Dawn's Hwy part 3

The Shaman

The car pulled up in front of a small shack that seemed to rise out of the desert. It seemed a part of the desert. There was no delineating line between desert and property, no trimmed lawns or neat gardens — just scrub brush, crucifixion bushes and cactus. The shack was made out of sun-bleached wooden planks and a tin roof salvaged from the surrounding desert. A rough fence lined the front. Three pikes stood on either side of the shack’s doorway, each with a rattlesnake’s head mounted on it, mouths open, fangs bared.

“This must be the place,” Phil said.

“How do you know?”

“How many houses are guarded by rattlesnake heads?”

“I hope we can score enough to take back to L.A.” Jim said.

“Jim, are you going to take this seriously?” Phil asked. “We’re here to find the shaman, to experience the mystical, not to get fucked up.” Jim and Felix exchanged knowing looks.

The door to the shack opened and an old man came out. He was darkly complected, his features seemed more Indian than Spaniard. His clothes looked homemade and well worn, and he had an air of serene wisdom about him. His age was hard to tell. His skin looked like soft leather, as though he’d been weathered and preserved by the desert. He could have been anywhere between fifty and a hundred years old.

Phil and Felix walked up to the Indian while Jim, acting chastened ambled behind. “Are you Senor Reyes?” Phil asked.

“I am.” The shaman said, speaking softly.

“The shaman?”

“There are some who call me that, but they’re all Indian.”

“We were told that you’re the man to see who we could get peyote from.”

“Look,” Felix said, “we just came here to score some peyote. We’ll pay you for it and split.”

“If that’s all you’re looking for, it’s best for you to leave. If you take peyote without knowing how to prepare it or yourselves, all you’re going to do is make yourselves sick and wake up with a headache.” Jim finally made it to the group. The shaman saw him and there was a slight jolt to his consciousness.

“Are you an Indian?” He asked Jim.

“No.”

“Hmm, strange.”

“What is?”

“My soul recognized yours.” The shaman considered for a moment, then asked, “why do you want peyote?”

“To connect with the spiritual,” Phil said.

Jim was thoughtful. There was a calculus to consider, he didn’t want to expose himself. Phil would understand, but Felix would think him naïve and mock him. “I want to live a life without regret.” Jim said.

“You think that is possible?” The shaman asked. “For every choice you make you may later mourn what you’ve lost or suffer what you’ve gained. You may regret this moment. Your life could change by tomorrow. Is that what you’re really looking for? Is that what you’ve come all this way for?”

Jim didn’t know what to say. Ever since he could remember he knew what answers a teacher was looking for, which buttons to push to impress them. “What is the real reason you’re here?” Jim was still numb, “then go,” the shaman said.

“No!” Jim burst out. “There’s more. I met a spirit.”

“Maybe more than one?” The shaman said.

“It’s something inside that changed me that I haven’t been able to find again. I met the spirit of music.”

“That is rare, it’s like being visited by a god. Not many can handle it.”

“What about you?” The shaman asked, turning to Felix.

“What bullshit! Can’t you see this guy is running a game on you?” Felix said to Phil and Jim.

The shaman said, “you’ve been separated from the meaning and purpose of what you’re undertaking. Your religions understood this a long time ago. You can’t expect knowledge to be given to you.”

“Why not? That’s what school is, what books are for, imparting knowledge.”

“Knowledge is power. You’re too used to it being given to you. Knowledge isn’t free, there’s always a cost. You have to earn it or risk it turning against you. It can destroy you.”

Felix was mad, his face flushed, “fine!” He spat out. “I’ll be in the car until you boys are done playing and we can get some peyote from a real shaman!” Felix stalked back to the car.

“Peyote isn’t something to be taken lightly. It’s only for the most serious minded. So far, you’ve only read about peyote in books, but the forces you’re seeking out is a dragon’s tail, and if you grab it, it’s dangerous and can cost you in spirit and self. The ritual keeps you connected to its purpose and protects you.”

“I can assure you,” Phil said in sincerest voice, “we’re only serious minded about this, we’re searches in the truest sense.”

“What will happen when we take the peyote?” Jim asked.

“It will change the way you see the world. It will change you.”

“How?” Phil asked.

“Each of you differently. What you fear is out there, but you will also find the greatest joy.”

“And afterwards?” Jim asked.

“You will awake on dawn’s highway,” the shaman said, pointing to the road, “and you will have true knowledge and power.”

“What’s at the end of this dawn’s highway?”

“No one knows what’s at the end of the highway — death, madness or bliss. If you don’t take this seriously, it will consume you.” Jim looked enthralled, eager for the adventure, while Phil looked hesitant, not sure if this was a trip he really wanted to go on.

“What do we need to do?”

“Wait.” The shaman said.

“Wait?”

“Must activity have meaning? Others are coming, they will be here for the ceremony. Now I have to go prepare myself.” The shaman went into the house; there was no invitation to follow. Jim and Phil, not knowing what else to do with themselves wandered around before finding refuge sitting in the shadow of the shaman’s house close to the porch.

A couple of hours later a truck pulled up in front of the house. Jim knew things would start happening now, and what happened would be important. He watched, making mental note of everything. The truck looked ancient, from the forties or fifties, but he couldn’t be sure. Every part of it was caked in dust and rust, and it was stripped down of every spare part except for those needed to keep the engine running and the truck usable. The cab was stuffed with three old people. Unlike the shaman, they looked prematurely aged, like they’d had hard lives eking out a living from the desert. A couple of them had hand drums. The shaman came out of the house to greet them.

The elders retired into the shaman’s house. In the bed of the truck were a bunch of younger people who jumped out as soon as it stopped. There were a couple of teenagers, between thirteen and fifteen. Jim wondered if it was their fate he was seeing in the faces of their elders. There were a few people in their twenties also. Jim recognized one of them, it was Javier, the biker leader they’d run into at the roadside bar earlier. He’d lost his leather jacket and was now wearing a blue worker’s shirt, but still wearing jeans and biker boots. He saw Jim and made his way over to the shaman who was still on the porch. Jim was apprehensive, he walked over to them.

“Senor Reyes,” the biker said. Gone was the roar and arrogance of earlier.

“Yes?”

“Are they staying?” He asked, motioning to Jim and Phil.

“Yes.”

“They’re tourists, here to steal our traditions or mock them.”

“Is that so?” The shaman looked over the bruises on the side of the biker’s face and the injuries on Jim’s face. “I have asked them, and they have answered well. They’re of the earth, differently than you or me, but connected still.” The shaman looked at them both. “do not think I don’t know what goes on in the world.” Jim noticed that the shaman’s voice, though still soft and even was chastising them. His voice didn’t raise even an octave. He didn’t sound angry but there was power in his words. The shaman went back into the house.

TO BE CONTINUED…..The Conclusion

This is an early version of Dawn’s Hwy which appears in The Lion Communique. I’m also the author of The Doors Examined. For more information and more of my books Jymsbooks to join my monthly newsletter!

Photo used courtesy Stockcake.