The Shaman's Mythicle

By Jackie Needham

A mythicle is a word the author coined that means it is yours to decide if it is true or not if it makes you think, inspired, or dismiss it as contrived. The Shaman's Mythicle is about six separate shamans who never met before entering meditation. In it, spirits contact each of them rather than the other way around. A choice was given to each of them to accept or reject entering into a new soul family, not their own, and not a totem of spirit-guidance. While living the remainder of their lives in the living universe would leave deposits of positivity on as many who open up to an appreciation of everything around them just from simple infections of joy and passion. It wasn't meant as a crusade, but as an inspirational aura that follows them like a cloud, bestowed and ordained by the watcher of all things because man's rules are much more complicated than the creators'.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jackie Needham
• Release date: Mar 14, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393724339

Book preview

The cover of this book was a precise rendition of my description to the two talented people who

brought it to life. My thanks to my best friends: Evelyn Hill (for sketching a diverse collection

of shamans from separate tribes and walks of life), and to Bill Pimlett, who organized them graphically  so that faces can be put together to accurately picture HOW IT ALL BEGAN...

THE

SHAMAN’S

MYTHICLE

HOW IT ALL BEGAN

Three days went missing, the how and why of it, initially more disorienting than mysterious to six Shamans, when their eyes fluttered open. Wherever each of them woke up, worried loved ones looked over them with concern, yet thankful, believing they emerged from comatose states. However, they seemed lucid, excited, each Shaman oozing deep feelings of gratitude and joy, yet revived in separate abodes. Each one of them emerged with a personal sense they just stepped off an exit ramp from an invisible pedestrian bridge none of them ever been on, heard of, or witnessed before. Its entrance put them on a shockingly short span where all six of the Shamans met for the first time. In almost no time at all, the bridge carried them to a vast, rather dark, and cloudy spirit world. Shaken to their core, the bridge put them on a well-traveled path they never dared stray from. It came to clearing barricaded by a giant doorway. But on approach, the door opened wide, bright light beyond almost blinding them at first. Everything that happened next took place at that entrance, only allowed glimpses of the pristine vistas that lay beyond from no further than the doorway threshold. There, standing guard, they met a spirit from an ancient past. It was all very real, during and after the experience ended, spirit and reality, the Shamans found out, defined only by dimension. For them, everything that happened produced a genuine awakening. Ironically, even with years of experience between them, found themselves completely caught off-guard by something new and wonderful, far different from the normal routine, private meditations. All along and many times before, the purpose of traditional quests were always the same, to get in touch with alternate realities believed essential for improvements to inner selves, building reputations as those who sought wisdom from spirit guides. However, their limited time to quench thirsts from spirit world fountains needed regular visits. It came as quite a shock when something more productive came from the common rituals considered crucial to adding layers of perceived composure. For the people who commissioned the medicine men for healing arts, the meditative visits were viewed as essential, valuable tools to supplying comfort and trust in them. Yet, even then, the Shamans stood tall, good men, strong-minded, independent, paternally patient in the practice of their healing craft. But, on examination, how much of how they conducted themselves just an illusion? For the Shamans, the question essentially postulated, because undertaking this particular quest ultimately consumed them, both in the spiritual world and when they returned to physical reality. They found themselves baptized, in holy communion with the ancient voices they got to know intimately, a nameless, unseen, disembodied spirit with two clearly defined voices speaking some enigmatic, yet universally understood ancient language. The spirit's voices conveyed a strong desire to bond with the medicine men, but before it attempted to make any connections that would hold both the spirit and the Shamans in a powerful grip, hinged on the willingness to share it. For that reason, the spirit asked permission because it needed the men to know that any bond with residents of the spirit world, good or bad, is permanent. In that vein, the spirit admitted that during its own time of wandering among the living, progress was slow and riddled with mistakes. Sadly, about all the cumulative time it took establishing effective and influential bonds with the odd assortment of friends who traveled with them, the spirit parted ways and entered the afterlife. The group’s powerful connections carried on for a time, held together through the spirit’s biological descendants, strong in their own right. However, when the spirits and family all finally earned places in the afterlife, tales and memories of them only lasted a few short generations.

