In this episode, Spearcarrier opens up about a tumultuous return to—and swift departure from—a commercial shaman school. After feeling "poked off the dragonfly branch" and losing connection to the spirits, a moment of intervention from the spirit world itself turns everything around.

We explore the differences between the expensive, "cookie-cutter" Western shamanic training and the more traditional Ulchi belief that spirits, not schools, select and train the shaman. Spearcarrier discusses the dangers of the commercialized path, the importance of finding a listening elder rather than a guru, and what it means to be a "small shaman" healing in a quiet house.

Topics Covered:

• The decision to leave a shamanic school after less than 24 hours.
• How a spirit blocked my sight to get my attention (and how I got it back).
• Discovering the Ulchi path and its parallels to my own upbringing.
• The problem with "spiritual humvees" and pay-to-play shamanism in the West.
• Healing from spiritual wounds and the value of taking it one day at a time.

Do you remember what a wyrm is? I remember. I know.

For years, I was trapped between two worlds: the fabricated identity my mother pushed on our family and the deep, wyrd magic that was my true inheritance.

In this episode, I'm adding to the whole story as I've told it so far. It's a tale of growing up with unseen gifts, of a father who could chase away dragons, and of a Great Wyrm who found me through a mirror when I was 14 and tried to make me his. This is the story of how that Wyrm tore my family apart, how I was isolated and betrayed, and how, on the longest night of the year, I finally reclaimed my power, my heritage, and my connection to the wyrd.

Perhaps this tale will give you direction and fuel your only wyrdly connections.

Check more at my webstie, therivershaman.com, where you can also choose to support and help keep the wyrdness coming.

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Spearcarrier here—computer fan screamin’, space-heater roastin’ my toes, pizza waitin’ in the wings. Complete with swear words. In this one I sit down with Many Cats and chew over:

• the Tale of the Moldy Ham Sandwich (yes, it’s still in the fridge)

• how a real-deal fairy ring sucked me into an eight-hour daily dance marathon

• “Fairy Hitler” and his soul-siphonin’, gem-bedazzled cicada self

• hitting Level Zero burnout and the ritual that brought my soul piece home

• lessons learned: grounding, energetic hygiene

• shout-out to Dragon Shaman (link on the blog) for legit cleanup help - thedragonshaman.net

Grab a mug of chamomile brew, park yourself somewhere comfy, and let’s ramble through myth, magic, and mayhem together. Blog posts, recipes, and extra snark live over at TheRiverShaman.com.

Thanks for listening, and remember: we took care of those thorns.

I wanted to share what I've learned the hard way about identifying and protecting ourselves from parasitic entities, specifically goblins. Oh yes, I learned the hard way that they're very real. We'll go over red flags and discuss how these beings operate. I'll share those traditional protection charms, along with their history and translations. This is really just me sharing my research and experiences in the hopes it might help someone else who's going through something similar. I'd be interested to hear what y'all think and what methods you use for your own spiritual protection.

Primary Source Figure: Jacob Grimm, Deutsche Mythologie (Teutonic Mythology), first published in 1835.

They say the gods are so harsh to those they call, they could be considered abusive. The result is an underlying acceptance that suffering is some sort of penance you pay for the honor of being chosen. Those who must endure the negativity are often shunted aside when they complain about how they're being treated. But there are times the complaints are valid. The complacency over certain forms of outright abuse in the name of the gods is being used as a shield by astral predators, and the chosen pay the price.

I break down how that is and offer up some clues on how to tell if you are being eaten alive.

In this reflection, I explore the profound connection between the falling rain and the often-overlooked necessity of grief. We live in a world that encourages us to fight against what we perceive as negative, but what if these forces have a rightful place in the natural order? I share a personal experience with a "sorrow drinker," a spirit I came to understand not as an adversary, but as a teacher. This encounter taught me about the beauty in despair, the importance of catharsis, and our forgotten role as stewards of a world that encompasses both light and shadow. Join me as I discuss how embracing sorrow can lead to a more balanced and authentic existence.

When the Shamanic Death Cycle Finally Ends

In this episode, I’m finally unpacking the conclusion to my wild shamanic awakening journey—what I’ve been calling the “saga of the ham sandwich.” It all kicked off with a harrowing “fairy bride” experience that threw me into a living nightmare. For months, I was chewed upon by psychic parasites and attacked by hostile covens who hijacked my spiritual process, leaving me drained, confused, and nearly broken. I’ll share how entities like Loki and Odin stood by me during this trial by fire, even when I didn’t understand what was happening.

The turning point came with a “Rumpelstiltskin moment”—the profound realization that simply naming the source of the attack could break its power over me. This episode is about coming out the other side, rediscovering ancestral arts like “pitch pulling,” and finding peace after the chaos. I’m sharing this raw and convoluted story as a testament to survival and to let anyone else going through their own “crazy shit” know that you are not alone, you can make it through, and there is immense power in speaking your truth.

Discussion of an ancient oral tradition rite. Then the saga continues. With the First having been rescued and my wings repaired, I end up going to Frigg over the domestic dispute.

Warning: this episode contains sensitive topics.

In this episode, I’m picking up where I left off in the saga of my shamanic journey, a deeply personal story of being a “walker between worlds.” This journey has been one of immense pain, centered around the separation from my “split soul”—the other half of my being. I recount how a deceptive, bug-like fairy entity wooed my other half, leading to a period of abuse that resulted in her wings being shredded, a trauma I felt as if it were my own. The loss left me heartbroken and desperate, and after being turned away by the great Norse healer Mengloð, I felt I had nowhere to turn. Through it all, I confessed the entire bizarre ordeal to my husband, who stayed on the phone with me for hours, showing unwavering support even when I felt I was losing everything. This part of the story is about hitting rock bottom, the pain of a severed soul connection, and finding strength in unexpected places.

Welcome back to the River Shaman Ramblings. This week, we continue the “Saga of the Ham Sandwich” with a tale of astral projection, imprisonment, and a desperate bid for freedom. I found my other half, a fairy being, trapped in a new, sterile room by her abusive mate. Her wing, a symbol of our connection, had been brutally tattered, leaving her a prisoner unable to even see her own children. The sight of her mate’s contempt as she danced was the final straw, and together, we decided she had to run.

The escape was not the end of the story, but the beginning of a new kind of agony. While my other half was free, I was left reeling, screaming my rage and pain into the void of space. The ripped wing was a constant, searing reminder of the trauma, a pain I had to hide from friends and family who wouldn’t understand. They just wanted the screaming to stop.

My search for help grew desperate. Just as I hit my lowest point, the connection flickered back to life. She was watching a sunrise, the first she’d seen in ages. As she performed a familiar ritual dance, our bond strengthened, and I could see through her eyes again. Below her tree, three travelers with a wooden cart appeared. Unafraid, she climbed down to them—like a squirrel, a revelation that made me laugh—and offered them a blessing. After a long conversation, where I helped her find her voice to show them her tattered wing, they covered her head with a red cloth and placed her in their cart. As they pulled away, she watched the world go by, thinking, “I forgot what a sunrise looked like.” She was starting a new chapter, but I was left behind with my pain, my failing cosmic connection, and the dawning realization that this fight was far from over.