The shaman

in The Ink Well2 years ago


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As you place the small printed papers containing your advertisement on the windscreens of the cars parked on the side street of the Shopping Center, think about the profound changes in your life.

A year ago he was an advanced student of psychology and various circumstances led to his now being a phony who, under the figure of an indigenous shaman, conducts personal sessions in a palm-roofed shack on the outskirts of the city.

The theater, their studies and the credulity produced by the need of those who pay for their services, mix and as a hallucinogenic drug causes unthinkable effects that end up imploding in the unfathomable psyche of the needy giving mostly positive results for them.

Almost nobody is what they really want, but what the moment makes necessary and in a world where fashions, paradigms and culture have diversified and expanded through Internet communication or cellular telephony, the human being is a prisoner of decisions that are alien to his true identity.

He is an example of that and he knows it, as a chameleon that needs to survive he has adapted to the changes exploiting in others what has caused the debacle in itself; a paradox that becomes daily in the frenetic alienation of the great metropolis and the corporations who invent needs protected in the facilities that the objects or services provide.

Everything that is easy is a panacea, it is the magic key that unlocks appetites and curtails creativity, because in this way time is saved that in the end is not taken up.

In the end, at one time or another, they end up lying in their bed, complaining about the problems that burden them and that they cannot solve, without realizing that they have never tried to do so, because they have gotten used to the easy and to justifying the anemia of effort that has taken possession of them.

In the end they end up becoming dreary beings who see in the theatre and the words projected with a prophetic tone, that their studies of psychology manage to be convincing, an escape route that solves their problems, even more so when they come from an indigenous being descended from great shamans of the past..

These surreptitious recommendations for them possess the magic of ancestral spirits that have stopped their eternal rest to come to their aid in their afflictions.

Their indigenous factions, product of some ancestor of some ethnic group of remote times, added to the careful attire, the wig, the makeup, the outlandish furniture full of old jars that supposedly have natural or magical menjurices and preparations, added to the illumination where they dominate the penumbras and the execution of their histrionic gifts, is the perfect scenario so that the fears make arise the problems and the necessity to find a solution to them, that is not complicated.

The ritual, learned in videos and more and more perfected with experience, manages to introduce its clients to a world as fantastic as the one they live in and brings out from their own strangers the solutions they are looking for so much. In the end, it is only a catalyst for that metamorphosis to occur.

In exchange he manages to extract from them the money necessary to live without great comforts, because he is careful with that, since otherwise it would call the attention of the law.

He only puts two or three small steering wheels on the windscreens and first he makes sure that the vehicles are made of women, since by nature they are more suggestible than men.

His disguise is so perfect that not even his clients recognize him when they see him on the street, where he is one more among the thousand of passers-by who suffer and enjoy existence.

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Como decía mi finado abuelo, ¡las brujas no existen...! pero de que vuelan vuelan.

A dark story about a trickster whose habit of deceiving leads him to a hollow existence in which the deception has crept into his own life. Can he distinguish between the delusions he fosters in others and the delusion he lives himself?

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