21. A Beard Doesn’t a Philosopher Make
21
A BEARD DOESN’T A PHILOSOPHER MAKE
Meanwhile, the Storyweaver of the Sky, the White Shaman of the Tundra, the One Who Hears All—Above and Below, also known to the mother who gave birth to him as Vesako Alingida, a name that meant Old Man with a Spear Who Lives on a Mountain, a prophetic name if ever there was one, heard nothing but the soft echoes of his own snores within the hollow of the mountain cave he called home. Though it was blistering cold outside on the icy slopes, the cave was full of natural coal, so it was easy enough for him to keep a fire going at all times.
As for food and water, there was enough snowmelt to provide him with water for drinking and bathing. He foraged a bit in the summer and grew a few herbs and mushrooms that he used for food, tea, and visions, and then there were a few loyal acolytes he allowed to bring him supplies once or twice a year. But that early morning it wasn’t the sound of one of his followers on the mountain path or an animal, and it wasn’t the impending arrival of the three tigers he was waiting for that woke him.
All had been proceeding as it should have been, and he had been resting up for the trials that would soon be requiring his utmost attention, when an unusual disturbance alerted him to a change in the cosmos. Rising from his sleeping mat, he headed to the opening of his cave and looked up at the night sky.
Sure enough, he spied an upheaval of balance large enough to cause a crack, an opening in the passage between worlds just to the right of the polar star. Through it shot a ball of fire so bright he had to shield his eyes. Down, down it fell until it crashed nearby, causing the entire area to shake with its power and the tremors even resulted in the fall of a few of his favorite trees, much to his dismay. Vesako stood there for many hours, his hands clasped behind his back, watching the area until the rising and the sinking of the sun, the short burst of rays encompassing the puffy dust cloud created by the object for the briefest of moments.
Still thoughtful, he turned and went about the motions of creating a second fire, passing between them himself, trying to discover the meaning of the crack in the sky and the fallen object and how it might impact the upcoming trials of the three tigers headed his way. Perhaps there was some portent to the timing, he mused. Vesako didn’t believe in coincidence. Not since he was a very young man, anyway. He sipped cup after cup of hot tea and meditated, but the answer eluded him. Finally, after two days, he laid down on his sleeping mat again, exhausted, but slept fitfully.
Long before the fleeting rays of winter daybreak, his eyes flew open. He sensed another presence in his cave. “Hello?” he said. “Make yourself known to me. I mean you no harm, be you animal, human, or spirit. Reveal yourself.”
Sitting up, he searched the cave by the waning light of the fire and saw nothing, so he closed his eyes, feeling for the intruder. “There you are,” he said with his eyes still closed. Opening them just a crack, he stepped into the darkness, where a transparent form huddled. “Do not be afraid,” Vesako said. “I mean no harm to you. Come, come. Warm yourself by my fire, and we shall take a look at what you are.”
The ghost drifted closer. Vesako knew instantly there was a connection between himself, the wandering spirit, and the opening between universes. Something was amiss, and it was now his job to repair the damage. But first he needed to make contact. Hesitantly, the spirit hovered near the fire for a moment, but then it moved toward the cave opening as if it wanted to escape.
“Now, now, hold on for just a moment,” the White Shaman said. “I can help you if you’ll allow it. You’ve traveled a great distance, and you’re probably frightened. If I could just...” He stretched out a hand as if to touch the entity, and at the exact same time the specter reached out a hand as well. Their fingertips brushed against each other, and the White Shaman felt something he never thought he’d experience.
I would call it déjà vu , the ghost spoke in his mind.
“This word is something I’ve never heard before, and yet I understand it,” the White Shaman said in response. “Why is that, I wonder? And why can I hear your thoughts? Are you a tiger in your world?”
A tiger. Perhaps I have discovered a kindred soul. I am not. Though I have worn the amulet. I don’t see one on your person. Did you wear an amulet at one time?
“Amulet. Another word I am unfamiliar with. We call them tokens or perhaps an emblem. Are you a shaman on your world?”
A shaman? How interesting. No. I am a ... the ghost chuckled. I’m more of a mentor or a father figure to the tigers on my world these days. At one time I trained them for battle, but that was a long, long time ago. You speak a different language, one I’ve never heard before, yet I understand you as well. How is that possible, I wonder?
“I believe you understand, because I understand,” Vesako answered cryptically. He then walked around the ghost, trying to see deeper using his shaman eyes, but it was like looking at water. He saw only his own reflection. Could it really be? Impossible! Incredible! He asked, “How did you come to be in the state you are now? Why are you here? Was it the war?”
I suppose you could say I came here as a result of battle, but it’s not a war such as you believe.
