My Vision

I was sixteen years old when my life changed forever. One night, my consciousness left my body, and I found myself in a vision that continues to sustain me to this day.

I wandered through nature—but what I saw was not the beauty I knew. The forests were bare, the lakes and rivers poisoned, the air heavy with destruction. Animals lay by the wayside, sick, disfigured, suffering. I could feel their pain as if it were my own—the silent cry of the animal and plant world calling out for help.

I walked on and reached populated areas that resembled modern cities, yet war-like conditions prevailed here. Ruined houses, fires, neglected streets. Amid this chaos, I saw a mother with her child. She seemed out of her mind, distant, as if she had long since lost herself. The child was crying; his knees were scraped; he was hungry and desperately seeking love—but the mother could not perceive him. This sight burned itself into my heart. I felt the suffering of the entire world, as if I were carrying it on my own shoulders.

Shaken, I continued on my way and came to an area where nature was once again untouched. In the distance, in a clearing, stood a teepee. Something drew me irresistibly toward it.

From the outside, it looked like a simple tent. But when I stepped inside, a space as large as a ballroom opened up before me. By a fire in the center, a Native American was waiting for me—long brown hair, traditional jewelry, a leather loincloth. He stood up, walked toward me, and his face radiated deep joy. He had been waiting for me.

He stood right in front of me and looked me in the eyes. In that moment, I felt as if I were in a trance. Through his eyes, I could see the entire universe—planets, stars, endless expanses. It was as if his body were merely a loose shell within which all of creation existed. Overwhelmed by the sight, I burst into tears.

He just smiled at me, gently touched my shoulders, and brought me back to my senses. “Hey,” he said, “I’ve got more to show you.”

He raised his right hand and touched me at the level of my heart. Immediately, I felt a warmth wash over me; a light radiated from my chest, and it felt as though I were expanding infinitely. The world-weariness that had been weighing me down just moments before transformed into something entirely different—a loving, all-encompassing connection with all that is. Peaceful, harmonious, and filled with light.

That, too, was so overwhelming that I nearly lost consciousness. He shook me awake again, smiled—as always—and then touched my forehead, my third eye. That, too, opened, and an infinite light radiated from it. The entire scene dissolved—him, me, the teepee, all forms. Suddenly, I was the entire universe. I no longer had a body; I was pure consciousness, extending across all of creation, permeated by bliss and countless experiences, all happening simultaneously in a single moment.

Then I heard his voice: “No, don’t go yet. It’s not time yet. I still have an important message to give you.”

Slowly, I began to feel my body again, and the scene came back to me—the teepee, the fire, and him standing before me, smiling just as before. “That was the first step on your path,” he said. “You will walk this path for the rest of your life. And soon, your first teacher will be waiting for you.”

Then he turned me around by my shoulders and practically shoved me out of the teepee—and I woke up, sitting upright in bed, tears streaming down my face, completely shaken by what had happened to me.

I didn’t talk to anyone about that night. Not my parents, not my best friends, who I was visiting on vacation. The experience lingered with me for a long time, but as time went on, I began to wonder if it really meant anything.

Until, about four to six weeks later, I went to my favorite bookstore after school—Sirius Books, a small esoteric bookstore. As usual, the promotional sign with the latest news was standing in front of the door. And it read: Native American shaman offering private sessions.

At that moment, it hit me like a bolt of lightning—the vision, the shaman, his words. It all came flooding back.

I went inside. Peter, the owner, was already standing at the register and greeted me: “Hey Tim, glad you’re here. Philipp’s been waiting for you.” — “Who’s Philipp?” — “Philipp—he’s the shaman. He said you’d be coming.”

I couldn’t believe it. But I waited, and after half an hour, his last client came out of the back room. I stepped into the room—and it felt like coming home. Like seeing a brother again after a long time. It wasn’t the same figure who had appeared to me that night, but it was Philipp “Spirit Bear” Kansa—a Native American shaman who welcomed me warmly.

“I’m sure you have a lot of questions,” he said. “We can talk a little bit now. And if you’re interested—we’re holding a workshop nearby this weekend. If you like it and your parents give you permission, you can start training with me.”

That was my first step on the path of shamanism.