We shaman types scare people in the same way schizophrenics do. Our worlds involve relationships with the invisible and the ‘inanimate’, neither of which seem understandable because they can’t adequately be expressed when measured against other’s experiences. There’s no relatable ‘that one time at band camp’ shared language.
We have conversations with stone and dance with the dead.
Other people’s Grandmothers guide the salt measure and
Owl, the way through the night.
Wolf howls “danger” and Coyote gives the “all clear”
The dark isn’t really.
Water rises to greet and parts a path and holds the feet
To the fire that does more than warm.
Winds and wings carry messages between source and source.
Matter is neither still nor silent and Mind certainly isn’t over it (but can be read).
Objects have agency and, truth be told, their own damn opinions.
Those thought confined to Creation stories aren’t.
There are infinite directions, not just four.
What is beneath the feet is as blessed as that above
and that spider thread you feel on your face?
God is blue except when he’s a she and black instead. Or isn’t.
Some say most human minds can’t grasp these experiences. I disagree because our truths, though appearing stranger than, fuel fiction and fantasy for many.