BINDLOSS, ALTA.—Carol Hern asks me to close my eyes and hold out my arm, then resist while she tries to push my arm down. Each time she pushes, I resist. Then she asks me to step forward over the rocky terrain. She pushes, and my arm falls limply to my side. I’m resisting with all my strength, and sneak a peek to see she’s holding my arm down with only two fingers. “It happens every time,” she says, and laughs. When I look down, I see I’m standing just outside the markings of an ancient medicine wheel, made of stones forming a circle and extending into rays.
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