The Shaman Desires Transcendence

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Parasite.

A parasite that dwells within the divine—

At that moment, a single word flashed through Ashtosh Singh’s mind.

The fragmented realization of that fleeting moment struck him like lightning, slicing through the unknown fog and transforming ambiguity into certainty. It was a conclusion forged from instinct rather than logic. An answer scribbled hastily, riddled with leaps of thought instead of grounded reasoning.

“Shaman! It’s a shaman—!!!”

Yet, it was the correct answer. The evidence was flimsy, completed with hasty generalizations, and just as flimsy as a castle built on sand, liable to crumble at any moment. Nevertheless, Ashtosh Singh was convinced in his mind that this flicker of understanding was ‘the truth.’

Was it an insight granted by the passage of time?

Was it a sensation produced by his instincts?

Or if neither, could it be that his elevated soul briefly glimpsed the fragments of truth in communion with the divine?

The answer, indeed, it is—

No voices could be heard.

Yet, for some reason, whispers from that malevolent shaman lingered by his ear.

It was neither a voice nor written words, but an exertion of will.

Ashtosh Singh was familiar with that technique. It was the method known among martial artists as “Heart of Wisdom,” and by wizards as “Telepathy.”

But still, despite this familiarity, Ashtosh Singh felt a disquieting strangeness about it.

It was too specific to be called Telepathy, and lacked the brightness associated with “Heart of Wisdom.”

Despite the name “Heart of Wisdom,” there was no prajna—wisdom—acknowledged in Sanskrit, and it lacked true connection to be labeled Telepathy…

Ah.

“This is neither a light from the outside nor an expressiveness of will sent through mental connection.”

He realized.

This was a sound coming from within rather than without.

What flashed through his mind possessed a distinction between self and other, yet remained unclear, hence its ambiguity and vagueness.

It resembled the essence of the mind; when contemplating something, it shifts without being clearly defined, a vagueness that stirs actions in people, yet gives rise to conflicts or dilemmas among different vagueness…

Thus, it is not large, nor wise, nor complete, merely capable of creating confusion and leading one astray…

“It whispers from within, from within.”

He again realized.

The word ‘Shaman’ that fluttered through Ashtosh Singh’s mind, derived from Park Jinseong’s signature, had brought him to a singular conclusion.

“You dare to parasitize me and manipulate me as you please—!!!”

It was a mental parasitism.

It was an erosion of the spirit.

Park Jinseong.

That being who could rightfully be called a shaman was not only stealing Ashtosh Singh’s flame to use as if it were his own, but also—through that body—affecting Ashtosh Singh’s mind.

“What’s the distinction between you and me? When the line between self and other blurs, and subjectivity becomes even more nebulous, if a person can only reach completion in society, then is the subject the individual or the other? If individuals lack their own subjectivity, then what on earth is the society they create?”

“If humans lack meaning, what worth does society have? If society possesses significance, are those within it truly meaningful? Can society be built upon mere selfhood? Must the other become the subject for society to be formed? Then what is the balance of self and other, and that of the subject?”

Park Jinseong gazes at Ashtosh Singh.

Creeping.

Bugs burst forth from the cracks in his skin.

They mimic human teeth, mimic the fangs of beasts, and shape-shift into tongues of all creatures. In between, many legs protrude, squirming to assert their presence as they raise their heads to gaze at him with dot-like eyes.

“If there is a boundary of the heart, then that is indeed the division.”

“What distinguishes ‘us’ is the heart, and what differentiates ‘we’ is also the heart. How, then, can anything exist without the heart? With only the heart, with a pure heart, one must show compassion. Consider your neighbor as your family and love them; when you see someone in poverty, help them as if it were your own affairs. Thus, treating another as yourself is deemed virtuous.”

He hears the whisper.

A whisper spewed from false lips.

With myriad mouths sprouting from his torso, Park Jinseong speaks.

You and I are not different, and I regard you as myself. You too are of the same essence, thus we are never different. This is no evil, but belongs to virtue; it is the right course of action.

And thus Park Jinseong ceaselessly whispers.

Is the body singular, or plural?

We do not see cells and say, “It is alive.”

We merely peer through a microscope at invisible cells and say, “It moves.”

But can one look at a single-celled organism and assert, “That is not alive”?

Is there anyone who will deny the life of a unicellular organism as a single entity?

