THE BRUJO is the book version of the play EL BRUJO. Four university professors invite a brujo to explain shamanism. He guides them into an alive, creative world which turns out to be both seductive and dangerous. He uses guided fantasies to help them explore the nature of reality and true identity. Adult language, especially when one of the professors finds himself on a chain gang.
This is not your usual book. The shaman invites the professors to explore his world using a darkened room, a candle, and guided fantasies. You are invited to do the same. An intellectual understanding of key concepts is good. Experiencing the reality that the concepts are pointing to is even better.
Following the brujo’s instructions will deepen your understanding of what you are---of what you have always been. If you want a particularly powerful effect, gather a group together and experience the guided fantasies together.
A serious warning. The atmosphere created by the candle light and the fantasies is powerful. Not for everyone.
From THE BRUJO:
“You had something Johnny?” Ralph asks.
“Yes. I want to bring a guest to our next meeting. A magical man who will amaze and delight.”
Bill rolled his eyes, “I don’t know Johnny. That theologian you brought last time didn’t exactly amaze and delight.”
“You and Jean were all over that poor guy.”
Jean grinned. “We were just testing his sainthood---he didn’t pass. I didn’t know human faces could get that red.”
“Well, the man I want to bring isn’t a saint either, but I doubt you can get his face red. He’s not a theologian, not a philosopher not a physicist. He’s a shaman, a brujo from the Sonoran desert.”
“Oh my God Johnny,” Jean said, “you have to be kidding. Is he that creepy character out of Castaneda? Or just an old fashioned guru, gulling the gullible as he drives another Jaguar into his garage?”
Johnny laughs again but is becoming irritated. “That is for you to decide. I just hope he can get past your iron-plated skull.”
“No problem, if there is any merit in what he has to say. But, I don’t waste time on nonsense. And, you shouldn’t either,” said with a slight trace of condescension.
“How can you evaluate an idea before you hear it?”
“You play the odds. You know in advance that ideas coming from some people are just not going to be worth wasting your precious brain cells.”
“I felt sorry for that poor theologian,” Ralph said, “we never gave him much of a chance.”
“He didn’t deserve a chance,” Jean said. “He still lives in the middle ages. And this shaman still lives in a cave, somewhere far out in the wilderness of the Sonoran desert. Stones talk to him as he walks by, and the friendly crows he meets are smarter than he is.”
Johnny felt even more irritated and a little sad. “And now the stones are dead, and crows are just black birds. Science sucked the magic and mystery out of life, and left us with what?”
“Your safe, easy life for starters. You’d rather eat cactus grubs and live in a cave?”
“Some days that is exactly what I’d like to do. But, you’re right, Jean, I love my computer and my microwave for my morning coffee too much for that. And, so sad, I lost the magic and wonder of my childhood a long time ago. I know how T. S. Eliot felt when he wrote, ‘I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each. I do not think they will sing for me.’”
About Ernest Kinnie
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Published January 5, 2011
Horror, Literature & Fiction.