I was in Sedona, among the mountains of Arizona. Starry Song, the shaman gifted with teaching his people’s ancient philosophy through musical stories, sat silently in his rocking chair. He seemed more interested in packing the red stone stummel of his distinctive pipe with tobacco than in listening to my laments. Dealing with criticism is no easy task. It was a time when the world seemed to have turned against me. I had become the perfect, favourite target for everyone. Everything I did became a reason for evaluation and judgment. This situation troubled me greatly. I didn’t understand why it was happening. “It’s my karma,” I said resignedly, not hiding a hint of bitterness.
A few days before the trip, a friend had pointed out a series of flaws in an advertisement created by the agency where I was in charge of the creative department. It was featured in a magazine aimed at a female audience and was an ad for lingerie. The team I worked with was filled with women who had participated in every detail, from developing the concept to the final product’s artwork. This had made me feel at ease in a world as delicate and filled with subtleties. Apparently, it wasn’t enough. Though she chose her words carefully, she accused me of being prejudiced and insensitive. According to her, I had dared to address a topic I didn’t understand. It was just one more criticism in a period filled with them; the accumulation of unprocessed emotions overwhelmed me. I reacted impulsively; in retaliation, I didn’t hesitate to point out numerous flaws in her personality and temperament. Irritated, she insulted me. A decades-long friendship dissolved in mere minutes of conversation. I felt awful for days.
I took the magazine out of my backpack and showed it to the shaman. I asked if he saw anything wrong with the ad. Starry Song looked at the advertisement, then at me, observing both attentively. He said nothing. Lighting his pipe, he puffed a few times to spread the flame through the tobacco. As usual, he seemed amused by the dance of smoke before him. He looked at me again and said: “Do you want my opinion on the ad, or did you come seeking support for how you reacted to the criticism?” I admitted that I had hoped he would agree with me on both counts. The shaman replied: “Opinions about something, someone, or a situation rarely portray the object faithfully or fairly. Rarely is an observation pure and free of passion. A biased perspective distorts any image. Often, there’s more of the observer wrapped in the words than actual aspects of the object—whether it’s a person or an event—being analyzed.” He puffed the pipe again and added: “What we see is a blend, in varying proportions depending on the case, of truth and the limitations of the observer. I see only as far as my consciousness reaches, using only the colours—bright or dark—that my heart allows.”
He continued: “That’s why mature people refuse the judge’s seat, always tempting us to point out others’ flaws and mistakes as a way to conceal our own difficulties. Magnifying someone’s traits gives the false sense that we are arbiters of truth or better than we are. We think we know everything about others, though we understand little about the shortcomings that shape our personalities and temperaments. We ignore the authentic reasons and roots of inappropriate and uncontrolled reactions. We claim we must demand respect; yes, that’s necessary, but outbursts and conflicts are not. Respect is shaped by consistency with the truth and the constant practice of virtues; when we act this way, respect comes naturally. Aggressiveness and irritation are signs of fragility, loss of control, and fear; sincerity, serenity, and clarity demonstrate the balance and strength of the soul. The maturity of our being.”
He shrugged and added: “Though we lack it ourselves, we demand to be treated perfectly. We lose our sense of the ridiculous and real justice.” Puffing on his pipe, he said: “Criticism has become a kind of compulsion. A behavioural addiction stemming from a lack of courage, will, and honesty to face the mirror and the workshop of truth. A desperate attempt to avoid the genuine battle, the one between light and shadow fought in our own consciousness, heavily influenced by the heart. Thinking freely, without the molds of conditioning, interests, and fears; feeling freely, without drowning in the tidal waves of passion—this is not for everyone.”
He gestured with his hand for emphasis: “Often, criticism comes from envy, jealousy, or an unfulfilled desire—something that disturbs or hurts but whose origin we fail to recognize within ourselves. Like any drug, using criticism gives a fleeting illusion and artificial sense of balance and strength. In that moment, we feel the intoxicating power of false truth, believing we are more than we are. The next day, we increase the dose.”
He frowned and pointed out: “Those who cannot handle others’ opinions suffer the same ailment as those who criticize and condemn, unable to tolerate a flavour different from their own taste—or because the wound exposed isn’t ready to be treated.” He looked at the sky, where the first stars of the evening were appearing, and said: “I say nothing that everyone doesn’t already know. The question is understanding why, even knowing all this, we still feel hurt by criticism.” I argued how unpleasant it was to be criticized after giving my best, whether in relationships or in completing a task. The shaman reflected: “It depends on whether the recipient is driven by shadows or virtues. With pride and vanity as captains, criticism feels like acid; the words corrode the heart; we become angry at the misunderstanding or sickened by the pain. With humility and sincerity as guides, we see the next step in our evolution, revealing something we didn’t know—or, if not, we see it as a test of patience and an opportunity for compassion. In either case, we are grateful for the enlightening moment granted to us. The words that serve remain; the others are discarded.”
