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The Shaman’s Story – The Path of Transformation

As a child, I often felt like an outsider. I was different. I withdrew into nature—by campfires, in treetops—watching the North Star, as if it were calling to me. One day, I got lost deep in the forest and discovered an ancient shelter. Inside, there was a black stone with runes—like an altar. I heard whispers but saw no one. Darkness fell, mist surrounded me, and fear took over.

Then, out of the fog appeared a white reindeer—an impossible sight that far south. It paused, guiding me gently. And as suddenly as it had come, the mist vanished, the reindeer disappeared, and I found my way home. I told my parents what had happened, but they didn’t believe me. I searched for the shelter again—but it was gone, and I never found it again.

I grew into a skilled hunter, a silent shadow in the forest. I used only a bow, out of respect for the old ways. One day, I was asked—along with my loyal dog—to track a clever fox that had been raiding village farms. We followed its trail for days. Finally, the fox fled to an island.

As we arrived by boat, the air changed—mist surrounded us, and only the calls of crows and owls broke the silence. My dog barked. I saw movement and raised my bow—until I saw four eyes. I froze. From the mist emerged the fox… with a cub in its jaws. It bowed to me, then vanished over the hill.

I hesitated. Should the hunt end here? But I had been hired, so I pressed on. As we climbed the hill, the forest fell eerily silent. The sky darkened. Even the wind stopped. My dog trembled and hid. I felt watched. Then came the sound—a bear’s breath. Thunder cracked. My dog ran. I followed, bow in hand, chased by storm and fear.

We reached the boat and pushed off, but the lake swallowed us in fog and waves. I couldn’t see. Then, in the sky—a break in the clouds. The North Star. And once again, the white reindeer. It swam ahead to a small rocky island, waiting. We landed. I approached. It bowed, looked at the North Star pulsing with light. Then came the northern lights. The reindeer turned and vanished into the darkness.

We were saved.

Time passed. My dog died. I buried him on the hill beneath our favorite tree. As I sat in silence, staring at the sky, the North Star pulsed again, and the auroras danced above. Wolves howled. From the forest, once more, the white reindeer appeared—glowing, beckoning, then vanishing.

Then I knew: this was not the end, but a beginning. A calling.

I traveled north. To this place. And I’ve never regretted it.

On that hunting trip, I had been greedy. I didn’t respect the fox. The spirits warned me—storm, bear, thunder. When I turned back, they forgave me. The white reindeer came, again, as it had in my youth.

I believe the old shelter was where I received the shaman’s call. Since then, the spirits have guided my path. Before that, I didn’t belong anywhere. But now I know: some are seekers. Some find. We must follow signs and search within.

I am here to help others do the same—to find peace.

Now it is your time. Your shamanic blessing begins.

Let us fall silent. We gather at the sacred black stones. Hand in hand, eyes closed, we each make a silent wish—without speaking it aloud. When the ritual ends, our paths diverge.

But remember: you are enough, just as you are.
And you can always return—if only in your heart.

It was an honor to be your shaman today.
May life treat you kindly.