May 22, 2003

• The Adventures of Melody Andrewsdottir,
  Lady Shaman

  
  

  EDITOR’S NOTE:  Following is the continuing transcript of a Mysterious Manuscript whch I found whilst browsing through the neighborhood dumpster looking to augment my casual wardrobe.  In the previous installment, Melody Andrewsdottir, while running the only second-hand thrift shop in Beverly Hills, met the mysterious Bushwa Indian woman, Naomi Chortling Wolverine, and learned about the Society of the Sow, a network of powerful, enlightened, compassionate women (plus a few moody bitches), whose mission it is to heal the palnet, keep the men from killing each other, and make sure that everyone burshes and flosses–every day!  On to the story….

  
  

  The world peace and all that was one thing, but getting everyone to brush and floss–every day?  It seemed hopeless.

  
  

  “That is a tall ordure,” I said.

  
  

  “We are a tall group,” she replied.  And I suddenly realized I had a crick in my neck from looking up to speak with her–she was nearly seven feet tall.  No wonder I had never heard of her.  And was my digital watch still marinating?

  
  

  While getting off the plane at the jetport that was a mere ten minutes’ cab ride from her obscure Indian village in Erewhon, she explained why the sacred wedding waffle iron had to be returned.  It seems it was not the thing itself, but the power supply, a nuke plant about the size of a loaf of Wonder Bread.  And it was in the hands of the man who would become my most fearsome foe–Mad Dog.  “Is he so named because of his disposition?”, I asked.

  
  

  “No.”

  
  

  “Is he so named because of his looks?”

  
  

  “Nope.”

  
  

  “Then why the hell is he so named, ” I asked.  This inscrutable Indian bullshit gets irksome at times, as my friend Carlos Castthenetin can tell you.  And will.  For the right price….

  
  

  “He is so named because of his favorite beverage, MD 20-20.  He kept seeing pink kachinas when he drank Thunderbird.”

  
  

  I was taken aback.  I had heard of the red man’s weakness vis a vis booze.

  
  

  “And how will I know him?” I asked

  
  

  “Your kudzu will tell you,” she replied.

  
  

  And so it did.

  
  

  I spent the next few days or weeks or years preparing myself to confront Mad Dog and recover the sacred wedding waffle iron.  During one of my many vision quests, I sat behind a huge dune and my power animal came to me–Muad D’Ib.  Still later, I learned the power gait, the power stroll, the power saunter, the power limerick, and the power mower.  Truly, I was becoming a woman of power.

  
  

  And I learned more about Naomi Chortling Wolverine, the mysterious Bushwa Indian woman who got me into all this.  It seems she was a mid-ranking member of the Society of the Sow.  Although she was not a pipe carrier, she was a carrier of the sacred pipe cleaners.  The pipe carrier herself was the legendary Josephine Takaflying Leaphorn.

  
  

  TO BE CONTINUED….

  
  

  This episode first appeared in Volume Two, Number Two of The Shaman Papers Summer 1990.  That issue also included:

  
  

  
  
  • A shamanic solstice ritual
  
  
  • Review by Crow of Nevill Drury’s Elements of Shamanism
  
  
  • Another round of the debate on what makes a shaman a shaman
  
  
  • Quotes to impress your friends and awe enemies:

  
  

  
  

  It may be that those who do most, dream most.
  Stephen Leacock

  
  

  
  

  When we all remember we are mad, the mysteries
   disappear and life stands explained.
  Mark Twain

  • 3:56 pm
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