Episode Details

In this third installment of River Shaman Ramblings, I pick up the “Ham Sandwich Saga” right where the last episode left off—mid-freefall after the equinox chaos. We revisit the moment my other-half’s insect-wing was sliced, severing her cosmic connection and triggering a cascade of heartbreak, astral misfires, and frantic rescue attempts. I recount crashing through Maingloth’s window, begging nine handmaidens for help, and slathering my own shredded wing with whatever ethereal balm they could muster.

Cut off from the usual webs of energy, I ricochet between realms: burning letters to Ganesh and Michael, consulting a Fae expert who dryly reminds me insects don’t regrow wings, and experimenting with music—everything from Dies Irae to violin symphonies—to reopen the throat chakra and keep our lines humming. Along the way we peek into several futures: a bleak balcony-prison where she’s isolated with a baby she barely gets to raise, and a brighter vision of her playing with that child under yellow sunlight. Time, as always in the Fae layers, runs on its own warped schedule—one hour here, nearly a year there—so every missed connection feels like eons.

I weave in lore and precedent—Black Elk’s visions, Castaneda’s shifts, Monroe’s OBEs—to show I’m not the first to walk these roads, just the loudmouth willing to talk about it. And yes, I remain irreverent: still a skald who’ll look gods in the eye, still the woman who flies first and asks permission later. By the end, the torn-wing mystery has become the crux of everything: it’s not just anatomy, it’s identity, freedom, and the very circuitry of soul. Zero stars, do not recommend—but the story’s far from over, and neither are we.