Raym’s client suffers the consequences of her father’s actions

I sense my client approaching my crystal shop. Scanning the street I notice a young woman who looks like she has just walked out of a Stieg Larsen novel. Her jet black, yellow tipped hair is combed vertically like a coxcomb and matches perfectly her matt black leather jacket, jeans and boots. She has stainless steel studs in her nose, her bottom lip and through her eyebrow. At first glance she does not look the type to be on a spiritual quest, many of my regular clients waft along wearing crystals and long shimmering white dresses, but in my business I have learned it is best not to judge by appearances. 

My assistants, resplendent in their blonde dreadlocks, glad rags and glitter, greet her like a long lost sister and are soon totally at home together. They have a knack of making anyone feel welcome and at ease, something I could learn from. They introduce me to our visitor, her name is Nicki.

Upstairs in the peace of my crystal therapy room, we discuss the reasons for her visit. She tells me that she feels her life is stuck. She had a successful business as a fashion designer until her estranged father passed away. From the moment he died everything seemed to go pear shaped. Her business went downhill, she lost clients and she lost her creative drive. She is seeing me out of desperation, she thinks she has been cursed.

“Why would you think that?”

“The old bastard treated his Aboriginal labourers like shit, cheating them out of their pay, giving them squalid little humpies to live in, working them hard and polluting the environment. He didn’t give a toss. He had no respect for their culture or their sacred sites. 

He was a piece of work. He was a miserable, abusive alcoholic, that’s why I got out as soon as I could. None of the locals liked him.”

It did not seem fair or logical that this young woman should be cursed for her father’s shortcomings but it was the only conclusion she could come to, having tried everything else to fix the chaos that now surrounded her. In desperation she decided to see me, hoping a modern shaman could unravel an old curse.

After briefing her that we would travel together, we lie in the crystal mandala I have prepared, close our eyes and embark on our shamanic journey.

Immediately we find ourselves in the outback, in intense dry heat. The smell of dry gum leaves mixed with clean air permeates our pores. We look for shade and under a nearby tree I notice two aboriginal men. They are in a classic stance, on one leg, spear in one hand supporting them as they stand, one leg lifted and bent, foot resting against the knee of the standing leg. They look cool, calm, collected and as if they are on a mission. 

Rather than walk towards them I suggest we walk away from them and see what happens. I know they can only be there if they are attached to Nicki, but I want her to figure that out for herself. Sure enough they follow us at a distance. We allow this for a while until we reach another shady spot when I suggest we stop and wait for them to catch up.

They pause about twenty feet away and wait for us. I suggest that Nicki go over to them and ask them why they’re here.

What the fuck do you want? she telepaths.

Too late, I realise I should have briefed her to be more respectful. They do not appreciate being addressed in this manner and take an aggressive stance. Reluctantly I intercede before things get out of hand. I move over quickly and stand next to Nicki. An absurd thought runs through my mind, I should have brought a sunhat.

We are honoured to have your company. But I feel your business here may be complete. You realise you should not be here?

They look bemused.

You have no quarrel with this girl. She respects and honours your culture, she has never damaged any of your sacred places nor would she. You can leave now, you are not bound to her in any way.

A pause.

Who sent you? 

Without thinking they respond by sending an image of a very black old man with a snowy white beard and curly white hair.

We have no argument with you, go in peace, return to your ancestors, your service is complete. I will speak with the man who sent you.

They look at each other and decide to leave. So far so good, that part was relatively easy.

Sorry about the language, I was out of line. Nicki telepaths.

Just take a breath before you speak, it’s appropriate to be respectful, even if you don’t like what’s happening. It always buys us time, which is useful.

OK is that it? Are we done?

Not quite… I respond as I notice a willy-willy heading towards us across the dry scrub. 

We are about to meet the man who sent them. 

Stand behind me.

The wind comes to a stop in front of us; as the dust clears, in its centre is the old, white-haired man we saw earlier. He is not happy.

You fellas, what you doing here? In this place? You not supposed to be here. How come you here? Interfering with my work.

We are here to make peace, this has gone on long enough, this woman is not responsible for her father’s actions.

I make this curse, it last a long, long time. It goes father, daughter, grandson. This man, her father, was a bad man. He deserves this.

Maybe HE does. But he’s dead now. His offspring do not deserve to be cursed for his actions.

What do you know white fella? Why are you putting your nose in here?

I’m here to help. 

I realise from this man’s attitude that he is dead but he has not gone home to his ancestors or as we would say “home to light”. He is stuck, he is an earthbound spirit, held here by his righteous anger at the way he and his relatives were treated by Nicki’s father.

What year is it? I ask knowing that he will be stuck in the year he died.


Do you realise you’re dead?


Don’t try any tricky white fella stuff with me.

Okay, you think you are in a trance, where is your body? Try to go back to it now. It is dust, it is long gone.

The old man pauses and sits on the ground cross-legged closing his eyes. He is still for a while, then he opens them.

This don’t change anything. That white fella, bad man. He deserves all he get.

This anger is holding you in a stuck place. Wouldn’t you like to go home? And join your ancestors?

The old mans cogitates.

Nicky, call your father three times invite him to join us.

She does so and her father appears next to us, it is an emotional reunion that takes Nicki completely by surprise.

Dad, where have you been?

It’s okay darlin’, the relatives were waiting for me when I passed. I know I did a lot of bad things in my life and I’m happy to come back and experience them all when the time is right. It’s time for me to sort this out with this old bloke. And with you too. I am sorry, I was not the best father.

They embrace and there are lots of tears. I can see that despite his failings she still loves him very much. Her father then kneels in front of the old aboriginal man and begs for his forgiveness. It is not easily given, they have a long dialogue, but eventually it comes.

I ask the old man to take back the curse and he obliges. In his ancient language with an archaic ritual he undoes the curse he placed on Nicki’s father and his lineage. When that is done I call three times on the ancestors of the place we are in. It is a happy reunion; as they depart one of them turns to me. Standing still he makes eye contact with me and nods, respectfully.

You, kadaitcha man. Lawman, you. 

He smiles, perfect white teeth and sparkling eyes set off against dark, dark skin.

Nicky looks at me perplexed as he leaves.

Are those tears in your eyes?

No, It’s just the sun and the wind.

This old man has just paid me the greatest compliment I could imagine from one of his culture. Most non-Aboriginals might know the kadaitcha man as the bone pointing sorcerer, but there is more to it than that. He has described me as a healer and spiritual lawman in its purest sense, one who upholds justice with humility. 

It is such an honour I am moved to tears.

All stories are © 2019 Raym Richards and are extracted from his book “Sprit World. A diary of an Urban Shaman” available through iBooks and Amazon or directly from Crystal Dreaming