Meet Modern Shaman Sabrina Villard

As a tot, Sabrina Villard took her first steps in the Sahara desert, just south of Algeria. She did so while holding the hand of her great-grandmother, a Bedouin shaman--who are known in the region as Fugara--who she says lived to be 123 years old.
 

"She is still with me every day, guiding me," says Villard, who inherited and honed her skills as a shaman from her late great-grandmother. She keeps a photo of her on an altar surrounded by candles and flowers in the corner of her ceremony room, which occupies the second bedroom of her apartment on Robinson Road in Hong Kong's Mid-Levels district.
 

To this day, when faced with adversity or difficult decisions, a distinct tingle on her arm is a reassuring sign that her great-grandmother is watching over her. And one year ago, feeling she had that support, Villard made one of the biggest decisions of her life so far.
 

At the time, she was the Apac project manager for one of the world's most revered luxury fashion houses by day, and by night, she would guide clients on shamanic journeys, straddling the living and spiritual realms to assist in a variety of areas: from healing traumas to removing subconscious patterns that block people from reaching their full potential.
 

"The traditional definition of a shaman is a seer in the dark," says Villard. "I don't know about anyone's life when they come to me. I am shown what you are ready to see by your spirit guides, ancestors and your own memories. I have a conversation with your soul."
 

Last September, on her birthday, she quit her high-flying fashion job to pursue her role as a shaman full-time. "I resigned on my birthday," says the self-proclaimed witch. "Rebirth day!"
 

Since then, she has made it her mission to spread the ancient healing art of shamanism throughout the modern world. Without compromising its sanctity, she has found ways to make it approachable and applicable to even those who might be put off by the "woo-woo" perception of it.
 

"Some people like the theatrics of it: the crystals, the potions or dressing a certain way ... but it's not for me," says Villard, who prefers not to use any tools in her shamanic practice, and whose style is more wicked than witch. "For me, the modern witch is sure of herself and her intuition."
 

In fact, Villard recently became the first shaman to enter the metaverse, spending the last few months building a world on online virtual community platform VRChat under her moniker, V-Healing. The dreamy domain is a futuristic, space station-esque oasis that looks out to a desert landscape--a nod to her Bedouin roots. 

Villard may be the first, but she hopes she isn't the last, and that over time, spirituality and alternative forms of healing will find their place in virtual reality.
 

"I know a lot of people will go against [this idea], but this is what I like; this is what's necessary," she says. "I like to go against the current, to bring spirituality into our modern world. We need to adapt and bring ancient knowledge and wisdom to the platforms that people are using now."

An Indigenous Perspective on Climate Change

Greenland, also known as Kallaalit Nunaat by the local Inuit peoples, is the "Ground Zero" of climate change. Its geographic location and expansive ice sheets make it extremely vulnerable to climate change, resulting in disproportionate impacts for those who live there. Greenland's population is extremely dispersed, with a majority being Inuit, who live in communities organized around subsistence hunting. Using dog sleds and boats resembling kayaks, the Inuit hunt seals, walrus, narwhal, polar bears and other Arctic animals.
 

In general, the lifestyle of the Inuit communities paired with the environmental conditions of Greenland create a multi-layered vulnerability to climate change. Rising sea levels increase coastal erosion, while melting ice inhibits travel, hunting and other subsistence activities. The mixture of snow and thinner ice makes traditional travel paths extremely unreliable for dog sleds and snowmobiles, increasing isolation and immobility. Increasingly, Inuit are being forced to seek modernized work opportunities, driven out of generational hunting traditions due to climate change and the resulting economic insecurity. This has had devastating impacts on Inuit communities, particularly young men who can no longer partake in traditional hunting.
 

The spiritual significance of climate change

Inuit shaman Angaangaq Angakkorsuaq speaks about the spiritual significance of climate change at international conferences around the world. Angaangaq is a traditional healer, storyteller and carrier of the Qilaut (wind drum), whose  family belongs to the traditional healers of the Far North from Greenland. His name means 'The Man Who Looks Like His Uncle'. Since he was a child he was trained by his family--especially by his Grandmother Aanakasaa--for becoming a shaman. The spiritual task given by his mother is: "Melting the Ice in the Heart of Man."

 

Angaangaq bridges the boundaries of cultures and faiths in people young and old. His work has taken him to over 70 countries around the world. He conducts circles, seminars and Aalaartiviit--traditional sweat lodges. His teachings are deeply rooted in the wisdom of the oral healing traditions of his people, which enabled people over thousands of years to survive in one of the harshest places on Earth.
 

In an interview with LifeGate, Angaangaq shared an Indigenous perspective on climate change. Everyone talks about climate change but nobody talks about its spiritual significance. "According to the old people, a third of the population on Earth will vanish," says Angaangaq, "they say many people will die, some will barely survive, and few will have a life." His message is very powerful as it is not just about Mother Earth, who is ever-changing, it is about human lives--and we have never been so many.
 

