Shamans, gurus, teachers, masters, fortune-tellers, no matter what title we hang around their necks, they are the weirdos. Not by themselves, but by no means can they be squeezed into cubes according to the standards of our template world, they flow out of it, and the unknown has always been scary for man, and he does not want to know what he is afraid of. They are creatures at the center of heated debates, and both sides are sacredly convinced of his unshakable truth. Some blindly believe in them, others even deny their existence. But why does anyone get angry when the other sees it differently? Why should I persuade a fellow human being, by force or even violence, that the one from whom he expects help is a swindler? How do I know he or she really is? We are not the same, perfectly not. This is the base from which we start.
Although we are all the forms of the same eternal life. So that’s what you think of them, I might think totally different. Who cares?
After four chemos, helplessness and impatience have teamed up against me. I saw certain things, understood this and that from what was happening to me, but from there I was simply unable to move on. I’m not claiming that spirituality is far from avoided, because looking back from here on the evolution of my life, I was very open to it, only closing the door before the teachings. However, something had to be done, and then there were some nice family members who were casting their faith aside, looking for more and more opportunities for me, and then forced me to try them all because they were fighting for me. There is no fairy tale, there will be everything you may have never heard of before, but then searching the internet, you will see that millions have already commented on it pros and cons with the same vehemence. On such an occasion, I was taken to a small cottage on the outskirts of the city, because that is where the shaman lived, the man who is weird. How stupid did I look when I walked in the door? Absolutely! The house was also painted quite bizarre, with an overly minimal design that it is almost impossible to recognize what kind of room it was where this particular adventure began. Half built or already half ruined; nothing is clear. And there he stood, a middle-aged, fantastically average man. Now that I’m spinning in my head, I don’t even remember his face anymore, at all. The FBI wouldn’t cost me much. Well, once I was gone, I sat down and listened nicely all the way through that: I have digestive problems, and a lot of stress, too, ah, I was prepared for such a very nonsensical and unnecessary conversation. You know, like tabloid horoscopes, it’s ridiculous. He asked me not to say anything, it didn’t cause any problem. He just wanted to know my name and date of birth. Then he began to write on a piece of paper fished out of one of the hidden corners of the toilet with his little pencil, counting, muttering. I was blinking hard then when I could escape from there.
Then he started. No headaches, no exhaustion… Well done. He said: there is something wrong with the pericardium. I didn’t answer, he asked for that, but in the meantime, I swallowed a big one. Oh. Once it was really injured in a car accident and it took many months to recover from it. But all right, blind hen can also find eyes, may come next. He said: And the thymus isn’t okay either. Well, damn, don’t you think so? Well, I had my biggest tumor there. A tiny fear moved into me, but soon assured me I was going to heal, I just had to tidy up my mind. He wanted to help with this and asked me to stop eating meat and forget about all forms of violence. So, my sins from my previous lives were about to be solved, he put his hand on my back. It was cold in the room, I was sitting in a jacket, but I could even feel his hands being hot through it. I didn’t understand, but I left. He then asked me to visit him another time because the workflow was long. Yeah, sure, I would think about that. And really, I was still thinking about it for about ten years before I understood what the hell happened to me at the time. When we got out, we got in the car, wondering at once how many hours it was. I felt like roughly forty minutes, no more at all. We spent three hours inside. Don’t ask where the time went, I don’t know either.
I went back to him in a week. He built an energy-collecting pyramid in his garden, or something like that, there were mirrors everywhere, really weird place, but I went, driven by curiosity. There were several of us sitting there. Uncle shaman chanted and told us stories. In his view, the gods of all religions are one and the same, no matter what body we imagine. God doesn’t have a certain body, because he is everything. Lives in all animals, plants and humans. When I bumped up to the pyramid, a woman came with me who coughed non-stop, but not once inside. Later we also walked out to the bus stop together, then she was roughly tormented again. Lung cancer. She was just fighting her fourth type of cancer. All the existing dirt had already been pumped through her, she had been scattered by the operations, radiated, given all the shit, and behold, it had come again for the fourth time, just elsewhere. She said he sucks the whole thing, she won’t be cured by the doctors. She goes into the pyramid and because of the energy she felt better. That’s all that matters.
It really matters because no one will know better from you what is helping you. Whether something is not measurable with instruments, or because it is not socially accepted, is not yet bad or worse than the other method, it is just different. Many times, we just miss a push to have faith in healing and desperately, not regretting money for what will be good for us at last. We are also swords on this subject because there is truly an immeasurable sea of disgraceful money-seekers who want to iron wealth on the sick, but let us separate them well. If someone really has god-given miraculous abilities, then he will not want to get rich on you, and that can be recognized quite factually. It would be so good not to even argue about this, but just to let us go our own way and find solutions. Because the answers to our questions are really in us, but to be able to conjure them up, we may already need help. Whether the drugs will be either a psychologist or a shaman, minerals, herbs, energy magic, UFOs or dinos, it doesn’t matter perfectly. What works for me may will not work for you. We do not judge the method from that yet, since it is objective, but we are different. So let us try not to look down on our peers if they do not swear by the sacred chemotherapy or lifelong medication, but try to get there in other ways, where they have lost their ability to orient themselves in the world. Support each other in healing and believe. It doesn’t matter what it is, support strongly. And it doesn’t matter who we turn to for help, because if we do, we’ve already realized we need help, and that’s more than good. This is the only way to heal. You need self-knowledge first, and you know love, too. We will find the man who leads us without losing ourselves in the meantime and get the chance to find the real self we may have hidden from ourselves for many years. If you step into this adventure, you will later realize that all you have is this certain moment. Nothing else. If you live in this moment, if you don’t identify yourself by your body or your mind, you will wake up. And once if you are already conscious, you will be able to heal yourself by the power of eternal love.