I live in one of the oldest houses in Reykjavik.
My life here is not very complicated.
I get up in the morning, brush my teeth and wash my face, make two coils, take a cold shower and walk a few kilometers to sit in my silence chamber.
Then I walk back home, eat breakfast and go to work.
I return from work, eat dinner, until today; spend time with my brother, create devices if requested, make two more coils and walk a few kilometers to my silence chamber, sit there until its time for me to go home. I then go to sleep.
I will pose a question: Is my existance of such an importance that a high level African shaman would want to put a curse on me?
My landlord is a well known author here in Iceland.
Whenever he publishes a book as a means of promotion he does readings in bookstores, libraries and such.
For this he gets a paycheck which he is entitled to by Icelandic law.
He is not comfortable with receiving money for doing promotion so he has decided to donate the money to some charity.
This year the choice fell on a privately run childrens home in Togo.
He and his wife decided to travel to Togo to get a connection to the cause that they were supporting.
Well home he shows me some pictures and such from his trip and we discuss matters somewhat. He talks of meeting Togo´s number one shaman and having in his possesion some special amulets he got from him, which he could not find at the moment.
A few weeks later I went to deliver him a special orgone generator for his oldest son.
His son is having a difficult time these days so i put some effort into making a generator that might be of some relief to him.
My landlord and his wife were quite appreciative of my gesture and wanted to give me something back. I said it was not necessary to do that.
My landlord disappeared out of the room and returned with a dark brown ebony seed. He presented it to me as a gift in return and handed it to me.
My arm immediately reacted to it but I was in a position that made it difficult to observe what was going on.
I thanked him for it and he explained that it was used for protection and had been empowered by the great shaman of Togo.
I brought the ebony seed with me home and took it out with me when I walked to my silence chamber.
It had a very strange feeling to it and definately something supernatural took place.
My inner voice said that a curse of some kind was taking place, my outer voice being stupid and curious held on to the damned thing.
After enough curiosity and uncertainty I decided to check with my trusted friend Laozu the energetic status of the seed, so I sent him a photograph.
As I already knew in me but needed confirmation of it was of a negative breed and he told me to avoid it.
I decided that it had to die and all the chords attached to it.
I put it in a small wooden bowl with some dried Hibiscus leaves and headed for the black sandy beach. Well there in the pitch dark I placed the wooden bowl on the sand.
I took the ebony seed in my hand and carved a cross into it with a nail and hammered the nail through the center of the cross and the seed.
Carefully I removed the nail so that the wound was open and placed the seed in the wooden bowl. I poured flammable liquid over it and set it on fire.
Being very focused and attentive I kept my eyes on the seed as it burned.
But more than once I felt a strong presence of negative entities around me and turned my head to catch a glimpse of dark shadows.
When I did this the flames turned their direction despite the wind blowing against them…and tried to reach my feet.
I told them to back down very energetically, and they did.
The seed burned for a long time and I felt the need to turn it around to make sure that the whole thing burnt to ashes.
The only object I had to flip it over with was my small metal hammer made from steel.
I poked at the ebony seed which then had flames coming out from the wound i pierced, upon touching it with the hammer something very strange happened:
The hammer caught fire, the steel was in flames and the flames tried to get to my hands.
I told them again to back down, which they did.
The steel on the hammer had gone from shiny metal to black at this moment…
I watched the ebony seed and the wooden bowl burn to ashes and coal with all the patience it took and left its remains on the beach so that the oceans tide could swallow it up bury it in her fathomless bosom. I walked to my silence chamber and said a small prayer and gave a warning to the shaman.
Upon doing this a loud cracking sound came out from my chest and something let go of me, it felt good. I expressed my gratitude and walked home.
I guess the moral of the story is: Being in Iceland does not make you safe from curses from an African shaman! Stay alert and listen to that alarm clock you carry around with your being:)
This will be a good year.