“Is it not, my friend? Aren’t we all fighting the same war?” The White Shaman clasped his hands behind his back and paced, thinking. Perhaps the cosmos thrust this one upon him because he needed help. Or maybe the upcoming trials would be more challenging than he perceived, and he would need the aid of this one.
Help! Yes. I am in need of help. It appears I am lost and cannot find my way home.
“Perhaps we can be of aid to one another, my friend.”
I am willing, of course, though there isn’t much I can do in my current state.
Straightening his shoulders, the White Shaman said, “What is clear is that we have been brought together for a purpose. You have been sent here to help me, and I will also be a means of helping you. But first we must do something about your soul.”
My soul?
“Yes. A soul isn’t complete without its corporeal frame. Eventually, your spirit will wander and become lost. Completely purposeless. It’s quite possible you will even go mad. There is a reason you were drawn to me, you realize.”
There is?
“Absolutely. I am your kindred soul on this world. I am certain of it. I felt it when our fingers touched. When I study you with my seeing eye, it is like looking at myself in a still pool. When one meets a kindred soul, also called a mirror, or a reflection, it can be a good meeting, or it can be a terrible thing.”
But we don’t look alike.
“Don’t we? I cannot see your mortal frame, so I have no reference. The physical makes no difference. When you fell, a passage was opened between worlds. Our souls can be very alike or very different, depending on the fit. Some worlds are so different that there is no place for a kindred soul. Some are never born on one world. But the cosmos makes up for it by putting two kindred souls on the next world in the form of twins.”
How fascinating.
“This déjà vu you spoke of is a sign of it. When you experience such a thing, it is because your kindred soul has or is experiencing something similar on their world, such as when we touched fingertips. We nearly joined then.”
Joined? I’m not sure I understand.
“If you aren’t a shaman on your world, you wouldn’t. As a shaman, we spend time separated from our corporeal frames. We explore the realms of the spirit to learn, and then we must seek our bodies and merge once more, becoming a soul again in truth. Some go too long apart, and it weakens their bodies to the point of decay. When that happens, they can never return. They become wandering shades who haunt the living. It’s a terrible thing.”
But you’re implying, then, that my mortal frame, as you put it, is not on this world.
“That’s right.”
Then where is it, do you think?
“I couldn’t possibly know. But I can help you seek it. I just hope we can find it before we’re too late.”
And if it’s on another world?
“We still might be able to find it.”
Are you saying we have the ability to travel between worlds?
“Not everyone can, obviously. But yes. I can teach you how.” The White Shaman clapped his hands together and rubbed them, a gleam of excitement entering his eyes. “I have to say, I haven’t been this animated in decades. This is going to be fun, isn’t it?”
I don’t believe I ever considered myself to be an annoying sort of person. Now I can see why Miss Kelsey might find me tiresome on occasion.
“Tiresome? Who finds us tiresome? Most people who are granted an audience consider themselves fortunate to be allowed in our presence.”
On second thought, I do think there is much we have to learn from one another. A drop of humility might go a long way with you, my friend. Your humble living circumstances notwithstanding. I only hope we can accomplish this feat before my corporeal form expires.
“You might get lucky. It could be simply floating frozen in the cosmos.” The White Shaman looked around his cave. “You don’t care for my home? Where do you live?”
Let’s just say I’m very glad I can’t feel the frigid air. I’m more used to a hot climate, as I spend most of my days on the continent of India.
“Indeeah? I’ve never heard of such a place.”
Truly? How curious. You can travel between worlds, and yet you don’t discover the continents of your own planet, preferring instead to remain on a glacier at the top of the world . The ghost glanced out the cave opening at the swirling lights. Well, at least you have a lovely view. But let us make haste. I would like to keep the use of my extremities. Though I am simply a spirit at present, I daresay I can feel the cold seeping into my fingers and toes. How do we proceed?
“Come, then. I will prepare a special tea. After I’ve consumed it, I’ll begin walking from the back of the cave toward the fires, passing between them. You’ll then come from the opposite side and head toward me. We’ll meet in the center, and by the time I get to the cave opening, you should be with me, sharing my body. That will hold you together until we find yours.”
Is sharing your body safe? It won’t cast out your spirit?
“It should be safe enough. That is unless we never find your form, then it might become a problem. And no, you cannot cast out my soul. At least I don’t believe you’re strong enough, should you be so inclined. Normally, a visiting soul cannot do such a thing, assuming the host doesn’t go willingly. Which I won’t. We’ll be able to share information easily, and you can then see all I do, though I’ll still be in charge of my body.”
I can’t take it over?
“Not unless I allow it.”
Can I leave anytime I want to?
“Yes.”
Very well. Make your tea. I promise you I won’t linger. If we don’t find my body, I’ll ... Well, I don’t know what I’ll do, but I don’t want to end up wandering.
“You won’t have to. At that point I can help you find your way to the sky people if that is your desire.”
Sky people?