This is not fundamentally different from such reasoning.

A human body comprises trillions of cells, so how can one assert it to be entirely whole?

The whisper lingers.

A will as hazy as can be.

It fills his mind, as though it were his own thought.

Thoughts arise languidly, indistinct yet firmly lodged in his head, seeming to be absorbed like nutrients.

Ashtosh Singh tries to halt that by conjuring different thoughts, but just like the mental chatter that comes with complex feelings, it overwhelms him, ensnaring him in confusion like a bewildered sentient being.

The voices outside.

The voices inside.

Caught between the two, Ashtosh Singh felt as though he had become nothing but a shell.

“Neither outside is me, nor inside am I.”

Thus, Ashtosh Singh could only exist at the boundary.

He existed merely as the wall that divides the outside and inside.

He felt an ominous premonition.

Ha.

Haha.

Hahahahaha—

This horrid sensation, like a parasite eating away and trying to replace him.

This feeling akin to a beast shredding the exterior and devouring the insides.

These two sensations converge upon him.

He feels isolated in the world.

Everything seems to reject him, imposing a dreadful end.

Ashtosh Singh closed his eyes.

For now, there was no meaning in gazing at Park Jinseong.

“You are a shaman. Let me ask you one thing.”

“You stated that the flame does not burn itself, implying a reason.”

“But is that truly the case?”

“The meaning of the statement is that you and I are no different; it is not that one does not burn oneself.”

The flame does not burn the flame.

Nor does it ever.

If Park Jinseong indeed parasitizes Ashtosh Singh, it would likewise be feasible to deceive him of possessing the same traits.

“You are not a divine parasite, nor a flame’s parasite. You are my parasite.”

He gazed upon Park Jinseong, who unrepentantly took Ashtosh Singh’s flame.

He thought that it sought to mimic the sacred and attempt to dwell within the flame.

Yet, that was not the case.

That was a mirror.

A mirror reflecting Ashtosh Singh as he was.

Was it said that his body was taken?

If so, then what stood before him was no different from his own body.

Was it said that it dared to imitate the divine?

Then Ashtosh Singh was the same as well.

Did it attempt to dwell within the flame?

Ashtosh Singh did too.

Parasitism is an act of selfishly gaining benefits.

Then the tricks performed by the shaman Park Jinseong are likely similar in nature….

“You took my flame and nourished it. Ah, so it is.”

The realization dawns.

It was not a striking bolt of lightning, nor a whirlwind of sudden gusts.

It was a flame blooming slowly.

A flicker illuminating from the ashes thought to be entirely extinguished, slowly crawling out, beginning to grow.

Ah…

Although I claimed to prioritize the greater cause, I too am but a mundane human.

Thus, while proclaiming a grand purpose, I placed worldly matters first, placing my interests above all else, and atop it all, I laid my emotions.

Indeed, so it was.

“Perhaps I might truly not be different from you.”

I appreciated the kindness shown by the child of spring and likewise returned the favor.

Yet, I manipulated that child and attached a rationale to distort the fulfillment of their wishes.

Could it be said that no feelings of self-interest laced that wish?

A precious being finds value in what it cherishes; thus, something dear must also be held dear. Based on this principle, the spring child who showed kindness ought to reciprocate as well; and unless a blatant curse manifests, I too ought to be the same.

Did I act thusly?

“The flame does not discriminate and claims to encompass all, yet how could I have tried to reject you? I hastily determined it conflicted with my goals, but prior to that, why didn’t I endeavor with all my heart to yield or reach an agreement?”

“Though I felt a twinge of unease and a crooked sensation, I proclaimed it was right to cast you aside; how could I have twisted the premise that bonds are to be treasured?”

“How did I turn the string of fate into fishing line and attach a hook at its end?”

Finally, I understand.

“Ah, oh great deity, truth, magnificent truth….”

Ashtosh Singh quietly closed his eyes, murmuring like sobbing.

“Although I lived to resemble the divine, it was merely blind obsession.”

“I viewed reflections uneasily and chose to distance myself from the mirror, rather than accept it within my heart. How can this be anything but self-hatred?”

“At this moment, I realize I cannot even fully love myself.”

“If I cannot affirm myself, how then can I become part of the divine?”

It is in vain.

Vain and utterly in vain.

Oh, divine one.

Everything is in vain…

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