Between Souls

The Spirit Catches You, and You Get Body Slammed I came to Missoula to ask him About the inner workings of ua neeb.

To understand the symbolic significance of split horns And spirit horses who trace their noble smoky path To turns of an auspicious moon above ancient Qin. My tape recorder at the ready, My fountain pen freshly filled with indigo ink, My ears, my eyes, my heart: All were humbly waiting for The wise shaman's words To impart to the next generation Of youths who sought this fading voice.

He spoke, and my interpreter said: "Who's your favorite wrestler?"

I wasn't certain I'd heard properly.

"Grandpa wants to know who your favorite wrestler is."

My interpreter turned back to the shaman, speaking Hmong.

Rising with a stately elder's grace, the shaman confidently said: "Randy Macho Man Savage!" and struck a macho pose.

Smiling, he then offered me a cup of hot coffee.

I was too stunned to say anything more For the rest of the afternoon.

Years later, I still have dreams of shining Shee Yee Smashing writhing demons into blue turnbuckles, Watching next to a hundred smiling shamans in the audience.

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