Shaman Story Chapter X – Little Girl Lost

Read Shaman Story Chapter X – Passing.


Shaman Story Chapter X – Little Girl Lost

 
Buppa stands me in front of him, on the sand facing the ocean. Chan adjusts my feet so they point forward and are as wide apart as my shoulders.

“You ever ride a horse, Gio?”

“At the Festa de Sant Antony I did.”

“You remember how the horse felt under you?”

I nod.

“Feel like that now. Make believe you’re on the horse.

“Giddy yap.”

Chan smiles. “My people call this a horse stance because it’s like you ride a horse. Make sense?”

Chan always asks if he makes sense. I have to show him I understand before he continues.

“Now put your hands out like this.”

The shadow of Buppa’s arms comes over me. I look up over me and behind me. He’s doing the same thing I’m doing.

“What are you doing, Buppa?”

“I’ve got to learn, too, Gio. Chan does this much better than me.”

Chan adjusts my arms, levels my hands, straightens my fingers, taps my belly.

“What do we do first?”

“Lower-Center-Relax-Breathe.”

“Make sense?”

I Lower-Center-Relax-Breathe.

“Feel the ocean, feel its power, hear the waves coming in.”

My body gently rocks back and forth.

“Let the ocean move you. Be its water. Learn where its been. Feel where its going. Taste its bottom. See what moves there in the deep, deep dark.”

I rock with ocean’s movements, striking the land.

“This is Waves, Gio. We do this to learn the power of Ocean, this form of water, so we can draw on its power when we need to. Make sense?”

Buppa’s head rises, his eyes open.

Chan’s head rise. He follows Buppa’s gaze. “You’re needed, Giovanni.”

“Finish the boy’s lesson.”

“We can practice more later. Nobody gets it the first time.”

I stop rocking but keep standing, my arms outstretched, my fingers sensing the ocean. A shallow forms in front of me.

Chan claps his hands. “Gio! You make a liar out of Chan!”

***

Officers Morelli and Clarkson talk with Grandma on the porch. Their police car is in the street outside our gate.

They walk to us as we get out of Buppa’s truck, their hats held in the hands in front of them.

Offers Morelli and Clarkson are friends. They walk through our neighborhood often. Sometimes Officer Clarkson wears shiny black boots and rides a motorcycle. Sometimes Officer Morelli comes by in a police car and I get to ride around the neighborhood in front with him. Sometimes he sits me on his lap while he drives and I get to hold onto the steering wheel. “Oh, we’re in hot pursuit, Gio. Gonna get them crooks, Gio.” He drives funny so we go all over the street.

Officer Clarkson sits me on his motorcycle and puts his helmet on my head. It covers my eyes and I can’t see. He gets on behind me and goes “VROOM! VROOM! PUT-a-Put-a-put-a-put VROOM! VROOM! PUT-a-Put-a-put-a-put.” We put on the siren and Grandma comes out of the house, a kitchen towel over her ears. “Shut that damn thing off. You’ll deafen the boy.”

Officer Clarkson turns off the siren. “Sorry, Mrs. Fortune. Just giving the boy some fun.”

He looks at me and his face goes Whoops! Grandpa and I laugh.

Grandma goes back in and comes out with a cookie tin. “You ask that Cheryl girl to marry you yet?”

“Doing it tonight.”

“Gio, bring these to him.”

I hand him the tin and he starts to open it.

Grandma snaps the towel. “No, no you don’t. Those are for your girl to give you when she says ‘Yes.’”

Officer Clarkson perks up. “She’s going to say yes?”

Grandma looks at me. “What do you think, Gio? His girl gonna say yes?”

I shrug. I don’t know how to see through time yet. Buppa says time is a place like any other. You can get there if you know which direction to travel.

Grandma laughs. “You bring those cookies, Charlie. In case.”

Officer Morelli looks at Officer Clarkson. “I’m going to speak Italian, Charlie. No offense. So I’ll be understood better.”

Officer Clarkson nods. “Go ahead.”

Abbiamo bisogno di te, Maestro Fortuna.” We need you, Master Fortune.

I tug on Grandma’s apron. “Maestro Fortuna?”

She pulls me on her lap. ‘People call Buppa “Master” when their need is great.”

Buppa nods. “They request the Old Ways and are afraid.”

Una bambina è persa.” A little girl’s lost.

Buppa nods. “Il ragazzo viene con me questa volta.” The boy comes with me this time.

Morelli shakes his head. He turns to Officer Charlie. “He wants to bring Gio with him.”

Officer Charlie looks at me and then at Buppa. “I don’t know, Mr. Fortuna. We suspect…This could be…”

“So he can learn. For later.” Buppa pats my head. “Go help Grandma clean you up, put on fresh clothes. I got to wash, too. All this sand.”

Buppa sends me the sounds of the ocean, of the waves, the feel of the water, our feet in the sand, little crabs scurrying into the water, bubbles where clams lie under the sand.

I feel the ocean move me. Remember Chan’s lesson. Hear Buppa inside. “Good, Gio. Remember.”

We get in the police car. “Can I ride in front?”

Buppa nods. “For now. You’ll have to help me later, Gio. Do you want to help me?”

I get to help Buppa! “Always!”

Officer Clarkson lifts me over the back of the seat and puts me on his lap. “No sirens this time, Gio. Don’t want your grandma mad at me.”

I pout. He tickles me until I laugh.

Officer Morelli starts their car. He looks back to Buppa. “Where do we start?”

“Where did she live?”


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Shaman Story Chapter X – Passing

Read Shaman Story Chapter X – The Immensity of Now.


Shaman Story Chapter X – Passing

 
Uncle John walks with me to the edge of his field where his beans grow broadleaf in the shadow of trees. I know most trees. Sometimes a new one grows overnight and Uncle John and Buppa take me through the seedling through its roots into the soil to feel the cool earth.

