The meandering Gypsy approached the dark bark shack after a long long solo journey deep into the dense forest.
A lady hermit had lived there for more than 3 centuries; older than the trees. Only in the last 107 years did she become a Curandera of the enchanted forest. The river was her life force and she allowed mushrooms to grow on her skin to reciprocate to Pacha MaMa and her cornucopias of life.
The exhausted Gypsy approached her, careful to not crush the miniature coats of mushroom colonies on her hand, with his salutatory grip. "I have come from sooo far away to see you and your Incense collection. I know they do wonders," he gasped and knelled before her.
"Please" she brushed off the hidden supplication. "Let's see what the orange incense magic says about your state of mind."
"Take your sandals off and enter my area with no jewels, no metals and no thoughts of yonder" she hissed lightly.
Before he knew it, the Gypsy was engulfed in the sudden fumigation of the incense. After all, the Curandera could play the incense smoke like an instrument. Guiding it, provoking it, drifting with it...
The Gypsy understood the answer and fell asleep with tranquility together with the soothing sound of the river flow nearby. "It is like a cascade on my forehead", he whispered to his silent shadow.
The next morning the Gypsy woke up accompanied by lucid memories. But she was gone. The Curandera had left her footprints on the way out the shack.
"I must find her and be with her company" he heard his stomach say. The yearning was like acid.
The Curandera came back to the bark shack that afternoon to see that the Gypsy had left abruptly. "Why would he leave me without saying goodbye; no embrace." she said with a tenor's note of disappointment.
The Gypsy was rather lost after 3 days of searching in the forest for her. He was frantic for her but needed to rest on the moldy ground for awhile. He told himself, "Rest; just for a few minutes." His mind quickly became a void... The greedy insects and good friends gathered around the aroma very eagerly. His nostrils became plugged with little legs and arms. His ears, labyrinth to his soul.
The Curandera knew he was gone and ingested by Pacha MaMa. He was consumed. The incense smoke will always rise and in the same manner, so will the Truth.
Her sorrow was so deep and pungent that the mushrooms proliferated on her body at a rapid rate, and completely buried her within hours.
She was totally consumed.
An exquisite tragedy, the ancient trees thought collectively. The Wind God drifted, darrrrred not comment.