Disclaimer: these stories are a work of fiction.
She comes to him, the shaman in his cave in the wilderness.
In the outside world she is the Empress, and thousands live or die by the wisdom of her decisions.
Any conceivable luxury is hers to command, anything and everything the empire has to offer.
The handsomest of men, the most skilled lovers, are eager to supply her with any kind of dalliance she might happen to desire.
Her power extends even here, in the remote wildness. She could, if for some reason she might happen to want to, easily have the shaman killed. It would take only a word to her soldiers, and they’d leap to obey.
And no one would care.
That is the power she holds.
The shaman has nothing.
He has no power in the world.
His cave is bare and empty of any luxury.
And the shaman himself is not tall or handsome. He is ugly, his hair is long and ragged, his only clothing a loincloth.
She has sent her soldiers away.
When she’s ready, she undresses, and the shaman binds her with knotted ropes.
Stripped of everything, of her clothes, of her physical possessions, of all her power… she lies bound and helpless and naked on the cold stone floor of the cave.
It’s her choice to partake of this ritual. It’s not a choice she can un-choose.
Whatever unbearable pain or unbearable pleasure she might experience, she has no escape. No choice at all in what happens to her.
There’s no decision she can make here that will make the slightest bit of difference.
The shaman has complete power over her.
Indeed, in a curious symmetry, the shaman could kill her now as easily as she could have had him killed from her palace.
However, just as the shaman has nothing in the material world, and accepts no material gifts, neither does he affect the material world.
In a week, she’ll be released unharmed.
In a week, her soldiers will return for her and take her home. Carrying away nothing but memories.
The shaman’s domain is the realm of the psyche.
The land of dreams. Where her actions and her choices have no consequence.
For you see, though she can indulge in any conceivable luxury, her power never leaves her.
The handsomest, most skilled lover… his future, his fortune, rises or falls with every lift of her eyebrow, every turn of her mouth.
She can enjoy the pleasures her lovers bring her… but how can she possibly relax?
To relax or not to relax, to be happy or unhappy… these are the realm of the psyche.
For all the power her conscious mind wields, she has no conscious control over her psyche.
She can for some good reason take an action that she knows will make her unhappy… but she doesn’t choose to be unhappy. Her feeling of happiness or unhappiness comes from her psyche.
The domain of the shaman.
Stripped of all power, of all choice, kept completely helpless… for this week, she is enslaved.
And she’ll be happy.
Happy in her slavery.
For that is the power of the shaman.
Naturally in her palace she enjoys the attention of her lovers, the exquisite entertainments of her court, and her luxuries… but for her, this, this is her vacation.
The pilgrimage she makes every year.
And if war might be declared and the empire fall into turmoil because she’s absent for a week? If her deputies might not be able to handle the crisis without her?
Well, the empire be damned. She gives it her all. And once a year, for a week, she takes a vacation. For herself.
She makes a pilgrimage.
She comes to the shaman.
And gives him her complete, total surrender.
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