I think maybe I should write a story about a jungle tribe.
They hunt during the day, cook food, worship their gods. Life is idyllic with the drops of dew, sparkling on the huge meaty leaves of tropical plants. And the colorful birds create noise and ruckus in the lush foliage.
When the evening comes, myriads of stars appear in the sky and people get anxious because they don't understand what they see. The stars are so strange.
They prefer to think that those are the signs of some benevolent forces that rule their lives. They carry outside a huge cauldron where they boil a concoction of magic herbs. The red tongues of fire perform a magic dance and cast the long mysterious shadows around.
Everything around is drowning in darkness. The sky is black with tiny remote specks of stars. They blink strangely as if trying to transmit some messages.
The steaming concoction in the cauldron is supposed to appease the spirits and provide a connection to the stars. Because the stars are the part of life. Although, they are not related to hunting, to food, daily rituals, and routines.
People look at the flames that dance like the smart fingers of a magician. Casting shades. They think the shades, the flames, and the stars are somehow connected. They don't know how.
Maybe the shaman knows, but he doesn't tell anybody. Because he cannot speak. He can only sing, but the words of the song belong to a different language nobody knows. Maybe it's a language of people who lived here a million of years ago.
At least they can remember those words from endless repetitions. Can it be, that you learn the meaning of words just hearing them again and again? Some think they can, but they cannot convey what they know to the others. So everybody assumes that only the shaman knows the truth.
The strange words and melody mix with the dance of flames and shadows. The stars high above blink, trying to convey their messages. Or maybe they don't care. Who knows.
When the sun rises, everybody once again returns to the daily routines. And the dew shines on the meaty leaves of those tropic plants.
Every member of the tribe has to pass a ritual of initiation. The ritual consists of subjecting him to physical pain. It lasts long enough so he can decide what he thinks about it. Then the elders would ask what he thinks about it. And he would say, that it sucks. And the elders would decide, that he's passed the test.
Some members of the tribe are more tolerant to pain, and it's assumed that they can talk to the spirits. Because apparently a conversation with the spirits is painful, but somebody has to do it.
The spirits tell the tribe about good and bad omens and whether the future holds good events or dangers. They pass the messages from the deceased. This produces a feeling that the life of the tribe is an unbreakable chain of generations. And those who die, move to the even better place with an eternal sunshine. A place where the drops of dew shine on the meaty leaves of the tropical plants.
Maybe it's also somehow connected to the stars. But nobody knows except for the shaman who cannot tell because he doesn't speak, only sing in a language nobody can understand.
People of the tribe struggle with the concept of killing animals during the hunt. They wonder whether the souls of those animals travel to the better world of their ancestors. And later they return to this world. As well as the souls of men, killed during the hunt. So everybody assumes that the souls constantly travel between those two realms of living and dead.
They also struggle with the concept of pain. They try to figure out its purpose. They've decided that probably it's a vehicle necessary to travel between the realms of living and dead. Because when somebody dies, it hurts. Or, maybe, it's a fire, giving the clay its permanent form.
Maybe the shaman could tell for sure, but he only sings, and even those, who think they can understand the meaning of words, cannot convey this knowledge to others.
The tribe lives on an Island surrounded by the ocean. The ocean is another enigma. Nobody knows what it means. Does it lead somewhere? Since you cannot walk on the water everybody assumes that it doesn't lead anywhere. Maybe, farther away everything turns into an abstraction - a pure idea of existence. Or maybe there is a realm of the dead on the other side. Nobody knows. Except for the shaman.
Some think that maybe the shaman doesn't know either. And the words in his song don't mean anything. But it's an uncomfortable thought. So everybody prefers to believe that the song does make sense. At least it has the same rhythm with the red tongues of fire and the dancing shades at night