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Shamanic Lineage

While sitting on a bench with strangers, I watch this area go from being thrilling and vibrant to now dark, collapsing, and dangerous. Observing the progression of destruction if frightening and I know things will not improve, I might even become trapped. I look at the man sitting next to me and he is numb and unresponsive to threat.

I look to my left and a group of women wearing all white is high-stepping, single-file, down the middle of the empty bright boulevard. They look like a quiet little parade and are in their own world. There, in the middle of the street, the sun is glowing, in contrast to the dismal and dangerous situation where I am sitting. Although where I am is only a few yards away, they are completely unaware of the awful reality in which I sit and they are gleefully on their way to the opera.

I know that the people sitting around me will become casualties, and I have decided to save myself from the imminent danger and I join the little parade. I poorly imitate their attitude and get into my version of a parade strut. None of the invading forces notices my escape, or that my style doesn’t quite fit the other ladies’. And the clueless ladies in white do not notice that I am an interloper.