He paused before concluding: “Above all, never forget: just as not all praise is deserved, not all criticism is fair. Strength and balance lie in living at the edge of truth and the limits of virtues attained. Learn to filter; keep everything that helps your improvement; thank the contribution—it’s life offering a step forward. Everything else reflects the misunderstandings overflowing from others. These are their issues, not yours. With humility, simplicity, and compassion, you’ll be shielded from the harmful spell of words. Be grateful for the opportunity—it’s life fortifying your soul’s achievements.”
As these ideas searched for a place to settle in my mind, he expanded the subject: “A consciousness impacted by frustrating experiences may see only sex and interest where solidarity and love exist. The reverse is also true. Emotions and feelings alter perception and divert reason’s paths. There are no straight roads within someone who hasn’t reached soul maturity.” I commented that my friend indeed carried many misunderstandings within her. The shaman corrected me: “I was referring to you, not her.”
Then he pondered: “Her words do not matter. Understand that you allowed them the power to shake you out of your own axis. You reacted poorly, with irritation and impatience. This explains why you felt uncomfortable. From that point on, it does not matter who is right; the outcome of the battle is what counts. Your light went out. You lost.”
Before I could disagree, he clarified: “The pillars of the soul are established through sharp perception, heightened sensitivity, and pacified emotions. For clarity to exist, there can be no interference from frustrations, desires, or fears. Only then will it be possible to see beyond appearances, hear the unspoken words, and reinterpret their meanings as an indispensable method to reach profound truth, the one that, in immature souls, when it comes to light, reveals the overflow of the drawer of emotions in the wardrobe of misunderstandings.”
He then explained: “You claim to have become the favourite target of people, and that this is your karma. Undoubtedly, especially if we take into account that karma means learning. Learn to navigate other people’s criticisms without letting yourself sink by embracing storms caused by winds that are not yours. Live on the last frontier of your truth, exercise virtues at every moment. This is how we dissolve karma.”
He closed his eyes, as if having a conversation with himself, and said: “Each person has absolute control over their actions, never over the outcome, which will depend on how the world interprets or accepts the accomplishments. If I offer my best, that is enough for me. Success always resides in acting at the peak of one’s capacity, never in the desired outcome, which will always depend on the acceptance, taste, and understanding of others. What is beyond my action does not define me; it is the part that belongs to the world. I am the movement I make, never how others interpret it. Without this understanding, freedom will remain constrained, peace will not rise, and dignity will become a fictional character. The inversion of this perspective is one of the causes of the increasing spread of anxiety and depression in contemporary societies; we undervalue action, where our genuine power resides, and overvalue the outcome, where the world’s desires live, beyond the control and capacity of any person. We seek what does not belong to us as a result of our flawed perception, diminished sensitivity, and uncontrolled passions.”
He paused before continuing: “Not to mention the shadowy influences like pride, vanity, envy, greed, and jealousy. The inability to process experiences or filter criticisms, without extracting from each one the necessary content for an unprecedented transition, ends up forming existential knots that tie the wings and prevent the next flights. Unable to fly, due to an uncorrected habit, we dedicate ourselves to using slings and stones to aim at other birds instead of learning to set our own wings free.”
The shaman continued: “We harm in countless ways and for multiple reasons. All of them boil down to our inability to recognize ourselves or, if you prefer, to our failure to confront who we truly are. We harm because of an inability to love, in the absence of virtues, due to undigested anger, fear of the dark, or ignorance of our true potential. These are like unconscious cries for mornings that never arrive, a plea for help that goes unadmitted. It is the bleeding of an unknown wound.”
Then he delved deeper into the idea: “Others will bother me every time I am out of alignment with myself; misaligned from my axis of balance and strength.”
Before I could question the origin of these two last attributes, Starry Song anticipated me: “Balance arises from coherence with the truth attained, which is established at the last frontier conquered by consciousness up to the present moment. The presence or absence of emotional balance is the primary hallmark of a person’s temperament. Not infrequently, we corrupt or negotiate with the truth in exchange for privileges and conveniences. The habit is so ingrained that we engage in this practice more often than we realize. We lose authority over who we are. Then comes the imbalance; debased emotions take control. I become a puppet of my vices and passions; a marionette of my ignorance about who I am.”
