The Rage of Fascism is the Whisper of a Dying World.

Don’t be afraid of the rise of fascism. Bring stability into your heart. Know the truth for yourself. Look around and see how many people actually are moving away from bigotry and racism. See how many or us are really, really thirsty for justice and equality. 

How many of us truly can see in each others eyes and see something divine? If you are one of us, know we are going to be okay. The way we conceive the world is how we are shaping it. We are dreaming the new world together. 

They have loud voices, and they want you to panic. They are giving a message of fear, so they make it seem like a loud roar, but that’s all there is. Here, in your heart, know that death is all around us and that that is no reason to panic. We still have this life, and in this life we get to create, write, speak, etch, mold and share a moment with one another, and we get to practice the truth that is in the heart, no matter what the patriots and the fanatics and the fearful say. They will not win. 

So, welcome the foreigner into your home. Welcome your brother and sister. Open your heart to all manners of religious expressions, to all manner of sexual identity. Open your heart to humanity. The hatred is waning. 

There is still work to do, but we have to go through this moment. It’s not that the world is getting worse. We are simply getting to the limits of what we can tolerate. We are seeing the forces we won’t tolerate trying to go back to the “glories” of racist policies, to the “great times” of segregation and the Middle Ages. understand that they are freaking out. The world as they thought it was is shaking. Their world feels unstable and they are panicking. This is why they are acting the way they are acting. Their world is dying. 

After all the wars and all the oppression and all the racism, we who have been alive in this continent for the past 500 years, know that we are awakening and we see the new world. We have seen it. Now remain calm––steady. Let them scream and rage. Their rage is the dying whisper of the old world. We are bringing the new. Keep your heart steady and loving. When you see the door, it is with that calm efficiency that we will walk through it.

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Do You Want to Attend a Class on The Teachings of a Toltec Survivor?

Would you be interested in a class based on The Teachings of a Toltec Survivor?

Beginning this Thursday, July 18th, 2019, I will be conducting a weekly class based on the teachings of this book. We will cover a chapter per week. You will have to read the chapter before class, or listen to it.

You can get the book on Amazon or through my store. It is available on paperback and kindle, and soon it will also be available as an audiobook.

This Thursday, we will talk about Chapter 1: Something Was Changed.

Again, you can attend in person if you live near Moreno Valley, or online. The class will start at 7:30 pm PST each Thursday. We will be broadcasting live in the usual channels:

YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/koyotetheblind

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/koyotetheblind

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/koyotetheblind

There is no set price for the class, but a donation would be very much appreciated and donated to Xicoco Shamanic Arts. Pay what you feel the class is worth, but do come in even if you cannot give anything. Your presence and attention is all the coin I truly require.

You can purchase the book on Amazon: www.amazon.com/author/koyote

See you then!

 

A View from a Gnostic Scholar… pt 4

Part of what makes it a treat for me to read Paul Rovelli’s analysis of The Teachings of a Toltec Survivor is not only the scholarly background he brings to everything he writes, but also that he conveys the journey taken with the book at a very personal level. Paul is not only an author and leader of a gnostic movement, he also is a teacher in the A.’.A.’. and the Western Mystery tradition. It is interesting for me, therefore, to see him uncover nuances of my book the way a connoisseur unveils the nuances of wine or high cuisine.

Here is his latest entry about the book:

“Yesterday, I read the first of the next three chapters in continuance of my review of “The Teachings of a Toltec Survivor.” I’ll get to the second during the Yankee game this afternoon. Koyote, did you know the Three Stooges used perfect Jersey accents in their comedy? I’m born and raised there and loved the title of this chapter: “I’m a Victime of Soicumstance.” Indeed, Englewood, NJ was the original Hollywood and many of the silent screen stars owned properties in Englewood Cliffs all the years I was growing up.

But outside my review, I came across something in yesterday’s reading that I found truly profound and thought-provoking. I have been ruminating over the state of death for many years and especially after watching and facilitating my father’s death in hospice about eight years ago. I saw clearly at that time, my father’s essence move inwards, which highlighted for me the importance of understanding the dream state that we all experience and even that animals experience.

To quote the Koyote in the book: “In the afterlife, when the machine has been disconnected, what you become is the voyager. You go from dream to dream for a while, all residuals of your trip through organic existence, but you no longer have the bufer of the machine to shield you.” This connects the book with Koyote’s “Golden Flower,” where he explains that we are always in the dream. The difference here is the added explanation of the buffer of the body, also called the machine; the brain being a part of the machine.

The bringing of elements of the essence in to replace elements of the personality is as brilliant an explanation as I’ve ever heard of the nature of spiritual work and particularly the work of the Major Adept in the Western Mystery Tradition. It is always sad to watch those that use the evocations of this Grade to pursue their own prurient ends, as they make a great miss. Thanks Koyote for the clarity of mind that you bring to the world and to me personally. I am through this book, in receipt of the Aka Dua!”

You can purchase the book here: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07RMK9D4C/

A Whisper of Silence, this Self.

I do not have a name for myself. I simply exist without tag or form, moving without comparing any one moment with any other moment.

There is just a presence in the liquid movement all around, the flowing of the fields of light, the forgetting the words and their meanings. There is just the peaceful communion with the reality that extinguishes all illusions.

Abiding in this state I forget that there was such a thing as the world. I forget the mere possibility of existence, of sound, of light, of movement, of time. I forget, living in this eternal space, that there is a word for that space. I forget the opposite of what is. I forget the distinction between self and it.

In that forgetfulness, a slight vibration surprisingly comes. It happened, and it went. I almost missed it, almost feel that it did not happen at all. Maybe it did not happen. Maybe that slight stirring comes only from within to put a tiny mark on the perfection of that infinite silence. Maybe it’s just a habit that I have accumulated over countless dreams of existence––a slight distortion of the darkness.

