Long, long ago, back when I was twelve, I had fallen down with a mysterious illness. The doctor did not know what it was, nor did he know how to cure it.
I would choke on air and cough-vomit up a grainy black substance, almost like hot cocoa with a little water added to it. My doctor told me that it was blood, and it was coming from my lungs.
For months I had this problem. I would just get into a choking fit out of nowhere and cough up this black blood. Fed up with the doctor who said, “There’s nothing we can do about it,” I searched online. Thanks to Yahoo and the wonderful world wide web, I found out about Shamanic Illness. Shamanic Illness is when one comes down with mental or physical diseases as a calling to their true path, Shamanism.
I laughed it off. I was a hardcore Catholic at twelve years old. Nothing would ever change that…
Then, one night at the witching hour, I stumbled out of bed choking, gasping for air. My sister screamed for my stepfather, who ran into the hallway. I stopped breathing. I saw myself looking down at my sister and my stepfather, who was trying to give me CPR. Then I felt ripped right back into my body and took a refreshing gasp of air.
I decided at that point in time, what the Hell, trying out this Shamanism thing couldn’t hurt.
So I learned more about Shamanism and its beliefs, and incorporated them into the beliefs my mother had taught me about religion (not Catholic, mind you, my mother wasn’t truly a Catholic; in fact, she was the first, if unofficial, practitioner of the Many Moons Conclave tradition). To this day, I have not had another coughing fit of any sort. And to this day, I still travel to the Lower and Upper Worlds.