He puffed on his pipe and continued: “Strength is established in the indispensable exercise of virtues already acquired in every situation of daily life, as well as in the endless pursuit of consolidating others still in transition. Virtues legitimize in practice the love and wisdom already integrated into the individual; they shape personality. When we allow shadows to grow and overrun virtues, whether in a planned action or in the uncontrolled reaction to an unexpected situation, we end up weakened. This means that fear has established an empire within us. I no longer belong to myself.”
Then he complemented the reasoning: “Virtues sculpt character and ethics; balance softens and beautifies the behaviour. Use virtues as a warrior wields weapons in battle; be coherent with the truth as a priest remains connected to the Great Spirit; every moment is a distinct part of the same and unique cosmic ceremony. Balance and strength will never be lacking; no one will ever be able to extinguish your light.”
Afterward, he picked up his two-faced drum and sang a beautiful ancestral song in his people’s dialect. The melody cradled the meditation. Gradually, the ideas found their place in my mind and heart. We did not exchange another word that night.
The next morning, as was the custom on Saturdays, people gathered on the lawn in front of the grand oak tree in the yard to hear Starry Song share stories that taught the ancestral philosophy of his people. These ceremonies had become a tradition in Sedona, simple yet powerful for the transformation they offered. On that day, the shaman told the story of a man with a peculiar characteristic: he experienced changes in body, personality, and temperament based on everything he heard. Words influenced him completely; he was molded at every moment according to others’ opinions. This individual suffered greatly because he could not understand who he truly was. Contrary to what one might imagine, he was not many; in truth, he was no one. Exhausted by his lack of self-understanding, he sought out a wizard known for his kindness and magic. He was advised to go every morning to a nearby lake and observe his reflection in the water. On the first day, the man saw nothing. As the wizard had warned that the magic’s effect was not immediate and required returning to the lake daily, he persisted. Initially, the lines were vague and undefined. As he improved his gaze, the outlines of his face gained new features and unusual contours, becoming meaningful and pleasant. Another step of the magic was to speak out loud to himself as he saw his reflection in the water. Then he had to say who he no longer wanted to be, as well as who he wished to become. The words spoken at the lake were commitments made. He realized how his actions and reactions to all situations modified his reflection in the lake the next day; the lines became clearer and more beautiful as the idealized attributes flourished in his personality and temperament. Likewise, as his understanding grew, the world’s voice lost its power to nullify his authenticity and originality. Useful words were used for his construction; the rest, he gave to the wind, for they allowed no beauty. Gradually, external influences diminished, diminished, until they disappeared completely. What remained was the essence; within it, truth and virtues. He became a serene, confident, compassionate, and joyful man. He had discovered and conquered himself; then he became capable of enjoying life’s wonders. He began to guide himself by his own truth and move through his virtues instead of living in dependence on views incapable of translating who he truly was.
At the end, enchanted and moved, the people went to thank Starry Song for the wisdom he had shared. Some fully, others partially, identified with the story he had told. They understood the importance of undertaking the most significant meeting of their lives—the one that, sooner or later, everyone must have with themselves.
It was then that a man approached and, in front of everyone, accused the shaman of being a fraud. He claimed that by using parables, the shaman was forcing each listener to rely on their own conscience to awaken to the truth. He called him a charlatan disguised as a teacher. Without being shaken, Starry Song responded, his voice a blend of sweetness and firmness:
“You are right about the reach of the stories. Understanding must unveil many layers until the absolute awakening of consciousness. Thus, the stories I tell can merely entertain or bring the magic of transformation. This changes according to the listener; the same narrative, at another moment, will be understood differently. Yes, you are also correct when you say that each one is their own master, as learning will always require personal effort to transform into wisdom.” He paused to conclude: “Moreover, I have never presented myself as a master. I am nothing more and nothing less than a storyteller; I have always said so. Parables present portals, sometimes very clear, other times quite subtle. Crossing through them is solely the merit of those who manage to walk beyond. The story, like the narrator, is the same for everyone, yet each traveller will advance precisely to the extent of the truth they have achieved. Not one step further.”
Unsatisfied, the man left, calling the shaman a fraud. With his usual gentleness and without making any comment, the shaman said goodbye to everyone, and we returned to the porch. As if the verbal attack had never happened, he sat in his rocking chair and lit his pipe.
Astonished, I asked how he managed to remain so calm after being accused of being a charlatan. Starry Song made me understand the lesson once and for all:
“That man read me and described me with the letters and colours permitted by his eyes. That isn’t who I am. Knowing this is enough for me.”
Translated by Cazmilian Zórdic.
