The tribe gathered around; the shaman tossed sacred herbs onto the fire. Smoke rose and curled upward, infusing us with its spirit. Then the god appeared from the smoke and spoke through us, one at a time: shaman first, then the elders, then the warriors, then us. The god’s harsh words troubled our souls.
But then, as always, came the comforting interpretations. “That was symbolic, you know,” “A counsel of perfection only, of course,” and “Those words were for our ancestors, who weren’t as enlightened as we are today.”
See how well the holy words fit the crevices of reason?
Memorable Fancies 
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