The spirit kept on impressing the same narrative to the medicine men that along with accepting the challenge, the pieces of soul awarded them at birth entered into a new family, committed to unite for all eternity to a different parent soul entirely from their own. However, on the plus side, not deprived of the comfort of their original family nearby, and always enjoy freedom with no impediment to accessing the best fruits of the afterlife. The spirit eventually went on to highlight the reasons for asking, the first of which is that in all its existence, both living and especially as pure spirit, growing numbers of modernized, embittered souls consistently entered through the afterlife door, forced to exit just as quickly by the high spirit. They failed simple tests time and again. Blocking afterlife entrance to them hinged on several failures, not the least of which, repeatedly neglecting the beauty that surrounded them in their precious short time alive. That simple act alone is a way to honor and connect to its creator. But then there is constant bickering, fighting, competing unnecessarily, finding little comfort from friendships outside tight clusters of closed-minded circles. With the Shaman’s help, the spirit proposed an experiment to offer the same simple bit of unity it did when it roamed the earth. For far too long, parent souls in the afterlife observed pieces of itself coming and going through the spirit world door, only to relive incomplete, or unrequited lives. Could a small union of both worlds help turn the mood to seek out and embrace friendship, to appreciate beauty during its time alive one more time? The spirit did not know, because only the highest spiritual power could see into the world of the living’s future. But, worth the effort because if the goal were to succeed, even a smidgen, the living would find making friends a lot easier than fighting enemies. The worry saved would send happy souls to the spirit world to stay instead of returning to continue another cycle of living miserably and squandering what little time they have to enjoy it. Living is a gift meant to enhance the spirit world, a limitless and beautiful place with far too few whole souls taking up permanent occupancy.            The Shamans understood the spirit's meaning, and what it wanted from them. But, from it, they weighed the good against permanent, irrevocable new family bonds, almost a certainty that such a gamble might not shift the mood of the living for long. Not only that, the spirit reminded the medicine men, they would see and share all its good and bad experiences, compiled from an entire lifetime in its temporary plane of existence, carried into the more important dimension achieved in death. In reverse, the spirit would equally absorb everything the Shamans ever went through or would experience. The extended offer was for them to choose the journey, or not, that such a journey had nothing to do about legacy, nor it a crusade. Far from it. It is about positive influences, which the spirit hoped would be far more resilient and lasting. Already foreseen for the Shamans, guaranteed spots in the afterlife and in the accomplishment, taken in by an unmet new family from their own there. Worth it if the obstinate living finally learns by example that there are easy and difficult paths in life and it's the easy ones that lead directly into the afterlife.

The Shamans mentally revisited the event, strangely left with clarity of mind of every detail, astonished how little the experience resembled any meditation they’d entered into before. Yes, even with the aid of psychotropic drugs once depended on as a crutch when they were younger. No, this time the focus stayed with them and did not wear off. If anything, the Shaman’s received useful gifts to carry with them on this side of the spirit world portal. So, despite having never met each other, the Shamans did the same thing at the same time. Individually, they willingly opened their hearts to the portions of soul entrusted to them and submitted them for service through the unseen spirit’s invitation. In doing so, they quickly found a connection that was not there before. The Shamans became spiritual brothers, so attached in fact, that it included hearing each other’s thoughts from great distances. On appearance, each of them looked the same, but the union, though unceremonious and undetectable on the surface, progressed in a natural flow. And it immediately triggered a story told in imagery. So vivid, the story became part of them, a sight and sound rendering, devoid of any words until closer to the story’s middle to end. The beginning offered a glimpse of the unnamed, unseen spirit, who and what he was. The first vision of him started shortly after his birth, the story itself displayed somewhat guarded personal memories, but re-dispatched nonetheless, verbatim, by some unseen spiritual life-story stenographer. The life accomplishments, all the mistakes, and successes made to achieve them, and gradually grew in complexity along with its main character. The story, as conveyed gave the medicine men no choice but to recant the perceptions faithfully, without embellishment or interpretation except for one thing. After all the eons that passed since the spirit wandered the earth, finally assigned a formal name by all six Shamans, because the spirit did not have one. Unanimously, it seemed to the Shamans natural justice to assign names to the spirit  and those closest to him. So, in  total agreement, they shared one

perception and one perception only. It seemed fitting that they name him—

MASTER. 

THE RUNT OF A LITTER

Many years in the past, deep in the vast, harsh wilderness that occupied the northwest cold lands, a gray wolf, the tiniest runt of a litter, found himself unwanted, pushed out of his pack and away from his brothers and sisters for being an omega. The runt could not know and remained ignorant of the real reason that he’d been expelled, his mind in a stage of development far too young yet to know anything about condemnation. In truth, his parents were not to blame, still tending to his needs with equal attention and care as the rest of their litter just before it happened. Indeed, the tiny wolf still scampered about with his siblings until the very moment he stood alone, pushed out, left to his own survival or, the more probable odds, death. The decision belonged to the entire pack he belonged and born to, the others in the hierarchy pooled their wisdom not to compete with a runt in its midst for valuable food. It simply was not necessary, the hunt challenging enough, even competitive in those cold environs without the handicap of fending for a weak, defenseless, deemed worthless runt. However, the pup did not, would not die.

