It has been many years since I dreamed of being summoned by a shaman. I have learned a lot since then. Yet there are few dreams in which I learned more. The shaman dream was the one for me that makes so much I didn’t understand make sense.
I had stayed up late that night, my children were at their father’s for the weekend. I was watching something about a group of researchers trying to learn more about prehistoric humans by trying to recreate living in a clan. I was sleepy and shutting off the television, my mind wandered over the question of why had my Celtic ancestors not developed writing. How had a monument like Stonehenge been created by an illiterate civilization? Was there a reason why writing was developed by some cultures and not others?
From the start I knew it was an astral dream, beginning with the sensation of floating through air thick like water. I felt myself pulled as I now recognize the sensation of being summoned. It is a most enjoyable feeling like gentle gliding on warm and welcome currents. When I landed, I found myself in a frozen, snow covered land. Deep, deep snow so that you heard glaciers approaching. Yet directly in front of me was a habitation, a hill in the snow. Smells of unwashed human, sick human and dead human emanated from the mound. My survival instincts urged me inside. Still new to my astral form, I did not wish to test how long I could endure the cold.
It was just as well I entered, for immediately I was made aware that this was the place to which I was summoned. Many dead bodies lay about the outside walls. They could not be buried so the living had placed the corpses as close to the cold as possible without exposing them directly to the elements.
Entering further, I was welcomed by the shaman. I was surprised he could see me so well. He insisted that he knew me and had been waiting for me to arrive. All around us the few living clan members gathered. He told me that I was to be his replacement. I was a shaman he said. I apologized, insisting I could not, I was not trained as a shaman and I belonged to the future, thousands of years away. He nodded and in my mind made me know that was why I had been summoned.
The shaman showed me to the clan, my hair of chestnut brown. Then he showed my first born, my daughter, hair of murphy red. “This is the chosen leader the chief,” he said. Next he showed my second born, my son, blond haired. “This child belongs to God,” he told me. “Care for him with reverence and the spirit world will be pleased.” Last he showed my third born, my brown haired youngest son. “A child of the earth, to toil in the earth, be humble and follow where the red haired leads.” Last the shaman returned to me. “The woman who bore all three carries each within her. Hidden brown in the dark but gleams with red and blond in the sun, you are the shaman, the bridge to all three, and to the future.”
Looking around at the clan, I understood. These people stood upon the brink of extinction. More had died this winter than lived, and hopelessness itself was enough to end them. That was why the shaman summoned me from the future, even though I was no more than a shade to them. The only way to save them, to inspire them to struggle on, was to show they had a future. I don’t know how rare it is to have children born where the first has red, the second is blond and the third is brown haired but I think it must be pretty rare since the only other person I know whose children follow the same pattern is my sister. To a clan in prehistoric times, would such traits be considered proof on the continuation of their line? Why not?
As I tried to digest this possibility, the shaman filled my mind with sensation and information. For a moment, I saw all of time stretching out before me and knew that the soul is not limited by the fourth dimension any more than it is limited by distance. As his and my astral bodies merged I was overwhelmed with the amazed awareness, that if this dream were real, no knowledge has been lost which can not be found.