I feel very good in the mountains of Arizona. Perhaps it’s because of all the learning opportunities I had with Starry Song, the shaman who had the gift of teaching the ancestral philosophy of his people through words and music. Feeling good doesn’t always mean being comfortable. I’ll try to explain. Sitting in the rocking chair on his porch, he puffed on his unmistakable pipe made of red stone while listening to my laments. I no longer wanted to be irritated or hurt by the behaviour of others. I have no power, nor do I want any, over anyone. Let each person be as they wish; I just needed to make the choices regarding my own life and move forward. The Path is highly personal; the journey is non-transferable. However, despite knowing this, I couldn’t manage it. Every time something contrary to what I wanted happened, I found myself overwhelmed by irritation or resentment, causing my light to dim. Irritation and resentment are subtypes of hate. As long as our shadows remain unsettled, there will always be a risk of overflow whenever they are triggered by some event. Under the false pretext that they protect us, we become vulnerable and susceptible to entering dense vibrational frequencies due to the imbalance they create. We feel very bad. When still immature, the ego needs acceptance and reverence, even if disguised by various names and twisted reasoning. I knew all this, too. And I no longer wanted it, because while they were present, it meant I still hadn’t become master of myself. Therefore, I possessed nothing.
Every day, in brief morning ceremonies, I committed to overcoming these difficulties. Opportunities were presented to me, but I succumbed to situations that led me to constant emotional imbalances, manifested in irritation and hurt. Although I no longer fought with others, a bitter taste remained in my heart. I confessed that I was on the verge of giving up this conquest. The shaman nodded and advised in a murmuring tone: “Do it.”
Surprised, I said I didn’t expect that answer. He replied, “If you came to hear guidance you already knew, the trip to Sedona was just a stroll, and this conversation will prove unnecessary.” I argued that I had travelled seeking help to transform something within me that I already understood but couldn’t change. If I understood the reason, perhaps I could do it differently and become a better person. Starry Song tried to explain: “You understand, but you don’t accept.”
It made no sense. It was clear that I understood irritation and hurt weakened me by extinguishing my light. I felt engulfed in immense discomfort when it happened. I no longer wanted that feeling in my days. Thus, it seemed obvious to me that I had no problem accepting my difficulty. Starry Song was wrong.
The shaman puffed on his pipe and said, “You still struggle to accept who you will become.” How can I not accept what I want? Nothing could be more absurd, I pondered. His reasoning still made no sense. I told my friend this. He raised his eyebrows and spoke in his husky voice, with a tone of enchanting serenity, typical of someone who praises both winter and spring with equal joy: “For now, it’s all I have.”
I held back the frustration of a wasted trip. Starry Song couldn’t help me this time. No, I wasn’t irritated. The corrosive and uncomfortable emotion I felt was merely disappointment over reasons I didn’t even know. At least, that’s how I justified my irritation to myself, with all the excuses we tend to allow. They are the persistent winding paths of endless deceptions.
The brief silence was interrupted by Nuslu, a friendly young man, the shaman’s neighbour. As his name suggested, he was big and strong like a bear. His long black hair framed a face with the beautiful features of the Navajo ethnicity. Quite intelligent, he had a gentle and sweet temperament, though he hadn’t always been that way. He had become a pleasant and agreeable person to be around. He mentioned he was going to Flagstaff, a city with more resources, about an hour from Sedona. He wanted to know if we needed anything. Not only it would be a lovely outing, it would also be a way to interrupt the discomfort caused by my conversation with Starry Song. I asked if I could go along. Nuslu smiled and gestured for me to follow him.
After shopping, the young man suggested we grab a beer in the historic district of the city, through which the legendary Route 66 passes, emblematic of the cultural movements of the 1960s. As he manoeuvred to park the car, a motorcyclist moved ahead to take the same spot. Nuslu braked to avoid an accident. The motorcycle took the spot. An outrage, I exclaimed irritably. He simply smiled and parked further along. At the bar, we sat on stools in front of the counter. Next to us, not by chance, was the motorcyclist with his girlfriend. Nuslu was twice his size. We were chatting while waiting for our beers. When the bartender served us, the motorcyclist grabbed the glasses, claiming they were his. Nuslu gestured for him to feel free. The bartender noticed what was happening and hurried to serve us. With a nod, he thanked my friend for preventing a conflict. Although I didn’t want any fight either, I felt irritated by the situation. I only touched on the subject on the way back to Sedona. I recalled the motorcyclist’s behaviour and commented how easy it would have been for Nuslu to give him a deserved beating. Without taking his eyes off the road, the young man arched his lips into a slight smile and said, “It wouldn’t be difficult at all, but I wouldn’t be the winner. My demons would be. Today, I defeated them.”
