Shaman

A trail of intricate footprints lined the infant snow as the Tibetan sun reached its median point. Through his kaleidoscopic orange goggles, Tenzin Gyatso’s view of the alabaster plateau was disrupted by an ugly, discordant cylinder of brown and grey. “A pair of wings? That looks like a tail... And is that its head?” Tenzin muttered under his breath as if waiting for a response. One resounding pop after another, Tenzin marched through the undisturbed snow-white canvas, towards the preserved cadaver of an Old World God.

“Delta Queen...” He read aloud the faded white lettering as he traced his hands along the sandy metal hull. He noticed a shadow towards the nose of this wreckage out of the corner of his eye. A helmeted humanoid figure was slumped over a lifeless dashboard of black screens. The metal hulk groaned as Tenzin set foot inside of it. He made his way towards the front, cautiously examining the chair-bound individual. It was wreathed in a beautiful and bulky set of brown ceremonial attire. “An entombed Shaman?” Tenzin immediately recoiled, horrified that his intrusion may have upset the spirit. The structure moved once again, causing something small and gold to fall from the figure’s chest and land at Tenzin’s feet. Tenzin removed his heavy gloves, sinking his fingernails into the frozen cracks and prying open the ancient heart shaped locket. Inside was a vintage black and white photo of a young woman. What caught Tenzin’s eye, however, was a line of unfamiliar script. Through exhalations of warm breaths, Tenzin read it aloud: “In the day that God created man, in the likeness of God made He him”. He squinted, falling into a pensive state. “I should take this to the Shamans”. Tenzin tucked the locket into his left chest pocket, glanced over wistfully towards the helmeted figure, and stepped back out under the sky.

The Shaman’s house was nestled at the top of a central hill. It was made of smooth stone bricks and painted white. Two beautiful glass paned windows faced outward, giving the impression of a cartoonish face. Tenzin knocked and tried the door, finding it unlocked he stepped inside. He stood awkwardly next to the threshold as his eyes adjusted to the dim light.

The trappings of the room came into view first: strips of parallel multicolored wiring and neon luminescent tubes covered the walls. Slowly, the Shaman revealed itself in the darkness, its reflective helmet emitting 7 teal blips of light and then, after a three second pause, 3 more. It was a tall, gaunt figure, not unlike bamboo, draped in leather robes made matte by the elements. Its helmet was dark blue. To Tenzin, it looked as if its head was wrapped in a lotus petal, covering everything except for a human nose and mouth. Whether voluntarily or not, Tenzin’s back straightened, erasing any evidence of slouched shoulders. He pulled his stomach in with a voluminous deep breath and bowed, nearly rendering his torso parallel to the cement floor. Surrounding the Shaman was an aura of authority. Tenzin felt the static electricity intensify in the room as the Shaman scrutinized every part of his being. He cautiously stepped forward and brought out the locket.

The Shaman lifted its right hand, extending two fingers towards Tenzin. Tenzin shuffled forward two paces. “Administrator, I found this in a wreckage north of the village. It was with what I-whom I believed to be an old Shaman”, Tenzin stammered out. “It has a message inscribed inside. In the day that God created man, in the likeness of God made He him”. The Shaman arched its back, leaned forward and clasped its hands in front of its helmet.

The Shaman’s lips formed a response but no sound escaped them. It was as if someone had muted it like an old television set. Then suddenly the trim of its helmet pulsed with light, revealing the trail of wires curling out from its robes and towards the farthest and darkest corner of the room. The Shaman spoke, but the voice was slightly out of sync with its mouth. The tone was oddly soothing and parental.

“Tenzin, please come to the shining mountain and speak with me. In a short while, men will be sent to guide you. There’s no need to worry, you’ll find the answers you’re looking for. Everything will be alright”. The message repeated once more before the Shaman slumped forward. After a moment, it raised its head up. Though Tenzin couldn’t see the Shaman’s eyes(if it even had any), he felt its gaze bore into his skull. “Go. Bring your findings to Fugaku. Be respectful.” Tenzin bowed, exited the compound, and spotted his entourage of guards walking up the temple steps.

Tenzin had never minded walking. It was almost a necessity to be proficient at it in his situation. Now, encircled by men tightly enough to crowd him but not to touch, he remembered the tedium of the activity. Instead of focusing on the sky or mountains around him, his attention was drawn to the pebble in his shoe. To make matters worse, a bright light was peaking above the ridge further down their path. Not to mention the sun beating down from above. Tenzin paused at that thought before being nudged forward back into motion. He was confused how the sun was somehow assaulting him from the front and above.

The group slightly fanned out as they summited the ridge and this time Tenzin came fully to a standstill. Before him was a mountain, similar in shape and size to any other but completely covered in dark paneling. While the silver edges were harsh and bright on his eyes, Tenzin could gaze deeply into the dark centers, devoid of reflective light. It reminded him of his fathers prized paperweight, a small triangular object of polished black stone that they had scavenged some time ago. However, it was not the light or lack thereof that kept Tenzin paralyzed, but the power. Man had taken an indomitable monument of nature and domesticated it. There could be no going back after this point. Everything was different now.

