In our work we describe objects as vessels for knowledge animated by shamans/magicians. How does this “animation” work? 

For example, one researcher told the short tale of a talisman made of gold leaf, held in the pouch of an old woman whose grandfather entrusted her with it. She has no idea what it is or how to use it. Then one day walking in the woods, she hears a clear bell-like voice. She knows it is the voice of her grandfather when he was young, even though she has never heard that voice in her lifetime. He says, “Walk to this tree. Sit beneath it.” And the leaves of gold shook in the wind, for it was cold and it was autumn. “Collect the leaves.” She did so, and filling her apron with golden leaves, she walked home. Hidden in the leaves is one glowing animated talisman.

The talisman becomes a vessel that holds the grandfather’s spirit or knowledge. The voice she hears is a form of communication from the talisman, guiding her actions. Those actions become like rituals.

The power of the Gold Leaf Talisman lies undiscovered until three conditions align: time, place and need. We imagine the time as autumn equinox, a liminal moment between seasons. The place is a specific tree in the woods, perhaps planted centuries ago by the woman’s ancestors. And importantly, there is need, something to do with the woman’s unspoken grief over her grandson’s illness, which calls the help of her grandfather to create the talisman.

When the woman steps into the tree’s shadow, the talisman resonates with its latent energy. The gold leaf’s inscribed symbols are normally invisible to the naked eye but now begin to glow, releasing her grandfather’s “imprint”—a psychic recording of his younger self, preserved through ritual. This voice is not a ghost but a mnemonic trigger embedded in the object.

The grandfather’s instructions (“collect the leaves”) are cryptic, but obeying them activates a synesthetic ritual. As she gathers the golden leaves, which are ordinary maple leaves transformed by the talisman’s glow, their touch transfers fragmented memories: her grandfather’s hands binding the talisman, a chant in a lost language, the scent of myrrh.

The leaves, once home, arrange themselves into a mandala on her floor, mirroring a constellation linked to healing in her ancestral tradition.The mandala emits a low hum, curing her grandson’s fever overnight. But the talisman itself crumbles to dust—its energy spent. The woman realizes that the talisman was a “battery” of intention, requiring activation by ritual and need.

Its power is ephemeral. Once used, its purpose is fulfilled, but its constellation pattern persists in her mind —and now must be recorded or passed on.