Prophecies from a Pile of Incense and Wishful Thinking
Seriously? Shamans. Predicting the future. On a hill. Because apparently, humanitys most pressing need is to know if next Tuesday will bring slightly more rain than Monday. I mean, we’ve got global pandemics, political unrest, and the slow creep of existential dread – but that demands a group of people chanting into the wind while draped in feathers?
Lets be honest, this isnt about ancient wisdom or connection to the cosmos. It’s about tourism, photo ops, and generating enough buzz to justify elaborate headdresses. The spirits say…inflation will continue! Groundbreaking stuff! I could have told you that without needing a ceremonial gourd of something vaguely hallucinogenic.
And these pronouncements? Vague platitudes dressed up as divine insight. “Harmony with nature.” “A time of transformation. Yeah, because the earth isnt constantly undergoing transformation while we’re busy paving it over and arguing about parking spaces. Its all so wonderfully meaningless.
I fully expect next years predictions will involve more talk of interconnectedness and less actual concrete advice on, say, preventing another ecological disaster. Just a lot of chanting, feathers, and the unsettling feeling that you’ve wasted several perfectly good hours. Someone get me a strong coffee.
