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Not a Princess

Friday, March 15, 2019
35 minutes

Hey guys,

Tonight we are going to talk about a girl. We do not know her name, to be honest, but we know she died when she was about 25, after struggling for years against a breast cancer that slowly killed her. She was buried during the 5th century BC in a subterranean tomb in the Siberian steppes near the Chinese border, and found in 1993 by a team of Russian archaeologists after she had been frozen for almost 2500 years. At first, they thought she was a princess.

 

No girl would leave for such a long trip without wearing her best clothes and taking her cosmetic bag too… you never know who you’re going to meet on the other side… and our Siberian friend was dressed in silk, with a make-up bag at her side, along with a container full of cannabis, some food and three horses, slaughtered to accompany her on her last journey. Because this girl didn’t spend her life within walls, but on a saddle.

 

What would you take with you in the afterlife, if you could choose? Cannabis, of course… and then? Red wine or beer? Maybe your car or motorbike instead of a horse? Dead have no needs, but the living who have been left behind still feel the need to take care of them. And I remember a sunny day in Howth, on the Irish coast. We were strolling about and entering a small cemetery. There, a tomb, a cross and a teddy bear tied to it, wheatherworn.

 

That’s right… we are talking about death. The most democratic experience in the world, as everyone of us is going to face it, sooner or later. Are you scared? Was the Siberian girl scared? No, I’m sure she wasn’t. First because she was ill, trying to dull her pain sniffing weed, and death came as a relief to her; second, because she was a shaman, her body partially covered in tattoos. She was no stupid princess, she was a spiritual guide to her people.

 

Are you still there? Touching wood and hoping next episode will be happier? You are dreamers. Every bus comes to its terminus, it’s just a matter of time. The difference is your attitude. When the time comes, will you be a stupid blonde princess crying out loud, or a shaman ready to ride along new paths? In 1935, in Lisbon, Fernando Pessoa on his deathbed asked for his spectacles. He was no stupid prince. He was a modern shaman. Goodnight, children.