“You don’t have sky people on your world?”
Ah. You are speaking of an afterlife.
“Yes. That would be an accurate translation.”
Then yes. You can help me journey to the sky people at the appropriate time.
“Very good.” Vesako could sense the spirit watching him closely as he prepared his tea. “You do this also, don’t you?”
I do, though I do not use psilocybin mushrooms.
“That’s an interesting word. Psilocybin. What does it mean?”
It means that the mushrooms you use to create visions or dreams contain a drug or a chemical that affects your mortal frame. It alters your perceptions of time and space and, or, auditory, sensory, visual, coordination, etc. It can also cause panic and anxiety.
The White Shaman stopped chopping. “I sense you are older than myself.”
Perhaps. I don’t know when you are. For that matter, I don’t even know where you are, other than the Arctic, based on my assessment of the sky outside.
“Where are you?”
Earth.
The shaman laughed. “Earth. Good. I, too, am on Earth. This is the Dreaming Mountain in the lands of the Native Alliance. It is two moons past the winter solstice in the Year of the Broken Reindeer Antler.”
I... I am from ... the spirit stopped. I hesitate to share too much information. I don’t want to impact your history.
“Ah. I understand. This is a wise course. Though you and I must share information with one another, no? Perhaps if we make a vow not to disclose such details we discover with others, and only use our findings to aid our tigers in their purpose on our own worlds?”
Yes. I believe such a promise would be adequate for our purposes. Very well. I promise you I will not share information about your world with my own tigers or any other until or unless such time as is appropriate, and it does not impact mine or your own world or any other in any way.
“Wonderful. And I agree to the same. Shall we begin, then?”
We shall.
The White Shaman stared down into his hot cup of tea. The chunks of floating mushrooms spinning like little pieces of flotsam on a quiet pond. Setting down his cup, he picked up another and filled it with hot water, saying, “I believe I shall try a cup without the... what did you call it? Psilocybin? If it doesn’t work, I can always go back to it.” He grinned. “Never let it be said I cannot be taught something new.”
After he downed his mug of tea, the two versions of the same man—one a shaman and the other a spirit from another place and time—stood on opposite sides of two fires.
“Are you ready?” the White Shaman asked.
I am , the ghost replied.
“I am Vesako Alingida, the Old Man with a Spear Who Lives on a Mountain, the Storyweaver of the Sky, the White Shaman of the Tundra, the One Who Hears All—Above and Below, and I have found my kindred soul. At this time, I offer to share my mortal frame to house his wandering spirit.” He shook a gourd filled with rattling beads that danced musically. “Now you pronounce your name and intentions and begin your walk.”
Very well. I am Anik Kadam, mentor, teacher, soldier. I intend to share the form of my kindred soul on this world. I also intend to find another who is lost.
“Fascinating. Now walk toward me. We will find your companion as well. I promise you. She isn’t gone forever, my friend from a different world.”
How did you know it was a woman? the ghost asked as they walked closer.
“I don’t know, come to think of it. I?—”
Their fingertips touched, and then a powerful energy, like the magic felt when the lights were particularly bright in the dark sky, pulled them together. The cave spun, and then they were both standing in the same place, looking out of the same pair of eyes.
“Did it work?” Anik asked, using Vesako’s voice.
This was followed by a deep chuckle. “Can’t you tell?” the White Shaman asked. “Doesn’t it feel a bit tight and uncomfortable? Like you’re wearing someone else’s shoes?”
“Yes, now that you mention it. In fact, this reminds me a bit of the Divine Scarf. We can use it to change our appearance, though we are still ourselves on the inside. It’s as if we are wearing someone else’s skin. It was one of the gifts we recovered.”
“A gift, you say?”
“Yes. Have your tigers made the attempt to break their curse?”
“Curse... we do not consider the tiger form a curse.” The shaman began pacing but suddenly stopped, and instead of clasping his hands behind his back, he touched together his two pointer fingers and tapped them on his chin.
“There is much we need to discuss before your tigers arrive.”
“I agree, Anik Kadam. We should also meditate. This is how we will find your companion... ah, Nilima. She is your...”
“She’s my granddaughter, of a sort.”
“Granddaughter?” Vesako grinned. “I always wondered what it would be like to have a family. You must tell me about your wife. Is she beautiful?”
“She was. She’s with the sky people now. But she was lovely.”
Vesako sighed as the image of a pretty woman with long dark hair came to mind; he realized it was their wedding day. She had some type of delicate tattooing on her slim fingers, and her beaded dress, so radiant and brilliant, wasn’t nearly as bright as her smile or how proud he’d felt when she slipped her hand through his arm. He sat down, crossed his legs, picked up his mug, and sipped. Never in the White Shaman’s very long life had he ever smiled more than once in a day, and not to his recollection had it ever been so wide.