Shamanic Lesson (Dream Journal Entry)

 I was somewhere between the time of boyhood and manhood. The shaman stood over the body on the ground, a bulky mass with skin dark and perfect. I played the drum, earthy and simple. I played the flesh of the animal, its tone solid. I experimented with different tones; the tones of the fleshy areas and then the bony ridge with a deeper sound. I played while the wise man cut a piece of flesh off with a crude yet sharp knife that he held curved around his knuckles. He put the piece in his mouth. He handed me the knife and spoke. He told me to cut the flesh of the animal. I held the knife.  It felt comfortable, but my heart was unsure.

“Cut from here but not to deep.” He showed be where.

Were my hands careful like his? Could I cut with the same confidence? I planed my cut and then quickly sliced the flesh and the shallow cut tuned into wet line of red. I felt uneasy.  The animal was dead but the blood was still alive.

No… I don’t want to do this I though. Its eyes can still see me, a silent voice said that was neither mine nor the wise man’s.

Perhaps I am still learning the lessons of cutting flesh all these lifetimes later.