On a quest in Northern Ireland

It's been 2 weeks already since I returned from this adventurous trip, visiting my friend in Belfast again.
She hadn't told me beforehand about this curious holiday I was to encounter, which is pretty much unknown outside of Ireland; at least I had never heard about it before. I looked it up now, and it appears that they usually refer to it as simply "the 12th", like we Americans call our Independence Day "the 4th".

This time around I also found the opportunity to take pictures of the Big Fish, which Amanda told me is the symbol of Belfast. It's recognizable for sure, but reading the plaque by the statue I found that this Big Fish actually is of very recent date, of 1997, which makes it even a decade younger than myself, which I hate to admit, of course.

Big Fish

Heavily armored patrol car

Police guarding the parade. Looking a bit intimidating,
but they were all friendly.

July 12th parade

The day after this parade day, Saturday, my friend and I would visit the shaman. It was about an hour's bus trip into the hills to the place he lives. And as I mentioned in the above video, sadly nothing came of it really; he couldn't help me with the communication problem with my Master, and his views as to how I ought to proceed were incompatible with my own, and with my way of life. He was very friendly, but while I would like to know how I ended up as a sort of a foreign intruder in that German and Danish family line which is so alien to me, he insisted on the importance of ancestors and urged me to embrace their heritage.
I still have nightmares about my birth "family", and about people speaking German, I hate those people and their vile language that I was once forced to learn as a child. I worked so long and hard to free myself of this, and I'm even far from done yet; the nightmares are less frequent and less severe but they still come.

My friend Amanda understood me much better; after we left the shaman's place she suggested that it would be best for me to leave Germany forever so that I'd be no longer exposed to hearing that language that tortures me. Of course that's true and it's what I wanted since my childhood, but there's no way to make it happen. And as of late I'd no longer want to leave, because of my nutrias. And where would I go anyway.

The ride back into Belfast was quite enjoyable, at least to me it seemed so. The outward ride had been a regular bus, but the one going back was a double decker, and we sat upstairs right at the front window, looking down from high above at the winding road through the scenic hills back down to Belfast.
I'm usually the first person to get upset over noisy crowds, but I didn't mind much that we were sharing the bus with lots of noisy party people headed to town, since it was a Saturday night. For once, Amanda was much more annoyed by them than I was, and I didn't realize then how unwell she was. But later that night I would still accompany her to the ER.

The waiting area at the hospital was packed with people that night, and we had to wait for many, many hours. We had arrived around 11 PM, and I think it must have been between 4 and 5 AM when I could no longer hold myself upright, and ended up half-sleeping on the floor and on my backpack, under the bench of the waiting area. It was about 9:30 AM when Amanda woke me up to ride home.

So we both were very tired the next day, Sunday, but at least it was the only warm and summerlike day, and I went to the park near her house to exercise a bit, eat some stuff bought from the supermarket, and just hang out in the sunshine.

When I returned to her house, Amanda told me while she had been relaxing in the backyard she had received a psychic message from my Master and written a letter on his behalf. She was hesitant to even give it to me. My Master is dissatisfied with the way things are going with me. He told me that he wants me to wake up - I have no idea how - and to step out of my comfort zone and into my power as a true warrior of Satan, to stop daydreaming in my room and to take action. I don't have the foggiest clue what he wants me to do though, and this greatly troubles me.
Part of it sounded very unlike him, and I'm wondering to what extent it may have been colored by Amanda's own ideas. He mentioned that he'd want me to be out there "speaking, creating chaos, protesting."
Creating chaos, that's something a Satanic brother of mine often talks about, who is very close to my heart. But speaking and protesting, about or against what?? It's something Amanda does a lot, animal rights activism and such. But I can't think of any causes of any relevance to a Satanist, let alone a being as far above and beyond human affairs as my Master is. Back in the days of his and my past lives, in the 17th century, matters were much different, of course. But nowadays there's freedom of religion. Obviously I'm openly "Satan's warrior", as in the very title of this blog, I never made a secret of being a Satanist. I'll freely tell anyone who asks about my religion. I'll tell the police I'm a Satanist. Because I have the right to be a Satanist. My brother has the name of Satan tattooed on his face. Nothing to hide there, and thus nothing to protest; we're no longer persecuted. We already own this right.

I'm very confused by my Master's message, and very depressed. I always meant it when I said I'll do anything for him. If only I had the vaguest idea of what he wants me to do.