zg_shadows | Shamanic Psychobabble (Reply)

The combined scents of Nag Champa and cannabis hung thickly in the air, the ropey coils of smoke sliding gracefully over objects in the room. Odd, the way it suspended smoothly in the air as the physical objects vibrated deeply as the powerful bass of the electronic music reverberated through the room made the smoke seem haughty somehow, unaffected by the sonic drumming sending tingles through Zach's flesh. He glared at the smoke with bloodshot eyes as his blue irises shifted to an envious green.
Zach had locked himself in his flat for a week now, somewhat gaunt from his erratic eating habits, binging one day literally to the point of throwing up and then starving himself for two, he had managed to make a few shaky phone calls to put a few affairs in some semblance of order but he hadn't shown up to Kew for his classes on teaching the kids on how to mix music. The classes hadn't built up a big following yet, but the knew there would be a devoted few that would be disappointed. Guilt for abandoning the kids would shift to resentment, then back to shame and onwards into anger... It was so hard to remain in one state of mind for any length of time and he could feel himself being affected by this overwhelming presence of Dynamic energy constantly. The occasional sprout of flora from his skin was alarming enough, but he couldn't bear thinking about the possibility of his body being riddled with tumors for too long.
Was this supposed to be his destiny?? This wasn't in the plan. He was a guide, a psycho-pomp. He would find the lost souls of the city and bring them to their totems, so they could better help the world. The role of the Shaman is to stand between the worlds, to act as a gateway for those who need the guidance. But now... he felt closed. His shifting body, only exceeded by his shifting mind, was in too high a state of flux for him to be good to anybody. The lost souls of the city would not seek him out, he was the one who found them, and led them to greater things.. He remembered the police woman, torn up inside over the guilt of witnessing an innocent man die because she was a second to late to notice the thug had a gun. Her totem was a lamp-post. Kind of inane, yes, but that totem connected her to being more attuned with her perceptions, and bringing her to terms with the fact, that even though we perceive terrible things, the best we can do is illuminate them in the darkness and bring them to justice, rather than wish our lives away for the shadows that crept beyond the reach of the lamp-light. It was one solitary lamp-post and she was one solitary officer, she would illuminate the streets as best she could, and right the wrongs she witnessed, that gave her solace and helped her heal her spiritual wounds.
How should he help these people now? As a guide he always worked from a calm place. The People, his totem, had called to the lost souls from a calm mass of identities - not a raging mob - but a community of The People, so he could reach out and guide them to where they needed to be. But now, when he connected to The People, not a single one of them had the same thought. Inspirational ideas, yes, but cohesive plans of action? No.
Something had to be done. Zach crawled out from the bean bag on the floor, the Pulsing music drumming through his bones. Petra had always told him to stay close with her when he crossed over to the hidden worlds, for she could shield him from blades that the gauntlet now hurled at those who dared pass. But his was not Petra's journey. Zach stepped into the thick veil of smoke and incense, it's coils caressing his skin as he moved forward.. and slicing away at his flesh as the smoky tendrils grew sharp and hard, cutting at his very soul for that brief and agonising instant. Zach had become one of those lost souls that he used to guide, and now he had to find his way out of this labyrinth of the Wyld.