My family were the shamans of our community before we moved to Anchorage. We facilitate connection between humans and the spirits. The essences are unaware that most people cannot see them, yet they still try to reach us. We exist in separation but there is a sensation throughout our bodies when the bridge blurs. 

***

 

I am a nineteen year old daughter, who still goes to my parent's house for dinner. A jazz tune echoes while I smell a chuck roast and scalloped potatoes. My father and I are sitting at the table but we wait for my mother. My mother asks while passing me a handkerchief, "Tulugaŋuluk, how is your university coursework going?"

"I withdrew—"

My father interjects, "—Why?"

"I wish I knew. I feel like I am floating and struggling to tether myself down to Earth. My heart pounds like a drum. The bass echoes inside of me then it turns into a distant memory that I watch leave me."

My parents respond with silence, which is worse than them saying anything. The supper was too delicious to let it be cold over this mundane argument anyway.

The cutlery clashes on the plates, while there are occasional, noticeable chewing and swallowing sounds. My heartbeat starts moving faster so I have to leave to catch my bearings. I do so without saying a single word but before I go:

They yell "We love you," but instead I slam the door as a reply.

The night absorbs. I can see the stars glistening and the night sky. As I stare into the darkness, I hear a soft drum for a moment then it ceases. Maybe, it was my heart but it disappears. I wonder where it came from because who would play at this time of the evening? I return to my apartment and exhaustion overwhelms me. I teeter-totter across the bedroom without remembering, whether I took my clothes off or not. Eventually, I land into my sheets and fall asleep.

There are endless amounts of clouds. I hear drumming, but it is louder than before. A phone manifests out the landscape of silver haze then it begins to ring. I pick up and hear a knocking sound vibrate with a buzz on my person. The sensation startles me so I put the brick back down. Suddenly, the ringing repeats but its volume increases. I grab the phone then hang up as soon as I answer the call-in. The clouds become colors of scarlet and black, while a liminal door opens in front of me. My heart beats through my chest, while a figure appears through the door. The figure begins to take off the maroon mask embedded with black zebra stripes and tells to submit; this is no longer my dream. I am locked into position, while the figure removes the bloody veil. The face of this entity is everlasting because the entity is a chameleon. There are millions of faces between humans of the future, present and past. They flicker from the children I do not know to the family I know and lastly to humans I assume existed before us within the second. It stops.

Suddenly, I land in my parent's home. I am a child during my favorite Christmas, because my little brother, Uvluġiaq, still exists at this moment. There was a time where he opened one of his presents. It was a comic book and he was about to open the gift like I remember in the memory. However, the moment is suspended out of our control and the figure appears to cast fire onto this passage of time. So everyone in the house burns. We are pieces of charred feathers and bones in a collection of ash.

I wake up and it feels like I fell down into my body. The comforter is on the floor, while the sheets are soaked with sweat. I sit in the shower at the coldest setting, while I wait for the washing machine to finish. The burning sensation, the feeling of the flames coming in waves was too powerful. Still, it lingers even with the coldest water on my burning skin. I put my clothes in the dryer, despite being scheduled for work then I embark back to my mother.

I knock on the door. Suddenly, my mother materializes to open the door for me. My mother whispers, "I know what happened, but don't speak loud enough for them to hear you. Babe, you can or cannot hide in your thoughts; you're qiḷa in a human body."

My mother quietly shuts the door then moves swiftly like an owl flies across a tundra plain. I am confused because of her intuition. I begin to move my lips but she puts her finger to my lips. Her finger moves from my lips to my left shoulder to my left hand. Her right fingertips lay on my wrist and my lower palm but to my surprise; I could hear her voice without her speaking! 

While looking in my eyes, she communicates without opening her mouth, "Let the drumming echo but do not lose your footing when listening. Now, you know what it means to be a shaman so watch your vocabulary lightly. There are good and bad shamans, good and bad spirits as our universe is infinite. The drumming was beating but only after dinner did you hear it last night. You let your guard lower because you don't know where to go with your broken qiḷa. Once you fall to your lowest then the spirits start to prey on you. You're weak but you must grow stronger. You must confront your subconscious instead of letting it destroy you—"

The front door opens and a cold wind drifts through:

Thump;

Thump;

Thump.

I try to say, "Aapa—"

My mother puts her finger to my lips but does not say anything through her mind either. Across the corner of the entry way, the maroon masked figure drifts in. He floats in, my mother's heart is racing while the drumming is growing louder. Now, I am locked into viewing the figure because the figure disabled my autonomy. The phone is ringing. I hear my mother command but I cannot see whether she is speaking it with her mind or throat:

"Aullaġiñ!"

"Aullaġiñ!"

"Aullaġiñ!"

The figure disappears but there are no words to describe how the figure disappears. The way waves crash then sea foam bubbles, it was like that; except, in reverse.

After a moment, my mother and I sat in silence. 

My mother turns her head then lectures, "Tulugaŋuluk, you must speak for our lineage. Our language holds the answers to shamanism but only a small few get to live this. It is admirable to be a doctor but you have qiḷa. If you disregard this then the spirits will take you as easy prey. Your curiosity is power. Take your qiḷa and learn."

 

***

 

I could have given any sentence to my mother; but any of them would never be enough. Instead, I scheduled an appointment with my university advisor because I need to speak for the spirits. I am a student again, now I work closely with my mother because she knows the knowledge of the first shamans. Our stories are not written, but if you listen then you shall hear our folklore. Our elders know the original ways, but it is up to us descendants to write them down. Now I can admit, I write because my little brother, Uvluġiaq, never lived long enough to find his fated purpose or nourish his qiḷa.