The nearly newborn pup’s vision sort of cleared, becoming cognizant that he was alone. The word cognizant versus aware was chosen specifically to describe a matter of degree. Alongside the sudden realization, an internal seed sprouted. Strength of will began to grow larger than his stature, transcend his lack of experience, and compel him to move on. Shivering, hungry, his mind began to inexorably focus upon the problem of what came next, developing plans and goals not possible until taught. Regardless, nothing else but taking care of himself shared space in his mind. Something happened to the little wolf, that seed of strength took the shape of steely hard resolve, an expedited evolution of sorts that grew exponentially, and continued until he died. But, either some spirit took up residence in his tiny body to guide him, or naiveté lent the baby wolf false bravado. A built-in ignorance blocked out that the odds stacked against him more by the second. It pressed against him, much like the ever-present, at times, gale-force cold northwest wind. Minute by minute, the little abandoned-wolf saw nothing more than temporary obstacles in his way. Pride, worry, whining, no one to run and play with, walk behind, literally nothing would interfere with the plan, devised on the spot, and far beyond his size, age, or experience.

Small, even for an omega pup, size matters, in every stage of a gray wolf's life, and belonging to any normal pack would relegate him to an existence in which earning rank was highly improbable. Therefore, completely undeterred in the weeks that followed his banishment from the safety of the family born to, he continued as a lone wolf, albeit a very tiny one that was not quite ready to command respect even from the most harmless of creatures. Somehow, the little pup possessed the presence of mind to know that he would starve to death, unless he taught himself specialized skills to survive intelligently. At the time, hunting amounted to stealing. He invaded other pack’s territories, subsisting on leftovers since he had not yet established any practical ability, nor was he old or strong enough to develop them. It was not long before he discovered how much risk he’d undertaken. Slowly, he discovered that cleverness and cunning weighed heavily in his favor, but still required humility and caution. So the pup consciously honed sharp instincts.

Going into the first full winter of his existence, steadily decreasing amounts of light from above made debilitating cold a new thing to cope with. The wolf’s eyes easily adjusted to the darkness and he never tired of the pinpoints of light sandwiched within the blanket of black above and on every horizon. Periodically, a steady but fleeting cycle treated him, as well. A sliver of light would appear. From its first sighting, the sliver-white globe grew and continued growing until it became round, illuminating, and wonderful. All in all, throughout that winter it never ceased to be a welcome sight. However, it always reversed itself and went back into hiding, never lasting as long as he hoped. This new rhythm of living made it hard to know when to stop and sleep. No matter for the little wolf, spending more of those dark hours awake than sleeping, and whatever little time he allowed himself for recuperating seemed to come naturally as to which chosen part of the darkness to do it. Already keen eyes got stronger all the time, thankfully protecting the wolf during those long dark, awake-times because he devoted nearly all of his time to running and eating, overwhelmingly in favor of running and lesser to eating. The way of life he adopted hard, but the strenuous regimen maintained a pastime born from a willfully strong survival instinct and rapidly turned into a passion. Running kept him busy, fit, and intensely interested that first long Winter season of his life, and he noticed that despite being small and young, he could readily do something he loved and get better at. He went on to exploit it, teaching himself to run long distances─very long distances. He kept a constant pace, stopping only to eat, literally running throughout the winter and out the final vestiges of icy cold darkness. A pleasant surprise arrived when he got to experience his first spring, and more astonishingly yet, the summer with no darkness at all. The routine stayed the same during the easy hunts in warmer weather, but it soon yielded its life-giving properties back again into his second dark cold winter. This time around, conditioning took over. The skills to deal with the onslaught of a fresh cold season kept sharply honed. Furthermore, winter, with all of its cold and darkness held no surprises for him, only continued the adventure. With every day that passed by, he kept growing stronger.

Well into the lone wolf’s third winter season, the power in his legs belied his small stature, one impressive physical attribute if that is all he possessed. There were other practiced tools in his arsenal. Strong, yet adept jaws married to cunning and speed developed by eating on the run. It allowed him to make kills that defied all descriptions, quick yet conservative, providing a diet devoured rapidly, and completely, everything consumed without a trace, except for a residual scent detected too late by packs within their territories. On the other hand, the prey much different and elusive than that of a normal wolf’s usual fare, or taste, for that matter. Biting cold worked in the favor of the lone wolf over territorial packs roaming after sunup, yet a fortuitous advantage for packs who got to huddle together at night. Staying on the move when dark took some of the survival rigors away, but the cold is a dangerous thing, too. Temperatures dipped so low that a single lone wolf found trouble trying to insulate himself against it. Finding a suitable unoccupied cave by a predator or creature more formidable than himself a rarity and convenient, welcome finds. But, the rapidly evolving runt always, always got by, despite not having a pack to share body heat with.

Spring, summer, fall, and into the start of another winter, hopefully not as harsh as the last. The still small lone wolf lost count of all the darknesses spent alone after his exile. He finished dining on a horseshoe hare in a territory quite clearly marked by a large pack. Tracks were all around in the snow where he ate, evidence that the pack recently hunted and eaten in the vicinity. The smell of their kill assaulted his senses. Conversely, the runt did not underestimate the danger that his scent would reach the pack’s noses powerfully, especially the leader. Worse,