Character: Shaman

It is a thousand of these little things that is the practice of longevity.

Your mind is filled with vanity. In this state, you can neither ask the plant nor hear it.

- From the strength of individuals.

Tell me, are you greedy for gold, McKenna?

Only through great trial is given great love.

It would not be knowledge, but the information is soon forgotten. Knowledge that is accompanied by a sense of recognition, of understanding, and that you can apply. Here, by the way, are more valued information than knowledge. This is a mistake.

I said that she was attractive, she had wavy hair of a reddish hue, but I would call this color "ripe chestnut." Her eyes were unusual: the street seemed gray, a day in the sanatorium was green and when she was staring at the book cover, somehow magically filled with darkness and became brown, like the color of the hair. She was wearing bright silk beach pants, a white blouse with a graceful image halves of a heart and a butterfly wing that from a distance it seemed and a heart and a butterfly at the same time. Dark sunglasses was holding on top of her bangs as a kind of rim. The skin was very delicate, white, with small wrinkles around the eyes, running up to the side sun rays. In other words, Olga was beautiful.
The rain outside did not cease. And Olga stared with my book. Then I got up and walked over to her. And handed the book.
- Are you the author? she asked, suddenly covered with a dense blush of embarrassment.
"Yes," I replied.
She's even more embarrassed and then said the phrase, which literally had me pinned in place and forced heart to beat loudly for a long time not heard the music of the unexpected and the inevitable meeting of two lonely people. A half of a heart was found in this moment with the butterfly wing, and they are mysteriously joined together and become one living being, whose name - love.
- I read your novel a few years ago, she said. And, imagine, fell in love with the author through the word. It happens. My friends told me that I'm crazy.
In this case, it will be comforting to you. I'm crazy, too.
On the street the sun came out. We got up and went to the sea and talked about everything and, at the same time, nothing. We spoke the words, and his chest sounded melody. So fascinating that you could just be silent and experience the joy of it. And yet words were...

But in those days happiness was blinding as the sun. Night bathed naked. There in the warm water when the moon was in love and could not part even for a moment. The day I visited her in the single room where she lived. And our love continued. We were insatiable. The night I was already waiting for her, among the cypresses, and the ringing of cicadas we rushed to the sea. With a laugh he turned off the sweet fruit of the mulberry tree, ate a big warm juicy berries, sometimes out of mischief was stealing peaches in an abandoned state farm garden, which was protected by always drunk and sleeping guard by the grandfather of Timothy; laughing, goofing around, ran to the sea and plunged into the water on the shore throwing off all my clothes. And loved, loved, loved...

"Olga, my dear, if all that you wrote is true, but otherwise I do not dare to assume, otherwise, hurt you distrust, and Love - remember, "everyone believes and hopes" - especially loving and loved, then put away all your fears and I threw them. We're not youngsters, although the soul has retained something very similar and dear - something that today is rarely where you will meet: the romance is light, not dirty, coarse, and bright, when from one only of reciting the name of the beloved heart rises above and want to breathe a full breast. I'm happy. And will not cease to repeat it. My situation is special - you know. Not just that, and I'm the dissident, and again under the supervision of nurses in a psychiatric hospital. And our love can long be in a state of word - correspondence. And maybe a lifetime. So drop the fear: I never anything from you don't require, never tell rude, will never turn into a disgrace or ham. Now you're my Medicine both literally and figuratively. You fill me with vitality, as I now give these words power of love. You must feel it. Tonight there was a miracle. Yesterday I was afraid I would come back for me and decided to break off conversation with you and not to harm: the words that I had intended to write about our love, was like gutted cats, corpses of words - you'd feel it. Cut the Word love "gender" and get the word eunuch, castrated, dead and empty. But a miracle happened and I thought better of it. No fear should not be in love. In fact I urged you to it.
Now I'm going to the novel - a new novel about our love. For me it will be the most expensive child, because my words will be filled with happiness. Want to write it thinking about you, mentally dedicating it to you. Although the theme of there slip - nuthouse - where do without the craziness! - but all a novel about the great power of love. I became others through this power. Your Glib".

- I have done what you have, now it's your turn. You still have a case. When you do, come to the fire shamans, I'll meet you in there.
- Before it is too late. You will not have time to leave.
- I woke you up, and you saved the tribe. We're even. I'll stay here, take my last breath and my strength.

Now I ask you: what do you want, what kind of help are you waiting for?
Well, somehow I'll know... it's probably difficult.
- Everything can be explained, everything can be described in one word.
- You know what, I probably will. I'll go excuse me please...
- Of course, go... go. You came here not knowing why and going, not understanding why.

Learn to observe. Learn in anything not to intervene in what does not interfere stone or water. Will be back when the changes around here will only cover your eyes.

Love we need, especially their own.

- Do orcs about elektrowniach?