She was tiny. Very still. She had signed up for Medicine Man, because he was half Native Canadian, but kept being drawn to me, and she honoured that.

As she was seated, I felt my throat closing violently, as if I were being strangled, and I remarked upon that. Her eyes widened slightly, but she was a very quiet young girl.

Yet her spirit! Huge. Not that it was beaming through like a beacon. She had done her best to be invisible. To not attract any attention. It pained me that her life was so traumatic that she suppressed her beautiful spirit.

It turns out that the Native Canadian connection she craved was with my 1/8 Passamaquoddy Tribe blood. She is half Passamaquoddy. We are truly related. It’s a small tribe.

I told her of the impact her life would make on others as she walked softly upon the earth. Her spirit would touch the lives of many. She may flee from this while so very young, but she will eventually remember who she is, my little cousin with the huge spirit.

I knew better than to actually touch the throat of someone who had been strangled, so I worked with my guides to heal this in a more gentle manner.

Her guides began working with me and mine, and showed me a whole new technique, walked me through it actually.

I had been tortured for weeks with a searing pain in my back, near the shoulder blade. I couldn’t reach it with my hands to heal it. I couldn’t breathe properly because of it and my lack of neti pot.

The session left me, for the first time, without pain, and absolutely exhiliarated. I was Wonder Woman!

I thanked her for allowing me to share energy with her. I knew it was difficult for her. She didn’t have much trust of people in her life, yet she instinctively trusted me.

I also knew it was difficult for her to hug, yet I had to hug her as she left. She was gracious.

Tiny Shaman with the huge spirit!

I will always remember you.

You are in my heart.

We have left the Rock, and have two days to relax before we set up at the next venue. The Inn was full where Rye and Ginger stayed along with Illa, their long time travelling companion.

Medicine Man usually takes a room at the local university. Cheap rates, food on site, wireless access in the cafeteria. Only it’s a dorm room. And there was only a double left.

This means that I am sharing a room with a man, and, sorry, Warrior Woman, not in a slutty way, although I acknowledge your efforts to pimp me out.

I find Medicine Man to be very interesting in various ways. Very soft spoken, this comes from his Ojibway heritage. Half Italian explains his love of the food.

His mother married his best friend when he was a teenager. He left for the bad streets and bright city lights because he couldn’t handle it. And really? Who could? Then began what he calls his “colourful life”.

A lot of his personal friends are strippers, dominatrices, and women generally associated with the sex trade. It seems he has experience in the field. He became deeply entrenched in “The Life”.

For three years, he slept with a gun under his pillow because he opted out of the shady underworld that connected the Hell’s Angels to the Italian organization. (His father was the Italian connection)

I asked him why he stopped (with the gun sleeping thing). He says that now he doesn’t care.

I wondered if that was why he drove the way he did.

He was offended that I thought his driving was bad.

Half Indian. I asked if he subscribed to the theory that “Today is a good day to die”. And? Was he fixing to take me with him?

We were all crammed into a van, which boarded the ferry for a seventeen hour trip to Mooseland. There was Rye and Ginger, Illa, and Medicine Man.

Illa had generously offered half of her bed the night before, but neither of us was comfortable sleeping with someone, so it was an iffy nights sleep. And we had to be up at five am to catch the ferry.

There was entertainment on the ferry in many forms. I saw a little kid bouncing up and down in the video arcade around midnight.

Luckily, Tenderheart had rented a cabin, and various members of the psychic tour took turns crashing on one of the bunks in it. It was pure heaven to the sleep deprived.

Speaking of sleep-deprived, this morning Illa volunteered to go to Timmie’s and fetch us some breakkie. She asked if I wanted something, and I said I wasn’t hungry. I have no recollection of this.

But I digress.

On the ship was a husband and wife act in the lounge. I could tell by the way she cut her eyes at him that there was trouble in paradise that day.

He had a script of jokes, which he told well. He brought out this mandolin, which he informed us was his “girlfriend” adding that the wife was jealous of her.

Do I have a big mouth? Why, yes, yes I do.

I cracked “Does that bitch (the mandolin) make your supper for you?”

Immediately, the wife cracked up. Just lost it.

The husband? Not so much.

Will-Yummy and a few of his relatives hung out with me.

We always manage to have a good time.

I’m low man on the totem pole with these shared accommodations. Last one to get a shower, so left behind when the others run errands.

Will-Yummy and Tenderheart are showing the rellies around, and promised to stop by and take me with.

I have a plan. Let’s hope they remember the plan.