The Afghan Shaman.

A voice called my name, pulling me up into consciousness from the twilight realm between sleeping and waking. I lay there half asleep, certain that I had heard a voice. The night was very still and quiet.

I was drifting back into sleep when the voice called a second time. It was very clear - a distinct call. I lay there listening and waiting - and wondering.

My mind had begun to drift off again when the voice called a third time. Puzzled, and now awake, I climbed up onto my elbows and turned in the direction of the voice. It seemed to be coming from above and behind my head – from a point beyond the bedroom wall!

I lay back pondering, looking for rational explanations and waiting for inspiration. Nothing arose. Unsure of what else to do, I mentally turned towards the point, above and behind, from where the voice had come.

As soon as I turned my attention in that direction, the mind became incredibly focused, the energy flowing upwards, all thoughts being drawn to a single point in my forehead.

Waves of light began streaming across my inner vision. Like an observer, I mentally watched as these waves became circles of golden energy, starting from outside my vision and contracting in; to meet and merge with this point in the centre of my forehead. Wave after wave flowed in. The contracting circles transformed into a grid, a pattern of vibrating yellow lines that radiated out from the centre, connecting the incoming waves together.

A white line appeared, spiralling in from behind, growing larger as it neared from out of this place above and behind my head. It became a spinning funnel, racing toward me with incredible speed, its swirling white walls streaked with grey. Then it opened above my head and, with a sense of vertigo, I was sucked backwards into its maw. With incredible speed I was raced down a darkened tunnel, spinning and twisting until an opening appeared and, with a rush, I was thrust out into a brilliant sunlight.

* * *

I stood momentarily blinded, the light harsh on my eyes. Slowly the brightness dimmed and the scene took on clarity. A desert lay before me. A flat wasteland that stretched away into the distance, the shimmering sands broken only occasionally by a rock or small shrub, to purple mountains on the horizon.

‘Where is this place?’ I wondered.

‘Was this somewhere in Australia? Or another continent? Was it another place … or time?’

As the clarity increased I saw myself squatting in the hollow of a smooth, red rock that towered back behind me in a cliff face. Before me passed small groups of people, struggling along a road across the foreground of this desert scene. All were heavily dressed against the climate, and determination and haste were evident in their movements. They appeared to be fleeing; yet I could sense no enemy on the horizon. Then the thought arose that they were leaving before the storm broke.

A group stopped not far from me. Two men in front, heavily burdened, were called to a halt. Their impatient movements suggested a desire to quickly continue. Behind them walked a lady and two small children. To my right, and further back, I saw a figure approaching.

A younger man, dressed in white, walked up and stopped in front of where I was squatting on the rock and began untying a bundle - a thick white sheath bound with cord. While the others stood waiting, I peered down from my vantage point to see what he was doing. Seemingly unaware of my presence, he extracted a small pouch from the sheath, tied at the neck with a drawstring. Untying the drawstring, he opened the bag and, without looking up to where I squatted above his head, held the mouth open for me to look inside.

I leaned over curiously to look inside the bag, yet also aware that these were his personal possessions and didn’t want to intrude. I felt a reassurance, a calming touch, and cautiously looked down into the bag. The bright sunlight threw the inside of the bag into deep shadow. I couldn’t see anything in the blackness! I tried altering my vision, straining to perceive what he wanted me to see. I withdrew my gaze, frustrated. The shaman waited patiently in front of me. I tried again.

The vision changed. I could see inside the bag. The walls were made of red-brown leather. Scattered across the bottom were various items: a green gem, a small bone, a dark red rock and other items I can’t remember clearly. Each item sat by itself in its own space on the bottom of the bag, not touching any of the other items. Again, aware that they were his personal objects, I was hesitant in impressing my thoughts upon them, in placing any overlays on the energetic composition. Feeling his gentle encouragement. I studied the items, wondering how he came by them, how he used them and for what purposes. Although each item bore his personal signature, they didn’t reveal their natures to me.

At one point the woman left the group standing nearby and came over and, placing a hand on his arm, spoke to him. I intuited that she was his wife and was asking if they were to leave soon. He gently replied and she moved away, and he turned back to his task. I don’t think she saw me on the rock.

* * *

From my squatted position on the rock, head bowed, peering down, I watched him reach into his pouch, wriggling his fingers down through the small opening. He finally managed to squeeze his entire hand into the little bag and I could see the outline of his fingers moving around inside against the walls. I wondered if he was looking for something: he seemed to be taking a long time doing it…

Then he started to make a swirling motion with the bag, swinging it round and round in front of me. Puzzled, I followed his movements, to see the bag was higher up on his wrist than before … and I wondered how he could have forced his hand further down into the small bag.

Widening my gaze, I saw that his hand had disappeared through the bottom of the bag! Startled, I stared at the air beneath the bag where his hand should’ve been. It looked like he had pushed his hand down into nothingness! As I intently watched, bewildered by what I saw, a glimmering light began to shine from the middle of the bag. The light grew to become a shining star with rays of many colours emanating from it.

And then out of the star a red ring appeared, hovering in the air in front of the bag. And then a green one appeared underneath the red ring. And then more, until a line of glowing rings, each a different colour, hovered above each other in front of the bag. The star in the centre of the bag grew brighter, capturing my attention, and suddenly I was falling into the Light to see …

The shaman, dressed in glowing white, sitting cross-legged against the blackness of space. In front of him hovered the world, the size of a large ball, the greens and blues of the earth unmistakable. In his hand was a short thick length of rope - camel hair came to mind. He held it up so that the rope dangled above the top of the world and slowly he lowered it, down, down, until it touched the top of the world. I watched as he lowered the rope even further and saw the frayed end disappearing inside the earth. As his hand neared the top of the world he stopped and slowly lifted the rope up again, out of the earth. And then began to lower it, dipping the rope into the earth again and again. He smiled at me, aware of my intense scrutiny, as I became absorbed in the vision.

This final image of the Afghan Shaman dipping the rope into the world still arises, and I often wonder about it. What was it he was trying to show me? What is it I am to understand? Yet, somewhere on the periphery of my memory, lies the image of the world turning into a shimmering series of white lines …