In the book Winner Takes Nothing, currently available free on Kobo and Smashwords, I recount my years with my shaman. That is only part of my tale, with a multifold of endings, some tragic.
Those years came back to me, today, on my forest walk, and I remembered when she told me, my shaman, that Santa Claus was basically a drug dealer, as I stood in front of a fly agaric mushroom, the famed toadstool, of many a fairytale and originator of flying reindeers.
I knew if I boiled it first and then ate it I would perhaps be able to commune with a nature as an eagle does, and find answers to the mysteries that shroud us in mists and whispers when the sun sets. But after slicing and boiling the mushroom, I know that eating it will bring back some of those moments I wrote about in the book, moments that are still emotional for me.
her green eyes
she haunts me still
my shaman the wind