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Mumbo - The life and times of a Dirty Shamana

By Alexandria Heather All Rights Reserved ©

Erotica / Other

Blurb

Mumbo is an extraordinary tale of a modern day Shamana being called to service through a series of vicious attacks and an ongoing pile-up of medical conditions. Her story is the ancient tale of walking the Shamanic path. But she wasn't born into an enlightened clan, and had to learn that her suffering was a calling in disguise. Ms. Heather's story speaks for the many who have no voice.

Chapter 1

The secret behind fear, ennui and the general
malaise that borders, sometimes spills over into,
joylessness cannot be healed with prozac or
television. Not for us. The secret goes beyond
these tissue walls. Beyond this breath. The secret
is that you are, in fact, not on your true home planet.
I’m quite sure our home isn’t even a planet.
This blue globe in the brackish backwater
of the Milky Way is one of uncountable planets used
for karmic restoration. Soul workshops. Excellent mud
baths for the body and the mind.

Not here to tell you how to tune your aura & get fit like Gandhi.
Not out to sell chakra knives guaranteed to cut through a can of negative vibes.
Not here to teach you the 30 day tantric orgasm.
I would do that, though, if I could.
I know, I know, we’ve never met.
We’ve passed each other on the street.
Disinterested.
Sometimes even fearful.
We’re all very busy.
But you are human, like me.
Bellybutton.
Nipples.
Mostly water.

My dog is pissed at me.

Our life together: walking.

Racing alongside my bicycle.

She loves to talk trash.

Riding on the motorcycle gas tank.

Frisbee: her art.

Can’t keep my balance on bikes anymore.

She’s had a bum leg for years.

It could go out anytime on a high jump or glorious sprint.

Suck it up. She says.

Play! She says. Ride, bitch!

Michelle said Jip-C’s motto was no pain, no gain.

High squeals when the leg goes bad.

Limping back to me

Her smile’s prisoner: a slathered bloody disc.

Throw it again! She barks.

I’m in a groove! She snorts.

Stairs: treacherous.

I fear sudden helplessness. Crumpling.

My right leg: a ghost of aching bones.

Groceries toppled.

Torso crushed in an invisible vise.

Spasms. Shudders. Exhaustion. WTF. LOL.

Many years ago I was helping my Grandmother with errands. I insisted she walk up several stairs to her bank, instead of the ramp. She did it with difficulty and resentment.

Now my lack of compassion shames me.

Tell me.

Is there a dream you’ve had your whole life.

More than one?

Dreams so familiar and clear.

Walking through tall grasses. Across sand. Over slippery rocks. Dark woods.

Canopy freckles the air.

Dogs, cats, deer, raccoons. Birds. Others.

I feel them around me.

Drawings on my hands and feet.

I am protected. I am protection.

In between our quarks and etched in the membranes of our atoms are the very first dreams.

A great storm fills the horizon.

It stretches through time.

Beyond it an older woman beckons me.

Vital details lost upon waking.

Sabrina and I were 4.

I would turn her hands over and back, again and again.

Marveling at the meridian between the palm and the back of her hand.

A line where pink faded to deep chocolate.

She was Beauty.

She lived several blocks away.

Doors open, no one home.

Except cookies.

Almost to the jar when the screen door slammed.

Caught!

A dark man I didn’t know.

He had a deep voice, an odd accent.

He spoke softly at first, his tone almost friendly.

Red and brown swirling around his head.

He shut the inside door and came closer.

He smelled of sweat, piss, alcohol and shit.

(Upset about the cookies!)

He has me. I keep trying to get up. I have no control over my body. I am a rag doll.

His penis has white and green ooze. Musky rot.

Forces into my mouth: gag. Vomit.

It covers him, re-ignites the Rage.

Skin ripping as he shoves himself into me.

My anus stings as if it were burnt.

Kicks me in the crotch.

The screen door slams.

Birds outside.

I cannot move.

My skin, bones and ribs ache. I feel tears roll down my face but I am not crying.

A small plane passes lazily overhead.

I am terrified of being found.

Unsure if Sabrina’s mom or my mom sent him because of the cookies.

Can’t move. Made of lead and pain.

Please help me.

I call to the plane, to the birds.

It seems as if I passed out.

Suddenly I was aware of being surrounded.

A group of golden figures, crouched over me.

Reaching into me.

Stroking my forehead, rubbing my back, my stomach.

The pain, accentuated by every pulse of blood, decreases.

I feel warmth.

Absolute love.

They soothe my pain. Numb the terror in my heart.

It seems as if I came to.

Mom says I acted perfectly normal for about ten minutes and then broke down. She changed my clothes, washed my face and called the police.

They came and asked questions. Didn’t examine my body. Everyone smiles and talks quietly but I can’t hear them, I barely could see them.

When I finally found myself again it was dark and I was alone in the house, still sitting on the couch wrapped in a blanket.

I lie on my back. Above, in the murk of the dark room, there is a small glowing light. The pinprick grows into a disk. The disk becomes a sun, then a face, then a hand reaching for me. I close my eyes but when I open them it is still there and has become a small glowing figure. It fills me with indescribable comfort and I fall asleep without realizing, wanting to keep my eyes on the image forever.

Predators were common on the island.


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