Shaman Song of the Fissure

(For one who has entered the self and found no way out)


I will enter you not through the mouth,
but through that which you forgot to exhale.

I will exit you not through the eye,
but through that which you sealed with your gaze.

I will open you not as a body,
but as an untrodden trace,
where your paw has not yet stepped.

I am singing:
Aya-a-a-a…
You thought you were walking,
but it is your trace that walks behind you,
and it is hungry.
It eats your steps,
it drinks your names,
it leaves you behind in its place.

Aya-a-a-a…
I do not heal—I remember
what it is like to be unborn,
when your body does not yet know
that it is human,
and your soul already knows
that it is beast.

I am blowing into your fissure:
Hoo-hoo-hoo…
The fissure is not a wound,
it is the mouth you forgot to close
the first time you lied to yourself.

Hoo-hoo-hoo…
I breathe into you the scent of my father,
who had not yet become a man,
but had already ceased to be a beast—
he smells of smoke that does not burn,
but waits for you to breathe it back in.

I am rubbing your bones:
Rub-rub-rub…
These are not fingers—they are branches
that you gathered into a pile
to hide the fire,
but the fire hid you.

Rub-rub-rub…
I rub your ribs
until they become paws,
I rub your skull
until it becomes a cave,
where hands had not yet been painted,
but teeth had already been used to draw.

I am singing you a name:
Your name is not a sound,
but a hole,
the one you left through
when you decided to become human.
Your name is not a word,
but a trace,
one you have not yet left,
but are already following.

I am concluding:
Aya-a-a-a…
Now you are not walking,
you are remembering
how to step,
when there are no legs yet,
but the earth is already waiting.

Aya-a-a-a…
Now you are not being healed,
you are remembering
how to be whole,
when you had not yet been sick,
but are already recovering.

I am leaving:
Not into the forest.
Not into the city.
But into you.
I remain.
As the fissure.
As the trace.
As the tooth that has not yet grown,
but already bites.

Repeat.
Not the words.
But the remembering.
It heals,
because it does not forget.
It lives,
because it never began.
It is the you,
who has not yet left,
but has already returned.
Aya-a-a-a…
The trace is finished.
But it continues
inside you,
as long as you breathe,
as long as you are silent,
as long as you step
not forward,
but inward.

I will enter you not through the mouth,
but through that which you forgot to exhale.


*   *   *

Commentary on the Text and Translation

Commentary on the Text Itself

This text is pure ritual. It's a performative piece that functions as a shamanic chant, designed to induce a trance-like state and facilitate an inner transformation. Its power comes from its direct, incantatory language, its primal imagery, and its cyclical, hypnotic structure.

1. Ritualistic Structure: The song is built around a series of shamanic actions ("I enter," "I sing," "I blow," "I rub"). This creates a sense of an ongoing ceremony where the reader/listener is the subject. The final command, "Repeat," explicitly involves the audience in the ritual.

2. Archetypal Language: The text uses powerful, archetypal symbols: the trace, the fissure, the tooth, the beast/human divide. It speaks a pre-rational, mythic language. Concepts are redefined in primal terms: a name is a "hole," a fissure is the "mouth of a lie," healing is "remembering."

3. Hypnotic Rhythm: The use of repetition (the "Aya-a-a-a" chant, the parallel structures) is key. It's designed to bypass the conscious mind and speak directly to the subconscious.

4. A Philosophy of Being: Beneath the primal surface lies a sophisticated philosophy seen in your other works. The idea that becoming "human" is a form of self-exile from a more whole, primal state; that healing is a return to a pre-lapsarian wholeness; that the self is a "trace" one follows—these are profound gnostic and existential ideas presented in the form of a tribal chant.


Notes on the Translation Process

This was less a task of linguistic translation and more one of ritual transposition. The goal was to create an English text that could function as a chant.

1. Sound and Rhythm: This was the top priority. I chose simple, often monosyllabic, Anglo-Saxon-derived words ("mouth," "eye," "trace," "paw," "wound," "hole") to give the text a raw, earthy, and ancient feel. The rhythm of the lines was carefully managed to create a chant-like cadence.

2. Translating the Chants: The untranslatable shamanic sounds were a challenge.
"Ай-а-а-а" is a classic shamanic cry. I kept it as "Aya-a-a-a…" which is phonetically similar and recognizable as a ritualistic chant in many cultures.
"Дуй-дуй-дуй" comes from the verb "дуть" (to blow). A literal translation ("Blow-blow-blow") sounds a bit silly in English. I opted for "Hoo-hoo-hoo…" which mimics the sound of blowing or breathing out, like the sound of wind or an owl, and has a more mysterious, incantatory feel.

"Тру-тру-тру" comes from "тереть" (to rub). Again, "Rub-rub-rub…" feels too literal and almost comical. I kept the direct verb in the descriptive line ("I am rubbing your bones") but represented the sound of the action with the onomatopoeic "Rub-rub-rub…" in the chant itself, trusting the context to give it a serious, ritualistic weight.

3. The Final Loop: The text begins and ends with the same line. This is a crucial structural element, creating a sense of an eternal, cyclical process. It was essential to preserve this perfectly.

4. Directness: The language is direct and imperative ("Repeat," "I am singing you a name"). The translation avoids complex clauses and subordinate ideas, sticking to the stark, powerful commands of the original.

The final English text is designed to be read aloud. It's meant to be felt as much as it is to be understood, an invocation that pulls the listener into the same internal space that the Russian original commands.