The Adventures of Melody Andrewsdottir,
Lady Shaman
Episode Six
Editor’s note: In previous episodes, Melody was approached by the towering Bushwa Indian, Naomi Chortling Wolverine, Emissary for the Sorority of the Sow. This circle of compassionate women (and a few moody bitches) has a vital interest in recovering the Sacred Wedding Waffle Iron from the Hootbladder Indian sorcerer Mad Dog, before he learns of its true poweer and harnesses it for evil designs. Melody was easily persuaded to close her Rodeo Drive thrift shop and join the quest. She and Naomi are headed for the latter’s obscure Indian village, Erewhon….
Finally, to be on the last leg of the journey to Erewhon! I was overcome by a sense of adventure, a sense of exhilaration, a sense of impending motion sickness.
“Urp,” I said tersely.
“Let me get you something for that,” Naomi said, rummaging in her bag.
“Ah,” I replied. “You have some mystic talisman, some arcane amulet, some type of native herb or root or bark to ease my distress?”
“Nope. Dramamine. Works every time. Unless you’re allergic, of course, in which case your heart stops beating.”
Popping the proffered pretty pink pill, my innards and I subsided, and I thought once more of my new-found nemesis, Mad Dog.
“Tell me more of Mad Dog,” I asked.
“To understand Mad Dog, you have to know something of the Six Servile Tribes. Before the coming of the white man, all of us , the Bushwas, the Hootbladders, the Semolinas, the Chockfulls, the Churchkeys, and the Muskrateers, lived together in Peace and Harmony. When Peace and Harmony got too crowded, new towns were settled. It wasn’t perfect. No society is, despite all that rot you hear about the noble redskin. There was the occasional dispute over water rights, the border skirmishes, the brawls following the weekly peyote bashes. Come to think of it, it wasn’t always all that great. But we lived close to the earth, which was sort of inevitable since we slept on the ground, and had no dry-cleaning establishments. Furthermore, we respected our fellow-creatures on this earth, and loved them. One guy even married a marmoset.
“Those were the days, my friend. We thought they’d never end. There was a buffalo in every pot,” she said wistfully. Then her expression darkened and her voice deepened. “The white man came, and everything changed. They gave us smallpox, whiskey, Christianity. The destroyed our culture! They killed the women and raped the buffalo! And you’re one of them!” she screamed, looming over me, hands tightening on my throat.
“Ack! Ack…ack!” I protested.
“Sorry,” she said. “Guess I got carried away there,” and gently replaced my larynx.
“Anyway, the white influence wasn’t all bad. Many of my people found gainful employment as scouts, guides, valets, and chauffeurs, and so we became known as the Six Servile Tribes. Too, the coming of the Europeans and the inevitable intermingling brought helpful genetic diversity. In fact, Melody, you and I are distantly related.”
“No!”
“Mais oui!” I am your great aunt, thrice removed. Do you know anything of your ethnic heritage?”
“Well, I’m part Icelandic, part German, part French, and now, part Bushwa I guess.”
“More Bushwa than you will ever realize, my child,” she smiled.
“But what has all of this got to do with Mad Dog?” I asked.
“The madness of anger which seized me momentarily has taken up permanent residence in his heart. And being part Irish and part Sicilian as well as Hootbladder, well you know. He would like nothing better than to see every rich white businessman strangled with his own Countess Mara tie; he would like to see Mount Rushmore turned into a quarry; he would like to see all the golden arches in this land pulled down and replaced with Mad Dog’s Buffalo Burger stands. And when he learns how to harness the power of the sacred wedding waffle iron, he may well realize his dark desires.”
“Heavy!” I exclaimed.
“Heavy, indeed. And heavy the burden of us who would defeat him.”
Glancing out the window of the cab, I spied a strange glow in the sky.
“That strange glow in the sky! A reflection perhaps of Erewhon’s ancient glories? A visual manifestation perchance of the psychic power yet remaining? The combined glow of the auras of the wise ones who reside therein, mayhap?” I asked, thinking I had pretty much covered all the bases.
“Nope. Neon.”
And so it was. As we drew nearer, I saw huge signs advertising the Erewhon Hilton, the Erewhon Hyatt, the Erewhon Casino, the Erewhon Mall, Erewhon McMuttons, and scores more.
“I thought Erewhon was a little old obscure Indian village,” I said.
“It is. It’s the largest, most famous and popular little old obscure Indian village in the world,” she said proudly. “Let’s hit the mall.”
“And your ritual?” I asked, remembering that had been her reason for wanting to return.
“The moon isn’t quite right yet. Besides, I have to wash my sockras.”
“Say what?”
“My sockras, the body’s seven main vibrational frequential synergy centers. You know, the clown sockra, the snout sockra (also known as the third nostril), and the like. I’ll tell you all about them later.”
The mall was amazing. Scores of metaphysical shops, herb shops, sockra dry-cleaning establishments (for people with delicate or synthetic sockras, Naomi explained), video game arcades, audio game arcades for the visually impaired, moccasin shine stands, and Bushwa pizza parlors, competed for attention. Native American flute Muzak floated through the air. And celebrities abounded. Where did they come from, and where did they get all that energy to be abounding about like that?
First I saw Dennis Bounder, and then Peter Honda, zipping along on a motorcycle, his leotard-clad sister jouncing merrily along in the sidecar. The occasional collisions with unwary shoppers only added to the fun.
Then Naomi pointed to a solitary figure sitting alone and by herself at the base of a fountain. She was in the lotus posture and seemed to be humming a mantra which sounded like, “Omm… omm… omm… dreamin’ of a white Krishna…” It was the famous actress turned metaphysician, Laverne LaLanne.
“Our paths must part for a time here, Melody. Seek out this woman, learn all that she knows–it won’t take but a few minutes–and then go on your own way,” Naomi said.
And so I was on my own, a stranger in an exceedingly strange land.
TO BE CONTINUED…
This episode of Mel’s adventures first appeared in The Shaman Papers Volume 3 Number 3, Autumn 1991 which Greyfox dedicated to our dog Handout (now gone to the Great Beyond). That issue included an article on the Care and Feeding of Power Animals and Greyfox’s picks for the top three books for beginning shamans: The Four Winds by Villoldo and Jendresen; Dreamtime and Inner Space by Kalweit; and Shaman’s Path edited by Gary Doore.
For a few weeks now, Greyfox has been doing past-life readings at Coyote Medicine’s Cyber-Clinic. Today I, KaiOaty/Kathy/SuSu, finally got the FAQ written, explaining a bit about what he does and giving clients a conveniently accessible place to put their requests for readings.
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