"The ice is a living thing, you can see it in my grandmother's village. In the summer it breaks and explodes and when water gushes out you can't hear anything but that. Sometimes when there's a storm the waves are so strong that they can spew chunks of ice several kilometres away. Ice that weighs a ton," he says. The difference now is not only in our numbers but in what we have done to the Earth: "We've raped Mother Earth, taken all her resources and we're still doing it without considering the impact it can have on our personal life."
 

Angaangaq also believes that while we often talk about animals as inferior creatures we don't realize that they have a much greater capacity of adaption than us. For example, we can only live in a temperature range of 100 degrees Celsius, whereas that range is as high as 200 degrees for polar bears. "We can't adapt to hot weather, they can. Isn't that so interesting?" Angaangaq ponders.
 

Becoming the hope
 

"The changes are so bad that we can no longer save the world, we can no longer stop the melting of the big ice," confides Angaangaq. "The only thing I can think of now is to somehow find the strength and capacity within myself to become the hope. Not because I'm better than anyone else but because as a grandfather I hope that my grandchildren will have a life worth enjoying, with beauty everywhere, where you kill animals without forgetting to say thank you, where you grow what you eat, and I want to find other people willing to change their lives to be that hope."
 

"Right now the government doesn't talk about this, nor do the activists. You're just one name out of several billion but, really, you have a beautiful spirit and you're worth knowing and doing something for! The land will sink, this is a fact, what will they do with you when the ocean comes? As my father used to say, we know so much but comprehend so little."
 

The melting of the Arctic ice sheets is a call for us to reflect on the spiritual significance of climate change and our way of living. It's time to look with eyes of faith into our future and believe we can make a difference. If we have hope, there is potential for extraordinary change--things will survive. The Indigenous elders teach us if we return to harmony in our lives, melting the ice in our hearts, reconnecting with one another, we will survive. It is time to use this knowledge to help mankind.

The Pueblo Jewelers of the Southwest

In the world of Pueblo artisans, the jewelry makers are second in number to the pottery makers. Over the generations, this ancient craft has taken on numerous forms. On the meticulous end of the spectrum, there are those who make tiny beads, called heishi, first produced at today's Santo Domingo (Kewa) Pueblo in prehistoric times, with hand-pump drills and stone drill bits, and then strung as necklaces. From there, Pueblo jewelry runs from semi-precious stones set in silver to contemporary works, made with gold and precious gemstones. In between are tufa-castings (a process using a carved volcanic stone as a mold for molten silver or gold); hammered metal; handmade silver beads; choruses of tiny bird effigies carved from stone and strung; classic concho belts; large seashells covered in mosaic stonework; and some of the most prized lapidary work in the world, famously done by Zuni Pueblo artists. There are works in stainless steel cut to a fine edge, "shadow boxes" (where a design is cut out of a sheet of burnished silver, which is then affixed to an underlying piece of blackened silver, thereby creating an image in negative space), as well as bracelets, rings, bolo ties, and belt buckles, all worn today by design-savvy buyers from around the world.
 

Steve LaRance, of Hopi and Assiniboine heritage, gets his tufa on the Hopi Reservation from deposits created by the San Francisco Peaks. To gather what he needs, he has to drive a four-wheel drive pickup, find an isolated spot, and spend a day digging with shovels and picks. The tufa comes out in chunks, in sizes that range from bowling ball to suitcase. This will generally provide enough raw material for a year's work.
 

Steve and his wife and jewelry-making partner, Marian Denipah, moved from Arizona some years back to Marian's homelands, just a stone's throw from the lazy Rio Grande on Ohkay Owingeh land in northern New Mexico. In addition to their various lines of jewelry, they have also produced a batch of children and grandchildren that have made marks of their own. One daughter is a physician; another, along with her brother, spent a decade as principal dancers for Cirque du Soleil. Today, Steve and Marian oversee a Native youth dance troupe called the Lightning Boy Foundation, which travels the world in an effort to spread Pueblo values and skills.

 

Santo Domingo is one of the Rio Grande Pueblos in Northern New Mexico. For centuries the Pueblo people have been mining turquoise at Cerrillos, south of what is now Santa Fe, and have been acquiring other turquoise from as far away as Nevada, California and Colorado.

The Pueblo jewelers traveled south to the Gulf and west to the Pacific for shell when they couldn't trade for it. Jet and red colored rock was found nearby and used in mosaics and other jewelry. Eventually coral was introduced by the Spanish and replaced the red rock. These colorful stones were made into beads and mosaics for decoration and ceremonies.

The people of Santo Domingo became known for making the best disc beads and, along with the Zuni people, for producing the best inlay in turquoise, jet, shell and coral on shell and wood bases. The jewelers of Santo Domingo still produce the finest handmade beads and mosaics. Many of their children acquire drills and learn to make beads at a very young age. You can shop online for authentic Pueblo jewelry at PuebloDirect.com.