words become questions that last for years?
How does the answer finally arrive?
This is what this article is about.
The fortune teller
If I remember correctly, it was sixteen years ago.
My life turned into a whirlwind of shit in a matter of seconds after a long introduction. I wasn’t prepared for it. I didn’t live it very happily.
I needed answers, preferably immediately.
It wasn’t really compatible with the person I was at the time to go see a fortune teller. Maybe it shows my desperation that I went to her anyway.
I was skeptical. I suspected that small half-sentences, words, and body language could be used to read signs that could then be reflected back as truth. I was even warned in advance that my age and gender could immediately tell me what my problem might be, so don’t be surprised if I got answers that seemed good.
During the visit, I put on every shield I could imagine. I didn’t say anything about myself. I tried not to answer the questions – there weren’t many anyway – in a very wordy manner. I kept my back straight, my feet pressed to the ground, my hands on the table, and tried to concentrate so that my eyes wouldn’t blink, no matter what I heard.
The fortune teller didn’t ask many questions. She started telling me about my life. She started telling me about the problem I had in my relationship at the time.
When it turned out that we were talking about the same thing, I asked her if this relationship could be saved. This was the most important question for me. I wanted to know this. From anyone.
She answered with a picture. She said the following.
I see a huge cave with a huge lake in it. There is an island in the middle of the lake. There is a tower on the island. The tower is about to collapse and a boat is about to leave the island.
This picture was understandable to me. She described the current situation exactly. But I was curious, “Can the tower be stopped from falling, and can the boat turn back?”
No.
That was the answer.
I would have been happier to hear something like, if we propped up the tower here and there, it wouldn’t fall. And, it would have been nice to hear something like, the boat would turn back halfway.
That connection existed for another 7 years after that.
In those years, it occurred to me a few times that the fortune teller was wrong. The tower stood, the boat came back. Do you need more proof than that?
Then, when the tower finally fell and the boat finally went away 7 years later, I understood something.
The fortune teller was right. She was talking about the future. And I forgot to ask her one important question.
“When?”
The Shaman
This tower and boat tale was just an introduction to the real story, but it will be absolutely necessary to understand the next tale.
I will never forget the fortune teller’s face when she suddenly changed during the conversation.
Excitement. I think that’s the best word I saw on her at the time.
Suddenly, the energies around us changed a lot.
She asked me to go out into the yard with her, into the sunlight, because she wanted to look at my palm there. She also said that she hadn’t read palms for a long time, but now she really wanted to look at mine.
Among other things, she told me that I would have a long and happy life. For a while, I thought that no matter what I did, fate would never catch up with me, but then I remembered that we forgot to clarify the meaning of “long”. So since then, I have considered myself a cautious and danger-averse person.
Then, all of a sudden, she told me to go see a shaman. I wanted to know why, and she said she didn’t know. Just that we had business.
I put this thought to myself. It came to my mind a few times in the following years.
I once told this story to someone at work. One of my colleagues said that there was a shaman living in the village. He would give me his number if I was interested. Of course I was interested.
A few days later I called this shaman.
I asked if he was really a shaman, because I was looking for a shaman. He said he was and asked what kind of help I needed. At that time, I didn’t need any help, so I honestly told him that I didn’t need any help, I just wanted to meet him. He seemed a little skeptical when he asked why. I told him that I didn’t know, maybe we just needed to meet.
He made an appointment for the following week. But then a few days later he canceled and asked to reschedule.
From this I concluded that maybe he wasn’t my type. So I never made a second date with him.
Years passed.
A few weeks ago this story just popped into my head.
In the form of a very specific question.
Where do I find my shaman?
What if I misunderstood the second story I got from the fortune teller?
What if, while patiently waiting, I was always looking outwards for this shaman to appear?
Find a shaman!
That was the request. Or advice.
But we didn’t talk about the direction of the search!
What if it’s better to look inward.
Or not to look, because I don’t really accept that expression anymore. What if it’s better to keep my eyes open when I look inward?
Of course, I won’t suddenly start imagining myself as a shaman. I won’t earn my living as a shaman.
However, it’s certain that over the past year and a half, not only has my perspective on the world changed. Today, I also see myself in the world differently.
Perhaps this is the first time I’m saying in writing what I’ve said orally several times.
I began to recognize something in myself that is truly me. Not in the form in which we usually imagine our true selves. I glimpsed something a few times that is beyond time. I could call it timeless energy, reincarnation, collective consciousness, divine mission, soul – whatever.
For me, the words and concepts are not important in this recognition, but the way and the form in which I encountered this form.
And this recognition, a few weeks ago, my mind naturally connected with the mission of visiting a shaman.
I do not know yet whether the shaman is just a symbol that represents the real me or whether it represents another person who is actually functioning as a shaman.
Until this question is clarified, I am open to this encounter both internally and externally.
Based on my current understanding, I accept advice as a symbol.
And I continue to approach my self emerging from timelessness.
Maybe it will turn out that he is a shaman.
That I am a shaman.
Who is a shaman?
I originally intended the previous sentence to be the last thought of the story.
I can’t follow my intention with actions. Life is different from what I plan. LOL.
After finishing writing, I read a little about who a shaman is out of curiosity.
I have to continue writing because of the following definition.
A shaman is originally a person who is considered by his community to be a mediator between the ordinary world and the spiritual world.
And then I remembered that last year I visited a man for a little spiritual journey to my subconscious.
He said a few things about me, two of which I now find interesting to tell.
One was: “You have undergone very strong spiritual training somewhere.”
I won’t comment on this now, I just wanted to write it down.
He started the other thing with a question:
“Haven’t you ever had a person sit down next to you on the bus and start telling you about themselves?”
His smile revealed that he knew the answer exactly. As did I. I smiled and replied that it had never happened before. He knew I was joking, we didn’t need any further explanation.
However, I must write here that on several occasions I was lucky enough to hear sentences from the people around me that revealed the greatest trust.
The sweetest such sentence was this: “I don’t know why I’m telling you this. I haven’t talked to anyone about this before. But for some reason I feel like I need to talk to you about it.”
The other sweetest similar thought came to me one Monday morning. “My daughter is in big trouble and we need help. I don’t know why, but this morning I woke up feeling like I had to ask you to help us with our case.”
Last year, the gentleman said the following about this unconditional trust:
“You are a medium. A chaneller. People feel this. They know that they can reach the higher levels through you. That is why they turn to you.”
So there is really only one sentence left in this article.
So what am I: a chaneller or a shaman?
Buy me a coffee?
If you enjoyed this story, you can buy me a coffee. You don’t have to – but it means a lot and I always turn it into a new adventure.
Buy a coffee for Steve
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