Shaman Story Chapter X – Healing

Read Shaman Story Chapter X – Little Girl Lost.


Shaman Story Chapter X – Healing

 
A woman comes on a hot August night. Grandpa and I sit on the frontporch watching traffic and sipping steaming hot espressos. She carries a boy in blue shorts, white shirt, blue three button jacket, knotted blue tie and topped with a blue hat. Her dark, mid-calf skits seem heavy in this heat. Her walk and clothing tell me she’s not from our neighborhood or any other I know. Her long, thick, black hair hangs loosely about her shoulders, not done up or held back with pins the Sicilian way. Her makeup is also thick and rich. A strap over her shoulder supports a large, beaded purse which hangs like some kind of bladder.

Grandpa smiles and nods as she walks past. She stops at our gate and opens it without asking, as if it’s her own.

On the porch her steps are so light the floor doesn’t creak and I can tell from the sound she wears expensive shoes.

Grandpa stands.

She talks in whispers and holds the boy out to Grandpa.

The boy is no older than me.

The woman puts him down. She pushes him at Grandpa.

Grandpa shakes his head and steers the boy back to the woman.

I come over and ask if the boy wants to play with me in the garden.

He pulls back into the woman’s skirts.

I Lower-Center-Relax-Breathe.

Grandpa puts his hand on my shoulder, a warning. I look up at him. He stares at me wide-eyed and shakes his head, no, pursing his lips.

Pain. Raw pain. Pain of an animal in a trap gnawing its own leg to be free.

I cry, my body, my bones, my joints on fire.

The boy.

Such pain. How can he stand?

Grandpa yells — it is the only time I hear him raise his voice in alarm — and pulls me back. His four-bodies come together, between me and the boy, falling like thunder.


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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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The Kite

[A previous version of this story can be found at Shane and Tyler]

The Kite

 
I parked in the lot adjacent to the hillside field, its slight slope gently amplifying winds and making it easier to get kites aloft. Everybody used the park. The city built ballfields and a playground on the other side of the parking lot and a big gazebo in the middle of the field. A friend caught one of my kites’ lines in the gazebo’s roof once and it took some good flying to set it free.

I could hear the cheers and catcalls from people in the ballfields — must have been some exciting games going on — and laughter and chatter from families on the playground. People must have parked on the far side of the ballfields because the hillside lot was practically empty.

An empty parking lot is one of the things I look for, a good sign, it means the field will be open, plenty of room to run out my lines and fly a kite or two between the gazebo and the street. A good wind rustled the trees high up, their tops dusting the sky. I’d already chosen my SkyDancer — a half moon, rainbow kite with two one-hundred foot long rainbow colored tails — as the kite to fly. I walked down the field carrying it, its tails, lines and two ground pegs in my hands.

A man and boy had a little area set up on my right, between the gazebo and the parking lot. Not a problem, still plenty of room. A t-ball stand stood beside them, a whiffle ball rested on top, a broad, plastic yellow bat and several more balls lay on the ground next to it. The boy, a toddler based on his size, slightly awkward movements and shrieks of joy, threw the balls back and forth to no one. He’d throw one, go get it and throw it back to where he started then repeat the process over and over again.

The man knelt on the ground, his eyes focused and his hands busy. It looked like he was rigging up a single line delta. I thought that a small, single-line delta would be more work than it would be worth — general kiting rule: the smaller the kite, the stronger the wind — but said nothing. I had the day off and wanted some time to myself.

They got their delta up. Then down. Then not quite up, then definitely down. Then down and down and still down.

But the man wouldn’t give up. He’d get the kite up and he’d hold the line with the boy and let the boy take the line and the kite would come down and he’d go to work sending it back up.

And on one attempt, the boy called out, “I love you, Daddy!” and the man called back, “I love you, too, Son!”

I’d just finished driving my ground pegs into the earth and had walked out my lines, my SkyDancer still in its pack along with its tails, and something told me to offer them my Big Sled. The Big Sled is actually a fairly small, black, red, and white parafoil kite. I got it long ago. A local kite store was going out of business, I got there their last day, there wasn’t much left and I refused to go home empty handed. It’s more a kid’s kite than something an adult would fly, but I have close to one-hundred kites, kites for all levels of skill, all sizes of flyers, all types of wind and I love all kites. One more would round out the bunch so I got it.

I went back to my car and got out the Big Sled.

The father was kneeling again, the delta in front of him as he adjusted the harness. I walked towards him. “Sir, excuse me, sir?”

He looked up.

