His given name is Will. His intimates sometimes call him the “Wiz.” He is, you see, a self-proclaimed shaman. He is deep into mystical realms but, unlike warlocks and white witches of my acquaintance in Northern California, his services come with a price. A “soul retrieval” session could easily set you back a C-note or more.
Katherine told me about Will and how his adherents — many lovelorn middle-age women — waited anxiously for his regular visits to Spokane. The Wiz, it seems, is not only charismatic with movie star looks but, despite his homosexuality, he sets many a feminine heart beating and many a pocketbook emptying.
Knowing all this, I was prepared at first meeting to find a charlatan, a fraud. It took just one glance and I knew I had been wrong. Will is the real McCoy.
This realization failed to make me any happier about his using spiritual talents to fatten his coffers. I imagined Jesus setting a price on his miracles. “Let’s see. A crippled leg? That’ll cost you 10 drachmas. You want me to bring somebody back from the dead? I’ve got an easy finance plan for that one.”
Still, I’ve gone camping with the Wiz, he drove from his home in Seattle to attend Katherine and my wedding and, by and large, I find him a good person to call friend.
After a recent discussion with someone who has known the shaman for a very long time, my opinion of Will’s beliefs and espousal of them took another hit. When Jim asked his old pal how he felt about starving children in India, the Wiz replied in essence: “They deserve what they get.”
In the Hindu reading reincarnations, we are born to relearn lessons we didn’t get quite right the last time around the wheel. Those suffering torments do so because of nastiness done in a previous incarnation.
Jim was appalled. I was appalled. To hear of such complaisance in the face of such ugliness from a man who claims to heal souls shocked me.
I thought of Ivan Karamazov who angrily stated that if an all-powerful God allowed torture of innocent children and if the price of getting into heaven was the embrace of such a God, he, Ivan, would return his ticket. That fictional character was a lover of all mankind.
I don’t have a problem with reincarnations. Hell, if I gave religion the least serious thought, I would probably weigh in with that view. I’ve had enough honest, reliable friends speak to me of past life regressions that I’m inclined to believe that’s possible as well. A paint foreman in a factory, a housewife, an advertising rep for the publishing house which gave me my first writing gig. I listen to their stories, freely given, and there was not one shaman in the bunch.
And then I thought of Will’s remarks in a little broader context. Readers of my columns may recall that I once studied for the ministry. The Good Book and I have more than a passing acquaintance,
The original sin thing? We’re all doomed to spend eternity in hell unless we accept Christ as our redeemer? And then I think of Calvinism and predestination. Our lives here on Earth are already divine. Living a virtuous, pious life is no guarantee that Heaven awaits although thrift and hard work are indicators you might be among the elect.
How different, really, is literal Christianity from Wiz’s belief system? What they share in common is acceptance of cruel injustice. How can you render unto Caesar what is Caesar’s when those in power support a system based on a brutal inequality in wealth and opportunity?
This is not to say that deeply religious men and women have not found inspiration in their faith. Think of Martin and the Southern Christian Leadership Conference and Gandhi, a devout Hindu. Or those secular humanists who refused to fight a war they perceived as unjust and greeted imprisonment?
I guess the path from Will’s remarks about starving children in India to quietism and passivity in the face of racism and sexism of so many contemporary Americans is short and narrow.
King and Gandhi were shot for their lifelong commitment to social justice. Where are those today willing to take the risk?
I close with a question I was asked by another good friend, Cass Davis, as we were leaving a KRFP board meeting. “Have you ever been arrested for your beliefs?” When I answered “No,” he looked at my white hair. “Don’t you think it’s about time?”
McGehee, a lifelong activist, settled here in 1973 and lives in Palouse with his wife, Katherine. His work life has varied from bartender to university instructor to wrecking yard owner.
