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Simana’s Diaries – 11 – Connecting to the Sky
wind was blowing from somewhere else. Not from the north… Not from the south… It was as if an ancient sigh had been drawn from deep within the sky.
earth was faintly fading; the birds flapped their wings without taking flight; the camp simply could not wake up to the day. Because there are some days when the sky senses things before humans do.
Başkam Tüleç didn’t come out of his tent that morning. But even though he didn’t, everyone knew: When Kam falls silent, a door is about to open.
Simana was sitting in front of her tent; she didn’t drink her tea that morning. She couldn’t swallow.
in her throat that wouldn’t turn into words, and a sense of loss slowly coiling deep within her.
something was about to happen. Not a catastrophe… Not an end either… More like the final link in a circle about to close. A path that had been winding unseen for years finally arriving at the same point.
noon approached, word came from the chief’s tent:
“Chief Tüleç is summoning Simana.”
this, Simana bowed her head. But her steps never faltered. It was as if something within her had straightened: I am ready.
Chief’s tent; it was not smoke, but rather the breath of the sky. Tüleç was no longer the man he once was.
back was slightly hunched, his breath had deepened, and his gaze had drifted beyond the distant mountains. The weariness of an entire era weighed upon him. A deep preparation for a journey had begun within his soul.
Simana entered, the Chief spoke without looking at her:
“I will no longer walk. You will walk.”
Then came that ancient saying, piercing the silence:
“The tribe will not be left without a shaman. The language of the heavens will not be lost.
And before I surrender my spirit, I must bind you to the sky.”
ceremony. The women concealed their emotions, and the men held their breath. For this ceremony, which would last nine days, was a birth—the moment a spirit broke free from its shell and emerged into the light.
nine days, the fire never went out. Aspen branches were burned as incense. The elders whispered ancient epics. The young listened to the silence.On the morning of the ninth day, the chief rose to his feet one last time. He placed his drum before Simana. He handed her the drumstick. This was an oath begun by the ancestors. The language of fire rose three times. The sound of the drum echoed in all four directions. And at that moment: Simana was now a shaman.
