It is El Salvador the place where I learned my first and most enduring lessons, where life first met me and revealed shadows and mysteries, joys and miseries. It was in the jungle and the volcano, not in the snowy peak of gentle Japanese mountains, that nature surrounded me with the song of birds, the scorching heat of the sun, the clear dark of starry nights. It was here that the unknown rained from vast darkness unto the panic beauty of nights without electricity an the perennial presence of the Duende, the voyeuristic games of the Cipitio, and the dreadful curse of the Cihuanaba. In its cities I smelled blood, touched death, and tasted static mystery. It wasn’t the profound calm of zen but the torrid emotions of the human and tropical jungle that forged my joy for life, my avid desire for experience, and my sense of self.
More than anything, it is here in the war and the full beauty of that valley of hammocks that I came first to sense the seed of self that exists before I was born and that shall endure well after this body and that country are long dissolved and forgot. That place is then my origin and therefore my end (as an Aristotelean telos, not as a tomb). In stories as in mathematics, the end is contained in the beginning. The egg contains the potentiality of the being, and in the being is the solution to the puzzle of evolution.
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The word divination means “to be inspired by a god or by divinity.” In ancient times, the ability to see the future, to understand the present, and to discover the past was intrinsically connected with the technology that allowed the seer to connect and hold, for a while, the mind of a god.
Auguries were some of the most effective and popular methods of divination for the powerful. This word comes from the same Latin root that gives us words like augment and alludes to the swelling, bubbling up, or levity seen in birds flying and in water rising. It speaks to the subconscious of abundance and prosperity.
While many methods of divination exist, it is a big mistake to think that the instrument is the intelligent factor. Whether you use cards, charts, leaves, coins, sticks, or bird patterns, the divination factor is not in the instrument itself. The intelligence that divines, and the magical force behind the augur, is not in the instrument or method used. It is in the ability of the diviner to expand consciousness to encompass the mind of God.
The magical traditions of the peoples of Latin America are deeply embedded in the natural worlds that surround them. Their inner power is the mastery of perception, and out of that mastery their magic flows as the jungle flows.
The Brujo’s sorcery burns like the tropical sun. It towers and shakes the earth in volcanic joys. It hums eternally with the song of big seas in small shells. It lives and sweats among the mass of peoples, living and dying in eternal struggles for freedom.
The Brujo’s Sorcery is the magical song of the ally. It hardens its intent in the intense heat of the dessert. It dances with the eternal thirst of millions of trees, gifting the world with life to breathe.
We’re always dreaming. The tailbrain is always active and the mind is always processing information. So we always dream but we are not always conscious of our dreams. To write down your impressions as soon as you wake up, this would help you bring to the forefront of your mind the processes that your mind has been following. However there is also the dream of life. It follows the exact same laws. Therefore you may try looking at the events of your life as if they are a dream. And in that case look at the nightmare dreams of your life as a sign of the deviation in your path and look at the triumphant dreams in your path as a sign of alignment. And all the random happenings of life all around you as the random necessary adjustments in the path of your life. And once in a while look at that weird happening in your life and ask yourself “what could this dream mean? What is it trying to tell me?”
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Humanity has perpetrated the worst of crimes. Humanity has also endured the worst of crimes.
It takes courage and the spirit of a true warrior to be able to see the horror we have suffered and the horror we have created, and then transform it all by the power of our vision. By pure will alone we can transform, but not before we can honestly face what we have done.
The Toltecs believed that the state of being of the artist impregnated whatever it is he was doing. The resulting work of art was then an artifac––something created, but at the same time vibrant and alive with the mood present when created. If the artist was able to go beyond the face of ordinary existence, and through the art was able to connect to higher consciousness, then that connection would be present in the work of art.
The work of art would hold the consciousness, the mood, the vibration that was present inside the artist at the moment of creation—a resonant feature whose life was independent of the artist—and could then be accessed by someone else if she simply applied the keys in the right way. If that other person aligned her thoughts, her emotions, her posture, and her energy that way, that alignment would activate the vibration that existed in this work of art; and in doing so, the art would communicate to the observer the knowledge, the experiences, and the mood of the artist when he created it.
Usually, the art contains clues on what posture to take and what mentation to take. Sometimes, it won’t tell you everything. Sometimes, it will give you the general mood, and you start from there. Then, you begin to move the posture this way or that, or to increase your emotion this way or that, until you hit resonance. Some artifacts are harder to open than others. When it is opening, it is clear. A lock clicks, then it comes to life.
He was dressed in dark cloak, wearing a black hat. He had the eyes of a madman. And I knew that was the body I was going to take. So that one day, maybe, I would know what he knew.
He took away all my gods, all my beliefs and convictions. In order to inhabit this body, he began to drill his consciousness and her presence through every nerve in my body, holding on to every gland, and making every second an eternity.
I remember myself as a creature of many forms, of many names.
I remember myself being trapped in this eternal storm of joy and death and life and laughter.
And at night, instead of falling asleep,
I dissolve into the center of light.
There is no body.
There is no mind.
The little twelve-year-old boy is kneeling, looking at his future: that calm, restful corpse who used to be his playmate. Who used to laugh like a train whistles. Who used to play pranks. Who used to sing and dance. Who used to like to climb trees and fall.
Now, he emits no heat, no laughter, no sound, no play.
Yet, he emits something: an extremely subtle, light, almost cold, touch. It’s almost like the spray of mist an orange emits when cut by the knife. It’s the sensation of that spray on the face, touching as a caress that almost did not happen. This breath, emanating from the body of the corpse is so subtle that it’s almost imperceptible to the senses.
Yet, perceived it is. With the impression of this emanation, the last breath of that corpse touching the heart of this little twelve year old boy about to be executed.