Flying Blind
by Reetchick

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Warning: bad language.
Setting: about ten minutes into "Sen Too"

*~*~*

This whole “Way of the Shaman” thing has been a fucking joke, man. I don’t even know why I believed it when it happened. It’s not like I speak Quechua, and Jim was so upset – for all I could tell, Incacha gave us some kind of deathbed benediction.

Shit, that makes more sense than giving me the sum total of his spiritual powers and wisdom. Me, the guy he’s known for, what, twenty minutes in his whole life? Right.

Hell. I have to admit, though, it got me all worked up. I spent hours - weeks worth of hours digging through stacks of dusty old books, scouring the net, looking for details or hints or clues about Shamanism.

I found a hell of a lot of stuff, too; after all that research, I could probably teach a course on it. You name it, I’ve read about it. Trance states. Altered consciousness. Shamanic ecstasy. Spirit visions, trials of the heart. Deaths and rebirths, both the spiritual and the physical kind.

Yeah, right.

Jim’s the only one around here having visions – shit, he was just telling me about another one, another fucking jaguar, before Simon bullied me out of that hospital room.

Me? Nothing. Not so much as a flicker.

Jim gets two spirit animals, and I don’t even have, like, a spirit insect. I gotta tell you, when he first said something about his latest vision, my heart kinda jumped into my throat.

For a second, just a second, I thought maybe it was – well. Mine. Not that I know why he’d have seen it first, and it sure as hell doesn’t matter now. It’s not mine.

It’s not like I’m asking to have a conversation with my totem on the spirit plane or anything. One little vision would be nice, though. Something to let me know I’m doing okay. That I’m not totally screwing this Sentinel thing up, that I’m doing some good here.

That I’m helping. That Jim - you know. Needs me.

And, yeah, Simon told me I’m appreciated, but he’s not really the one I need to hear it from, you know?

Anyway, there it is. I’m a little angry, a lot unhappy, and there’s not one goddamn person I can talk to about this. Jim’s the only one I could even consider discussing this shaman thing with, but, well. He needs his rest, not my insecurities.

My head is either in the clouds or up my ass, and neither one is helping Jim. This is most definitely counterproductive. Time to let go of the negativity, Sandburg, and get back to work.

End

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