Shaman Journey: “The Deeper Storyline”

Marking the beginning of my transformative journey, I draw a circle in the sand. Stepping inside an emerging sphere, I find myself immersed in a world of shifting particles, gradually descending into a whirlpool that beckons me along a winding path and serene stream. As I continue, a small bridge calls to me, inviting me into the landscape crafted by the wisdom of my teachers and counselors. Trusting my instincts, I follow a high stone wall along the stream until I arrive at a wooden door, which opens effortlessly before me, welcoming me to the next stage of my exploration.

After stepping inside, a warm, rich aroma greets me—apples and cherry blossoms, ripened by the sun. The fragrance overwhelms my senses, momentarily disorienting me. Then, carried on the breeze, a deep, rhythmic vibration is felt in my body, pulling my awareness away from the noisy distractions of the world outside. With each step, I drift further from cultural chaos, deeper into a tranquil sanctuary.

Before me, a vast valley stretches in golden light. A blue river meanders lazily through the landscape of sage green grasses. Yet, instead of feeling peace, I experience an inexplicable frustration—an unshakable sense of being lost. I pause. I wait, feeling the warmth of the sun and coolness of the breeze.

A figure appears—a young boy dressed in Middle Eastern robes. Or are they monks’ robes? His form wavers, shifting before my eyes, never settling. His holographic presence bows and gestures for me to follow.

Uncertain but compelled, I walk behind him. The anticipation of meeting my teachers lingers, yet impatience gnaws at me. The valley’s beauty is undeniable. However, it feels obscured by my restless mind. The boy leads me downward, tracing the curves of a golden, sage-dusted cliff streaked with red iron oxide. The stone face is carved with ancient images, guiding me to an arched cave entrance—one that was beneath my tapping, frustrated foot. I chuckle at the irony of my impatience. I was inches from a destination and the resolution to my quest, yet I was unaware.

As we step inside the large cave, the boy dissolves like a mirage, and now standing before me are my teachers and counselors, their forms flickering holographically like the boy's. A deep, resonant sound emanates from them, vibrating in the air like a living presence. They gesture for me to sit near a solitary flame. Its warmth and scent permeate me, soothing my thoughts and nerves.

I slip willingly into an altered state, lulled by their rhythmic chanting and drumming. Questions arise in my mind. I do not need to ask these questions out loud. The councilors and teachers already know them. To their perception, my thoughts drift clearly throughout my auric field.

• How do we orient toward truth amidst uncertainty?

• How do we patiently take the next step?

• Where is our support and encouragement?

• What is the deeper storyline within the chaos of our time?

Their minds merge into one mind and their voices merge into one:

"You do not need to search for truth—it is already within you. It led you here. Each time you pause, your next step arises. In this way, your life unfolds. When you wait, wondering, support and encouragement arrive to meet you. But instead of waiting in patient anticipation, rest in stillness. That which heals the mind and heart will emerge, unbidden, from the stillness of your being. There is no single ‘Journey Story’ for all times—there is only vast, spacious bliss."

As the words take root within me, they vibrate through every fiber of my being, as if unlocking something ancient and eternal. Resting in the cave, I watch the shadows dance with the flickering flame, each movement is a reflection of the thoughts that arise and dissolve just as swiftly.

My body, once so solid, feels weightless. My breath slows, deepens, and merges with the stillness. A sense of expansion overtakes me, stretching beyond the confines of my form, beyond my name, beyond every story I have ever told myself. The boundaries that once defined me blur into nothingness, dissolving into the vastness of existence itself.

The urgency that once gnawed at my heart—the endless need to become, seek, grasp—slips away. It was never real. The illusion of control, of a fixed self, fades like mist in the morning sun.

And in that quiet, that sacred emptiness, understanding arises—not as knowledge, but as pure experience.

No more searching, no more struggle. Only this moment. Only the effortless unfolding of life as it has always been, as it will always be.

Laughter bubbles up, and I awaken to the simplicity of my new understanding of wisdom. My teachers smile at me, their knowing eyes filled with a shared amusement at my surprise.

How grand the game we play—embarking on epic quests to discover what has been within us all along. We chase wisdom as though it is hidden, forgetting that we have always carried the pearl of truth in our hearts. It is a game of hide and seek we play with ourselves.

A great, rolling laughter fills the space, swelling into a joyful crescendo, laughter until tears stream down our faces.

Then, I know.

It is time to go.

I rise, grinning, a twinkle in my eye. Turning from the cave, I step back through the wall, past the bridge over the stream, and out of the sand time portal. The chanting hums in my bones, but now, I walk differently.

I return to Storyland not as a seeker, but as a storyteller with dissolving stories—one who understands that the journey was never about reaching a destination but about weaving meaning from the path itself.

The wisdom I carry is not mine to possess; it is not a treasure to be locked away in solitude. It belongs to the great current of existence, meant to be shared, to ripple outward through voices, through laughter, through the wonder in a child’s eyes and the knowing smile of the elders. It is meant to echo in the rhythm of drums, in the hush of whispered secrets, in the quiet contemplation of those who pause long enough to listen.

Because stories are not just stories. They are the bridges between the seen and the unseen, the known and the unknowable. They shape us, bind us, free us. They hold our joy, our grief, our longing. They remind us that we are, and always have been, both the seekers and the keepers of truth.

And as I step forward, I wonder — Why do we love to play this game? Why do we cradle our tales, our legends, our stories so tenderly, as if they are the fabric of our very being? Perhaps, because they are.

The question lingers, not as a burden, but as an open doorway—an invitation to yet another journey.

For now, I walk forward—lighthearted and open, carrying nothing but the whisper of possibility. With each new step, life writes itself anew, and I am both the storyteller and the story, smiling as the next tale begins.