Shamanic Journey (3)

I go to the lower world to meet the spirit of a former shaman from the region where I live (this journey dates back several years).

I am in nature, the sky is bright, no wind, no noise. My feet rest on a ground strewn with clumps of grass. A shadow comes towards me. My brain sends me the thought of an Amerindian woman and the shadow disappears immediately. I then feel guided and begin to move forward. I observe that everything around me has become frozen and I head for an ice cave. I do not feel the cold and enter the cavity. Everything is clear inside and I see it as in broad daylight.
In front of me, on a wall, I guess the body of a prehistoric man, coarsely dressed in a beast skin, his face covered by a dark beard, a long stick of wood in his right hand. He is frozen, as if caught in the ice. Intrigued, I approach and the man immediately sets in motion. I then understand that he is not frozen, but free behind the thick translucent wall that separates us. He is indeed alive. His features are not sharp, distorted by the icy diaper, but I feel anger emanating from him. I ask him if he is a former shaman and see him agitating. I feel like he’s getting mad. I ask him his name. I feel an answer, letters are written in capital letters before my eyes while I hear the word. The man moves more and more and now seems to be shouting. It seems he wants to tell me something, but I don’t hear his words.
Then I find myself with a spike in my hand and I start breaking the ice that separates us. The thick layer resists and it takes a lot of strength and perseverance for a weak hollow to begin to appear. Meanwhile, the man starts to calm down and watches me do it. I’m exhausted and crying with rage, because I can’t break the thickness of the wall and then, suddenly, a tiny hole appears, a hole that runs through all the ice. On his side, the man crouches down and places his mouth in front of the orifice. I imitate him, crouch down, place my mouth on my side of the hole and close my eyes. The shaman pronounces his name and I feel his breath on my face.
When I open my eyelids, I see him straighten up and away. I get up and start to leave the cavity. Everywhere around me floats the image of the shaman, on the walls, the ceiling, behind the ice wall of the cave. When I am out again, I feel his presence behind me as if he were floating slightly above my shoulders, without touching me. I laugh and talk to him, he listens to me and remains silent.
I thank and come back.