I unfurled the kite. “This’ll be much easier to fly. It’ll catch the wind better and ride high on top of the wind.”

He was hesitant. “That looks like a professional kite.”

I laughed. “I’d never call myself a professional.”

He offered me his hand. “I’m Shane.” He had broad, flat palms. Thick fingers, calloused. A welcoming grip. A practical smile, open and evaluating at the same time. More laugh lines than frowns and deep brown eyes that took in all of you without leaving your face. He stood wide and solid with hair the color of his eyes and ruffling in the wind where it stuck out from under his green baseball cap. I took him to be a skilled laborer, someone both comfortable with himself and with tools in his hands, someone to whom making was automatic, without thought. He didn’t smell of resins or wires. Doors and walls, I decided. Not cars, there was no grease or grime under his nails or etched in his palms and a whiff of wood welcomed me as he moved. Not tanned, so a finish carpenter, someone who works inside, not someone who frames and builds houses. Someone who uses his blades as a painter uses his brushes.

“That’s Tyler. Say hello, Tyler.”

Tyler, a cherub as only little boys can be cherubs, called out “Hello!” Thin but healthy, both well and goodly fed, with clear eyes and a trust because he’s a little boy and everyone should love him, because that’s all he’s known is love of family and friends and, it seemed, a mirror that would grow into his father’s easy good looks.

He stood beside us comfortably, neither anxious nor wary, following his father’s focus on my hands, watching me stringing the line, his eyes full of joy and his father’s smile echoed on his toddler’s face.

I attached the line and handed Shane the line hoop. “It’s going to have a little pull, so hold the line with Tyler. Let him get a feel for how much pull it’ll have so he can brace himself for it.”

The father looked me in the eye, confused.

“Enjoy yourself. Have a good time.”

I went back to the SkyDancer and lines, strung it up and, as is my habit, talked to the kite and the wind. They rewarded me with some great flying and LineSong — the wind pulls the kite, the lines tighten, the wind vibrates the string like a bow crossing a violin. You hear the lines sing.

LineSong. It’s the wind letting you know it’s having fun, too, me thinks.

I flew for about an hour, maybe a little less. Every now and again I’d hear Shane and Tyler laugh from the other side of the gazebo. I’d glance every so often and see the Big Sled high in the sky, swooping and swirling as the winds whirled it about.

I told the SkyDancer and Wind, “One more flight, girl. Come on down when you’re ready and we can pack up and go home.”

We had one more glorious flight. Some people had gathered so I had the SkyDancer live up to its name and perform a little ballet. The wind, as promised, grew tired, which was fine because I was, too. I brought the SkyDancer down and began untacking the lines.

Shane and Tyler came up to me. Shane had the kite against his chest, the line hoop and line in hand. “Thank you, Joseph. That was great. Tyler and I really appreciate your letting us fly your kite.”

“Did you have a good time, Tyler? Did you have fun?”

“Yes!”

I smiled at Tyler. “Keep the kite. It’s a gift.”

Shane shook his head. “We can’t do that.”

“You and Tyler gave me a gift when I walked onto this field.”

“We did?”

“Tyler called out ‘I love you, Dad,’ and you called back, ‘I love you, too, Son.’ That’s a gift. Please. Take the kite as my thank you for that gift.”

Shane slowly shook his head, not quite believing. “Are you sure?”

I stood. “Yes, and here’s the catch.”

He pulled his head back a bit.

“Whenever you and Tyler don’t want to fly kites any more, or when you think it’s time, you pass it on to the next father and son, you give it to them as a gift because they gave something to you as a gift.”

Shane nodded slowly. “Okay. We can do that.”

“Pass it on. Pay it forward. That’s how it works.”

“Thank you. Thank you so much for this gift.”

“Thank you. Have a good day. Have a good life.”

They walked away and stopped. Tyler started running towards me and Shane called him back. They huddled for a moment then both came up to me. “Tyler has something for you.”

Tyler ran up to me and gave me a big hug. “Thank you for the kite, Joseph!”

I put my arms around him, held his precious little body next to mine. “Oh, thank you, Tyler. You’re the man, Tyler, you’re the man!”


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The Augmented Man Video Series Episode 6 – “Little Snitches”

 
Episode 1 – “Good Run, Trailer?”
Episode 2 – “Massively Scarred”
Episode 3 – “Learn Chess, Yes”
Episode 4 – “To Feel”
Episode 5 – “Tell Me About Her”

Sabine Rossbach
Joseph Carrabis
The Augmented Man

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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