I've been wondering if I should post this or not.

In fact I've been thinking about it for three weeks or so.

I don't know if any of you have ever noticed, but for a good many years now I have been saying that I tend to follow a shamanic tradition but I've very carefully avoided calling myself a shaman. I've had some rather drastic times in my life that have ended up being quite initiatory in the shamanic sense, but I've not, until very recently, given in and admitted to being a shaman. Even now, writing it out seems to finalize in a way that is a bit scary to me and I have almost deleted this a couple of times already.

What happened to change my mind specifically was a journey I recently took into another realm (journeying is the hallmark of the shaman). This is the second time I have shared this journey with others, the first was the night it happened I told the rest of the group I was working with.

The drumming started an I layed back and allowed myself to "fall into, and ride the beat" and I found myself walking through a cave, the walls of which were decorated with ancient cave paintings of animals and people, hunters and hunted. At first all was pretty normal and it could have just been a walk through a nice normal cave, but then the paintings started to come to life. They didn't jump off the walls or anything, but they started acting out the scenes they were portraying, the little stick figure men hunting and slaying the animals, the heards running from them. In some the animals were running for the sheer joy of running with no one hunting them, and in some the men were dancing around huge bonfires.

I was just watching the stories unfold in the paintings when I found myself surrounded by men.

Now remember, when you are fully journeying you not only see all of this, but you feel it as though it is real. In fact it is quite real, it just takes place on another plane of existence.

The men surrounding me suddenly leaped forward and grabbed me, no matter how hard I struggled I couldn't get free, there were just too many of them. There was one man, their leader, who was directing this. He wasn't saying anything but you could tell they were working under his direction, he was obviously in charge. I looked at him and he was looking at me the way a parent might look at a child who is fighting going through a painful medical procedure, with compassion and conviction.

I was bound then placed on a litter to be carried away. The litter looked as though it was made of acacia branches, complete with four to five inch long thorns. It was made in such a way that there wasn't more that two or three inches between the thorns on any part of my body were I was laying on it. This was no fakirs trick of laying on a bed of nails either. The thorns pierced to the bone and they were excruciating.

I was carried at a jogging pace, complete with the bouncing motion that implies, along the path and eventually out of the cave, along a mountain path to the center of a village. I remember many things, but the two that I am willing to share at this time are that I was wondering why I hadn't passed out from pain and blood loss, and that at least here in the village they might put me down and stop the jarring even if it was just to kill me. I was wrong, of course, they proceeded to dance around the fire for quite some time still carrying me aboard the litter. They continue to dance, trading off who was carrying the litter until every man present, with the exception of the leader, was covered from neck to waist in my blood. With each step they took it seemed as though the thorns found a new nerve to pierce, the pain was constant.

Finally, they just stopped. They didn't put me on the ground but they lowered the litter so that I was eye level with the leader. He looked at me for a long time (I'm not sure if it was a moment or an eternity) and then nodded once. With that nod the litter bearers hoisted me back up and took off up a trail at a trot. They carried me to a small mesa and put the litter down, none too gently I might add. Then they all drew flint or obsidian knives and cut away my bonds. When I was free of the bonds they simply tipped the litter over and dumped me onto the ground. The thorns hurt as much coming out as they did going in, perhaps more. Then they withdrew. The leader stood at the head of the path with that same look he had given me when I had first met him then he too turned and left.

I was laying on the ground, bloody, hurting, weakened, and laying in front of me was a shield and a wooden club/axe. I wondered what the shield and weapon were for when I realized I wasn't alone. About thirty feet from me was a man. I use the term man mostly to describe his general build. He was black. I don't mean black as in negroid, I mean black as in the shadows of midnight, it had nothing to do with race. He was huge, perhaps eight and half feet tall, and muscular. His face was a mockery of a human face. All in all he was rather frightening. One look into his eyes and I could tell that he would kill me if he could.

It was no epic, hours long battle. He lunged and I parried. Then he turned and lunged again and I used the weapon as it was meant to be used. Simple as that. I felt no great joy, no sense of great accomplishment. I actually felt a little sad that I had had to kill him. I then looked around expecting to see the leader standing there watching, but there was no one. I was completely alone. What had taken place was for me, not for the entertainment of others.

I then walked down the path back to the center of the village where all of the people were gathered, including women and children this time. The leader was there and I walked directly up to him and this time he smiled at me. Then, at a signal from him, I'm not sure what signal, but I knew it when it happened, we danced around the fire and celebrated. After a while he took me aside and showed me a couple of things that I don't choose to share here, then I knew it was time for me to leave.

I recognize this as an initiation. My sacrifice was my pain and blood, the man I had to kill was (among other things) that part of me that was resisting my progress on my path, being accepted into the tribal society is self explanatory.

There, I've done it. The majority of the event is now in print. What I've held back is mine alone, and doesn't really detract from the experience I am relating. Comment if you feel the need. I feel that this was a real experience and not simply some dream. What happened was as real as me sitting here and typing it out. I'm not looking for interpretations or explanations, ( though you are certainly welcome to do so if you feel the need), I simply wanted to share this experience. I hope that by sharing some one else might get something out of it too.