I questioned whether, even without reacting aggressively, he wasn’t irritated by the motorcyclist. Nuslu explained: “If I viewed him as an adversary, I would be consumed by hate. I’ve learned to accept these people as involuntary teachers. Although they may not know it, they are. They are essential for me to become a better person. By provoking my shadows, the need arises to illuminate them so they don’t dominate me. This drives me to intensify my own light. Thus, with each difficulty presented, I become stronger and more balanced. So, I thank them for the wonderful opportunity for growth they provide.”
Although I was enchanted by his behaviour, I explained that in the neighbourhood in Rio de Janeiro where I was raised, that behaviour would be classified as cowardice. Nuslu would be discredited and spoken ill of. The young man argued: “It’s not others who establish my moral standard, nor the truths that guide me. If I let them do that, I allow them to define who I am. I can’t stop them from thinking or saying what they want, but I can prevent their misunderstandings and inadequacies from dominating or reaching me. What makes me a free man isn’t anyone’s approval, concession, or permission, but the conviction and coherence in becoming who I want to be.” He paused before concluding: “Borrowed wings aren’t meant for flying.”
We arrived in Sedona with the night well advanced. I went to my room. It was a night filled with countless thoughts that sometimes embraced each other and at other times collided. There were many voices. We are many within one. Understanding which of them will guide us defines the joy or bitterness of our days.
The next morning, I shared with Starry Song what had happened at the bar. I confessed I was enchanted by Nuslu’s behaviour, who not only avoided a conflict but also didn’t let the motorcyclist’s attitude affect him. I emphasised that, despite the provocation, there was no fear in the young man’s eyes. On the contrary, the calmness and firmness he demonstrated were admirable. It had become clear that refusing confrontation was not cowardice, but a path to be walked on. The shaman said, “Nuslu proved to be a brave warrior by refusing to enter the sickening and disturbing vibration he was invited to. Thus, he remained master of himself and stayed aligned with his light. Another beautiful victory; a new consecration in the most important of all conquests.”
I mentioned that I could refrain from fighting the motorcyclist, but I admitted I would be quite irritated by the situation. In fact, I had been. That was my difficulty; I couldn’t apply knowledge in practice. This distinguishes the savage from the warrior, the scholar from the wise. Not accepting the external conflict was the primary step, which I had already taken. Not allowing internal conflict, which also pulled me away from the light by immersing me in irritation, frustration, or hurt, was still something I was far from achieving. It was a sincere confession.
Starry Song returned to the topic: “Understanding is fundamental, but it is not enough. Until you accept, there will be no conquest.” I said I had already confessed my difficulty. He explained: “I’m not referring to accepting the difficulty. Yes, that step has been taken. I’m talking about accepting who you will become.”
I said I didn’t understand. The shaman explained: “Accepting transformation means embracing a way of life very different from the norms you are accustomed to. Moreover, it’s different from what many around you admire. Initially, this causes immense discomfort. You will become someone who, until recently, would not even have received your own admiration and you’re not, even today, ready to become. This is the wall that prevents you from moving forward.”
Starry Song continued: “finding something interesting doesn’t mean you want it for yourself. Many appreciate the quietude and solitude necessary for wisdom; few want it for themselves. Most prefer the spotlight of the stage to showcase their talent, the applause of critics to soothe their immaturity, the reverence of the audience to bask in the intoxicating sensation of superiority. I’m not specifically referring to actors in theatre or television. Everyone, without exception, in different ways, has their personal stages where we love to shine. At home, at work, in church, on the street, in the company of friends, it doesn’t matter where. The show matters. The setbacks represent the cancellation of the performance. In some cases, it’s the audience’s boos. Or, even more severely, in certain situations, it means other actors have invaded the stage to take over the scene. As if telling me that I am ineffective or decadent; from then on, the spotlight belongs to them. At least, that is how we interpret these situations when they occur. Irritation, frustration, or hurt are present only because I’ve structured myself around extremely fragile values that are outside my legitimate sphere of control. Such imbalances lead to inevitable falls. In some cases, there are people who nullify themselves for a long time.”