It comes. It goes. It’s a whisper of silence.

In this Emptiness I Forget

I let go, slowly but surely, all ideas of God, of eternal peace, of definitive knowledge. I let go of the idea that this person will love me forever. I let go of my name. I let go of my title. I let go of the ideas that I held on to. The more I see the emptiness––the expansive presence of the ocean covering and holding the light of every star––the bigger this nothingness becomes, and the more I fail to grasp on the stream of self-important thoughts.

Ordinary life, then, becomes the dream that vanishes upon the awakening of the soul. It no longer matters what happens to me in this life, in my previous life, and in all the chains of incarnations. I am no longer concerned with what will happen to me today, tomorrow, next year, after rebirth, after that life, in other incarnations. That stream of movement and happenings, I know it to be nothing but the subtle vibrations of a mind that moves, of a life that stirs, of the fire of existence.

In this emptiness I forget myself. In this emptiness, the entire drama of existence becomes as nothing but the flickering lights, the little shadows that come across the eyes when sleeping. It no longer becomes important, that life. There no longer seems to be a difference between being human or animal, rock, tree. It no longer seems different to be word or breath, to be flower or bee. I can no longer put my finger on the difference between being mountain or poem, between being the fluttering butterfly in the heart of a young girl or being the industrious burrowing of an anthill.

There is no longer an important difference between the radiant light flowing from the heart of the sun and the lightning strike flowing through a path of emptiness, emanating, spreading light and death. There is no longer any difference between any one thing and any other thing.

I abide in this state of not being; at union with the eternal presence; at-one-ment through the floating, deeply refreshing sensation of being a simple center in the womb of the mother; growing in eternal peace and sleep. I revel in this sweet dissolution in the forgetfulness of life and death.

 

 

Raindrops on the Old Rooftop

I hear the empty spaces in between the words,
like empty spaces between cars of a moving train,
like the sound of rain that falls
on the rooftop of my grandmother’s house.
It falls.

I hear.
Drops of rain carry no meaning;
a drop no more important than any other drop.

I hear my thoughts.
They come and go.
River of movement, river of life.
I do not grab one to follow.
No importance to it all.

All concerns about this body,
of karmic debt, of life before,
are no more.

They grab nothing.
They move and carry nothing.
They appear and nothing contain.

I live, I go;
and when in between thoughts, I die.
And nothing stays.

This Impertinent Moment

This moment, it is pertinent to say, has been waiting its turn from the beginning of creation. When the sleeper stirred first and uttered a tiny vibration, unaware of it––just a single movement creating the beginning of a dream––this moment of time has been waiting, waiting to appear.

Before this moment, there were many other moments––movements, thoughts, words, actions, concerns, fights, death, life, survival, history, planetary events, starlight floating about in the heavens.

Before this moment, there is an ocean of time. After this moment, another equally infinite ocean of time.

This moment is here; empty and meaningless, surrounded by oceans of time and possibility. There will be a time when this moment is not; and whatever is here now, will not be. When this moment is over, the lights will be no more and the the path trail of light that comes into the eyes and makes its way into an unknown jungle of electrical fires inside a mass of liquid and brilliance called the brain will no longer mark a path.

This moment will then be complete, without a trail, without breath, without movement, without a present.

I Am the Stirring in the Void

I sit in the midst of an ocean of light, sound and silence. I am nothing. I am empty. I am the flicker of the empty void. I am the organizer of experience.

I identify myself with the contents of this body. I identify myself with the memories; memories of existing earlier today; memories of yesterday, of last week; memories of years ago.

I say “I am”, “I did”, “I was”, “I came”, “I sinned”, “I killed”, “I lied”, “I betrayed”, “I did”, “I accomplished”, “I attained”, “I saved”, “I am”, “I say”, “I did”; but I know fully well that none of those things ever happened to me. They are memories stored in this body. They are events hinted at me.

All my memories of the past are like subtle shadows that begin to fade away as the dream fades away into incomprehensible nothingness, as I awake and take on this new life and this new body full of sensations, touching space, hearing, listening, moving.

I find myself in this body, having the tenuous sensation of a dream that fades away. I know myself as the meaningless flicker, the stirring in the void, forever falling into identification with the shadows of lights, the sound, the move, the heat, the refuge against the cold night.

 

Moon Path

The path you see in front of you is not the path the others see. We all see the same moon, but the path of light reflected in the moving, living waters touch each one of us individually.

You see a path of light leading from your feet to the moon. Your companion sees the light touching her feet, not yours. So it is for everyone. So it is with the truth. It is clear, undeniable, and objective, yet unique to each one who stands in front of it.”

Tolteca 3

Just a Moment in this Room

It is pertinent to say that we are sitting in a room, surrounded by four walls. Outside the walls there’s a world of people, and lights, and darkness. We receive the subtle vibrations, the sounds that come from the world. And as we move together this world outside begins to fade away slowly, like the remnants of a dream just before beginning to awake.

Above us there is a ceiling, beyond which the vast space and the infinite stars thereof continue into an endless expanse, seemingly unmoving, serene, peaceful; giving a hint, to the eyes that see, of an ocean of infinity.

Below us there seems to be a floor of solid mass; made, of course, mostly of empty space and small particles of vibrating energy–below which lies another ocean of fire and magma.

We seem to be in a room of four walls, divided and separated above and below from oceans of rock, and mud,, and fire and space. We sit in this room where the darkness and the light, the shadows and subtle currents of air, circulate between us. We sit in this room, sensing the presence of one another–the polite quiet attention of an observer. We sit in this room in a brief moment of time, sharing a space, sharing a moment.