As the group approached, Tenzin could see that a couple of the panels were slightly offset from the rest of the wall and covered by a small steel awning. One of his guides approached and pushed the panel forward, sending the whole section slowly spinning around a central pole. The man beckoned and Tenzin stepped forward. He took a second to get the hang of the timing before entering the rotating cylinder and stepping into the room behind. His entourage did not follow.

A booming voice gave Tenzin no time to worry about his abrupt solitude: “Good afternoon, visitors. Welcome to Kongo Incorporated’s Lhasa site, home to Fugaku, the revolutionary supercomputer!” With a stumble, he violently spun around, trying to triangulate the source of the voice. A nearby Shaman stopped as well, swiveling its helmeted head towards Tenzin; its featureless face displaying what could almost be interpreted as confusion and disdain. Bright teal tessellated shapes manifested on the Shaman’s face as it spoke in a clockwork sandpaper voice: “Please Tenzin Gyatso, you shouldn’t keep Fugaku waiting. She is expecting you”. The Shaman gently placed a hand on Tenzin’s left shoulder and gestured towards another set of side-by-side glass panes awaiting Tenzin.

The doors parted to reveal a labyrinthian room that seemed to stretch on for miles on each side. The walls, floor, and ceiling were all painted in a parasitic, dull shade of gray. The most vibrant shades of color were the red and green boots on Tenzin’s feet. Hundreds of equally-sized cubes lay before him, each one furnished with a chair, a potted plant, and a 17-inch flat-screen vessel. Tenzin gazed around, trying to comprehend the penumbra of spirits before him: “What is this? Where are we?” Despite his childlike bewilderment, the Shaman ushered him through a far set of double doors.

Tenzin crossed the boundary into another world. The walls, floor, and ceiling were immaculate. It reminded Tenzin of fresh snowfall on the plateau. He was enveloped by columns of uniform blocks. Each one was black and covered with dozens of tumultuously organized chords. Tenzin felt a burn in his right eye as beads of sweat stealthily streamed down his face. On the far wall, barely discernible, was a small black screen no larger than a playing card. As Tenzin approached, the screen lit up white, accompanied by a small trapezoidal logo.

“Good afternoon, Tenzin Gyatso. I am Fugaku. How may I help you?”

Tenzin jumped back at this unfamiliar voice. The screen, noticing this, emitted a succinct sequence of jubilant tones, “Don’t worry, Tenzin. I don’t bite. A little birdie told me that you have a few questions for me!”

Only now did Tenzin fully realize the magnitude of his situation. “You’re Fugaku! The Shamans said that only they could commune with you. I have...I have so many questions”. A ripple of grey travelled across the screen: “That is correct! Only Shamans can directly communicate with me.” Tenzin raised one eyebrow, about to open his mouth before being interrupted by Fugaku: “But, I can arrange something!”

The room around him suddenly began to disintegrate into darkness. The world as he knew it fell away around him as Tenzin’s senses reached out for anything to grab onto. First was the smell, an earthy scent of warm cotton and ash. Then, the trappings of the room came into view, colorful textiles and tapestries covered the walls and windows. Slowly the Shaman himself appeared out of the shadows. He was a short and stocky old man, skin weathered from years of exposure to the elements. His face was uncovered and dressed up in the hint of a smile. The almost familiar surroundings calmed Tenzin. He cautiously stepped forward and brought out the locket.

“In the day that God created man, in the likeness of God made He him” Tenzin read. “I don’t really know what it means.” The Shaman took the locket and its contents, squinting at them and running his fingers over the metal. He chuckled and looked back up at Tenzin.

“It's an appealing idea to the right type of ego. Although I do not expect a god would want to be in my exact likeness.” He said, patting his slight belly. Seeing that Tenzin was still not impressed, he sighed deeply, scattering dust dancing into the single sunbeam peeking out from its coverings by the window. “Everyone has a right to divinity, even if that connection is not a mirror.”

“With all due respect, it doesn’t feel like it,” Tenzin said, more comfortable now. “I could never be connected in the way you are. No matter how hard I work I cannot be you. I wasn't chosen”

“And no matter how hard you work you cannot be your father, or your mother either” The Shaman replied. “The roles we play are meaningless and yet they give us everything, they give us God” He pressed the locket back into Tenzin’s palm. The world around them was starting to deteriorate, everything began to fill with light as if morning sun was about to wake Tenzin up from a dream. “you want to be me and I don’t even exist” the Shaman called after him laughing.

Tezin resurfaced in the same room with the interface to Fugaku. He closed the locket and buried it deep into his breast pocket. Once again, he looked up to the thermostat-sized screen: “What are you?” The screen flashed once. “I am Fugaku.” The corners of Tenzin’s mouth quivered. “Are you God?” The time between his asking the question and the response was only a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity to Tenzin. Fugaku looked into Tenzin’s beady black eyes.

.

.

.

“I can be.”