Yes, if there is sincerity, it cannot be denied that such behaviours, on different scales, are common to all of us. I asked what the solution would be. The shaman replied: “Abdicate the stage.” I said it had been a while since I cared about being in the spotlight. He countered: “Truly, no one has given up the spectacle while missing the applause and reverence. Many admire the humility of the wise, but few want their simple life. Many know that pride and vanity must be eradicated from their personalities, but few are willing to give up the advantages and shine that come from such shadows. We understand the cause of the problem, we are willing to find the solution, but we do not accept getting rid of all the factors in the equation. Ultimately, we want the strength and balance of humility, the clarity and lightness that come from simplicity, but we are not willing to let go of some sensations of power and brilliance stemming from pride and vanity. The setbacks are nothing more than the repulsion to the boos that have replaced the compliments we expected. We abdicate the stage, but we miss the applause. At the same time we desire healing, the passion for the pleasures that led to the illness persists. A chosen contradiction, we shouldn’t be surprised by so many conflicts, both within and outside ourselves.”
He furrowed his brow and said, “I want the life of the hero without giving up the comforts of the villain; I want the peace of the monk without relinquishing the ownership of the world. Ultimately, this means understanding but not accepting. We linger in between, neither here nor there; I cease to be without becoming anything; I no longer want that, but I miss it. My contradictions nullify me, weaken me, and unbalance me. I suffer.”
I admitted that I was lost. I didn’t know what move to make to accept the transformation I had already understood was necessary. Starry Song helped me: “In your weakness lies your strength.”
He paused so I could gradually connect to idea and added: “Although you dislike the old clothes, you still keep them.” I asked him to explain further. He got straight to the point: “You abhor pride, but you cannot wear the mantle of humility. A virtue that will be hindered from manifesting due to a lack of space in your consciousness, still occupied by the remnants of the mistaken perception that this virtue is equal to weakness, incapacity, submission, and cowardice. No matter how awaited, none of the benefits of transformation will be possible while the cycle of renewal is not completed. Only when you feel comfortable in the clothes you have always considered the garb of the weak will you conquer your true strength. The bravest of warriors is the one who does not flee from himself.”
He then concluded: “Otherwise, the contradictions will remain for those who linger between two paths. You have already discovered the value of humility, but you have yet to conquer its power. For that, you will need to break the shell that prevents the essence of this virtue from germinating. It will be necessary to turn your fantasies inside out to find the piece you have never accepted. There is no way to be whole while a single fragment is missing.”
Believe me, the part that disturbs you is precisely the one that will become your new centre of strength. The absence of that part weakens the whole. Thus, the balance that is missing lies in the rejected part. Do not be ashamed to look in the mirror of simplicity. Admit the lies to attain the truth. Have compassion for your mistakes. You deserve your forgiveness. We all do. No one needs characters; there will always be enough beauty in being who you are. Accepting this truth allows for the greatest transformation.
I sat in silence for a time I cannot specify, without saying a word. Starry Song stood up and said he would take a walk. I needed silence and stillness. Gradually, ideas found a place to settle within me. It was as if I were opening the drawers of my consciousness to replace the clothes I no longer wished to wear with those more suited to a new lifestyle. The soul dresses itself in ideas and feelings.
If I wanted the strength, balance, and clarity that come from humility, simplicity, and compassion, I could no longer care about the disdain with which many people would begin to look at me, the contempt for considering me weak, lost, or unbalanced. Nor could I let myself be affected by the adverse reactions that, perhaps unintentionally, my way of being might provoke in them. I knew where I was, what I was seeking, and where I wanted to go. I knew who I wanted to become. Accepting all the consequences of a choice signifies maturity. Without it, every path is uncertain. Freedom cannot stand without the pillars of one’s own truth. Otherwise, even if I have some shine, I will never have light; I will be someone, but never truly myself.
When Starry Song returned, I shared my reflections and resolutions. It was necessary to dissect the weakness to find the hiding place of strength—the source of genuine balance. Contrary to what many believe, true power is of extreme lightness. Accepting this was the difficulty that prevented me from moving forward. He smiled faintly and pulled a small box from the leather bag he wore across his body. It was a gift. Inside was a pipe with a red stone stummel for me. I asked why, after so many years of friendship, he was only now giving me this ritualistic object. The shaman explained, “According to my ancestors’ tradition, the sacred pipe is not given to the wrong man.” I questioned what made me the right man. He concluded the lesson: “He who has not yet accepted the gentleness of strength knows nothing of light. Power is not in the destructive capacity of slingshots but in the fantastic lightness of wings.”
Translated by Cazmilian Zórdic.
