My ancestors are circled around my space. The shaman gives thanks to the nature spirits, the animals, the trees and my spirit guides (both known and unknown). She asks my guides to gently cleanse me and remove anything from my field that does not belong there, recreating my natural order.
It’s not how I’m used to spending my weekday mornings. My natural order is that of every other working parent: a military operation involving the chivvying of frequently fractious children, followed by a hectic gesture towards my daily 10,000 steps while crowbarring in breakfast en route to my computer.
