Inspired by Juan the shaman, who I met in Quito, Ecuador; and by the lovely writing of Louis de Bernieres.
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At five foot ten, Juan the shaman was unusually tall for an Aymara indian. He lived alone in the forest under the dense canopy of a mahogany tree, alongside the jawbones of his long-dead ancestors.
He was graceful and slim, and could stay in a trance for days without eating or moving from his hammock. He spoke so deliberately that everyone believed his words; and remained so poised that the glossy black hair pouring down his back never rippled.
On his feet, splayed from a lifetime walking barefoot, he wore sandals made from old car tyres; in his hand was a willow branch, the tool of his trade; and he circled it in the smoke that rose from the dying fire – protecting us against the evil eye, against the snakes, against the spirits.
He bent down to read what was written in the embers.
Photo by mikemol, via Creative Commons
