Shamanic Journey (4)

I journey through the snail shell to explore my physical body with the intention of getting to know it better.

As I enter the shell, a word appears: CIRCUMVOLUTION. I quickly turn away from the main track and take a secondary one. I feel that my face is changing: my eyes are stretching towards the sides of my skull while horns seem to grow on the top of my head and my forehead is projected forward. I saw the beginning of a metamorphosis and the image of a bull imposed itself on me.
I am now back on the main track, in the snail shell, and I discover another Me lurking in the back of the passage. This other Me is folded on the ground, in fetal position and I feel it is scared, frightened. This woman has an ethereal, ghostly appearance. I go to her in order to appease her, but once I reach her, I find only one skeleton, my skeleton.
I continue my way and cross a long tunnel whit a all white exit. The tunnel is narrower and narrower and I dive in head first, then I turn into an arrow point and land on the white surface I saw earlier. It’s fluffy and reminds me of the consistency of a marshmallow or a mushroom. I bend over and discover that I am actually sitting on the head of a Paris mushroom. All around me, many other mushrooms, as in cultivation. I also observe that I am in a dark, circular cave and when I raise my head and look up, I see that there are stone arcades under which a yellowish light shines. I’m in the centre of the cave, down below, and I’m watching movements under the arcades. People are walking there.
My breathing is speeding up, my left arm and my eyes are moving as I find myself thrown under the arcades among these people who walk without stopping. All of these people are wearing brown gowns. Their faces are bent down and covered by a wide hood. I deduce that they are Franciscan monks. I want to see their faces, but ignoring what I will find under the hood, I feel a certain apprehension. I end up making up my mind and rushing in front of one of them and then I stop, firmly encased on my legs. The man also stops, facing me, raises his head and looks at me with indifference. His hood fell backwards and I can clearly see his face. He is about 50 years old, his hair and short beard are pepper and salt. I do not know why I still feel the same apprehension, his face is nothing scary and as I make this thought, he puts on his hood, skirts me and continues his circular walk under the arcades.
I sit on a wooden bench, set along the stone wall, and I look around. Under the arcades, openings closed by thick wrought iron railings lead to other arcades, to infinity. I turn my attention to the monks who wander in silence and I observe that they are more and more numerous. They’re all the same and make me think of clones. I feel tense, impatient, an animal growl rises from my throat and then comes anger and aggression. I set out among these men who paid no attention to me and camped against them to try again to stop one. I then discover with amazement that they pass through me as would ghosts encountering any obstacle. Emotions and feelings mingle in me: fear, rage, hatred, aggressiveness. Unpleasant feeling, but now the drum sounds the reminder.
I come back.