“There’s someone wants to meet you, Gio. You like that? It’s okay if we say hello?”

“I like that.”

A tall, tall man walks out of the woods edging Uncle John’s field. He moves quietly, his footsteps like whispers, and steps carefully, as if his rich brown sandals sense what’s beneath them, making sure nothing is harmed, nothing is crushed. He wears garden-green silk stockings and his violet trousers flare with each step, and it seems he walks with the earth, not on it.

Uncle John and I sweat from our walk in the warm sun but the heat doesn’t bother the tall, tall man. His shirt ripples like vanillaed cream in the slight breeze, and the black lines on his violet jacket frill like feathers while the jacket ruffles. His broad, banded white and yellow hat hides his face but his elegant beard, trimmed so precisely to his chin, has gold and white highlights in it, depending on how it catches the sun. His bowtie is gold and lavender, rimmed with black.

“Say hello, Gio.”

I offer my hand.

The man bends slowly, gracefully. A cloud of earth smells, growing smells, Buppa’s garden, Mrs. Minerva’s hives, John and Mary’s fields, Chan’s medicines, Beautiful Painted Arrow’s flatbreads, chamomile, rosa ragosa, rose of sharon, and clematis surround me. Insects buzz around him, under his hat. Some crawl up his silk stockings, pants, and jacket. A spider builds a web between his chin and bow tie.

We shake. His hand is soft and reminds me of lavender leaves. I look down. My hand is wrapped in a flower petal.

His other hand lifts off his hat. His face is a sunflower, his eyes bright yellow stella d’oros, his beard corn hairs flowing with pollen.

The wind tickles my ears. “Hhhelloh Geeeooh.”

A new friend! “Hello!”

He stands up, pulls away, moves over the earth, carried by the wind, back to the trees. He leans against one, a mid-size oak. His legs merge into a single stalk, his shit and jacket become petals and blooms, flowers burst from his hands, his hat scatters pollen to the sun.

The mid-size oak is embraced by a climbing clematis.

Something about the oak.


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Shaman Story Chapter X – The Immensity of Now

Read Shaman Story Chapter X – Borrowing.


Shaman Story Chapter X – The Immensity of Now

 
Buppa and I stand on the porch. He holds me, his strong, tanned arms making a seat for me to sit on. A man comes to us. He and Buppa talk quickly, quietly. Buppa shakes his head, no.

The man reaches out, pulls his hand back before touching Buppa. Holds his hands out, palms up. His voice strains.

Buppa tells him to go away, come back later. He shakes his head as the man goes down the steps, out the gate, to his car, drives away.

He takes me inside. “What did he want, Buppa?”

“To cause pain.”

“Will you do what he wants, Buppa?”

“I will do what he asked, not what he wants.”

“You going to hurt someone?”

“Someone will be hurt, yes.”

“You told me not to hurt people, Buppa.”


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Why this Were here, now?

[This post oriignally appeared on Timothy Bateson’s blog, mid Oct 2019]

Let’s say someone wants to write about werewolves but nothing they’re coming up with fits “werewolf.” Probably they’re putting the hearse before the horse. Their interest is on the were, not the were’s purpose in the story.

Let the “were” serve the story’s purpose. Don’t make it the story’s purpose.

 
Werecreatures are nothing new. Cave drawings frequently depict humanimals. Study any culture’s mythology and one wonders who wasn’t a werecreature. The concept of versipellics as evil is relatively new compared to human recorded history (about 800 years v 35,000 years).

A significant aspect of versipellic history is that skin-changing was a spiritual exercise, not a magical exercise. This spiritual aspect remains today in the concept of shapeshifting as evil. The Malleus Maleficarum provided details about all such “magickal” practices but the reason to hunt down practitioners was political; practitioners threatened the power and authority of Mother Church. What do you do when you’re a religious authority and you want to get rid of the opposition? You label it evil, demonic, satanic. You’ll find much the same propagandic reasoning in today’s political speeches. The US was The Great Satan to Ruhollah (Ayatollah) Khomeini. Reagan called Soviet Russia “The Evil Empire,” and Trump’s rhetoric…well, let’s not go there.

Culture makes a difference. Judeo-Christian teaching is that versipellics are evil; God and the Angels never change shape. Satan and the Fallen Angels do (they don’t want you to know who they are). Read religious dogma from other cultures and versipellism is good or evil depending on why it’s being done. It’s the individual’s reason for shapeshifting, not the fact that they can shapeshift, that determines the morality of the transmutation.

Modern scifi/fantasy may have versipellism caused by any number of reasons. Hank McCoy (Marvel’s Beast, genetic) owes much of existence to versipellism, as does Bruce Banner (The Hulk, radiation). Superheroes as a group owe a nod to versipellism; they have two identities, two personalities, one wears the skin of everyday clothing, the other the skin of their superhero costume, and like any good werewolf, the needs of each identity are at odds with the other. Only recently have superheroes walked among non-supers openly (The Incredibles, The Incredibles 2, Robert Downey Jr’s Tony Stark procliaming from the podium “I am IronMan,” Amazon’s “The Boys”).


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Shaman Story Chapter X – Borrowing

Read Shaman Story Chapter X – Hide-and-Seek.


Shaman Story Chapter X – Borrowing

 
Sometimes Grandpa’s friends ask “May I share how I do it?” to help me learn how they do something Grandpa does, something he is teaching me. They let me piggyback down their path. Sometimes we have to travel far and they become a ladder and I climb up their rungs and the ladder flies and you learn how to be a ladder and fly.

I piggyback and climb their rungs so I can borrow from them to learn how to do it, to understand my way, my path would be different from theirs and different is okay, it is the outcome that matters.


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