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14 A Journal of Contemporary Shamanism VOLUME 8 ISSUE 1 SPRINGSUMMER 2015 goodbye they were in fact now buried in the ground so they would not be able to re-enter their bodies. They had to go. It was done. It was okay. They could go in peace. Their families knew they were dead. They must not stay there. Here. Here was a good light to look into. Watch. There were angels coming relatives who were already on the other side. They were to watch them as the dead came to greet them. Slowly one by one they left going into the light. I placed a small statue of Mary in front of me. I sat still till I could see the light begin to emanate from the center of the room and slowly spread inside the building into every crevice every darkened space into the earth deep and now circling the bank on the outside like a small hurricane of light. Then into the sky into the night time signaling to the stars that all was well on this tiny spot of earth that the spirits were at peace had gone home and It Was Done. I rose slowly after a long prayer of gratitude and closed the work. I did not know that several hours had passed and as I rose to leave I noticed that only the bank manager was left waiting for me. He was crying. Without words I hugged him and left walking down the street to the room where the people were gathered at the end of the street. I entered the small dark room and asked them what they had seen. Light they said. Light first coming from inside and then swirling around the outside of the bank and into the sky. I thanked them and said it was done. I felt faint and one of them offered me a ride home. After I entered my house I began vomiting again and again. Then spent I walked out into the night and listened to the night sounds. An occasional dove call or mot mot. Mostly crickets in chorus with tree frogs. I slept for a day and a night. A week later when I entered the bank I was delighted. The priest had brought a beautiful statue of Mother Mary to grace the corner of the bank. Large plants stood in the other corners. Local artists had hung gorgeous paintings on the bank walls. Behind each tellers window they now had tiny personal belong- ings pictures of their families. It was done. The owl was silent gone. I never heard that sound again as long as I lived in the Birthday Cake House. ABOUT THE AUTHOR Rebecca Singer is a shaman trained in ancient healing ways whose 35-year journey has taken her to the very roots of shamanic traditions. She has been taught by shamans healers and teachers among the Lakota of Pine Ridge in South Dakota the indigenous tribespeople of the Costa Rican rainforests and the Reindeer People in the northern mountains of Mongolia all of whom accepted her and passed on to her the wisdom of their healing ways. Rebecca currently lives in upstate New York where she is at work on her memoir and she travels internationally offering ceremonies healing sessions and workshops. You can read more about Rebecca at www.shamanicenergy.com.