Preserve the Medicine Wheel

The community at Xicoco has built this Medicine Wheel, a sacred circle open to all people for prayer and healing. We are now about to lose the land where it is built. The landlord is selling the property, and in a matter of a month, they will come in and tear this beautiful and sacred wheel apart to sell it. We have the opportunity to purchase this land, but we need your help securing the funds to open escrow.

We need your help to be able to preserve the Medicine Wheel, to continue offering it for the benefit of all beings everywhere, to continue with our sacred sweat lodge, our classes, our art, and our teachings.

The Medicine Wheel is a living artifact that is helping many find their inner guide, heal, transform their lives, and bring insight and peace to our world.

With your support, we will be able to set up a non-profit organization to preserve the medicine wheel, to continue with our sacred practices, and to promote the Teachings of Koyote the Blind.

These funds will allow us to obtain a loan to buy the land where the Medicine Wheel is.  Please help us preserve the land and continue offering the teachings, the sacred arts, and our lives for the benefit of all beings everywhere.

Click here to Preserve the Medicine Wheel

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Untamed

Nothing has been tamed in the continent of my heart.

My blood floods rebellious through rivers of memory, under the empty expanse of the Heart of the Sky.

Celebrate the genocide you benefit from, #shitholetrump.

Celebrate with unfettered greed, even, for the night of five hundred years evaporates as I wake.

The loud roaring silence

As a child, sitting at the beach of El Espino in El Salvador, I would look ahead of me and I would see a horizon where the blue water kissed the blue sky. And I would wonder about that line that divided the heaven and the ocean. It was thin—maybe not really there.

It was there just so I could see it and imagine a separation between the two. And as I tried to penetrate that almost visible barrier, I would notice that the periphery of my eyes would widen, almost as wide as the ocean. And I sat there with my small eyes, with my small mind, in this small world, almost able to hold the immensity of the ocean.

It was vast. Huge. I could not hold it in my thoughts. Any thought I begun to have about it would be washed away with that roar, with that sound, deafening all over—a busy silence. Before every thought formulated in my mind: silence. After every thought: silence. And all around the thought, that loud roaring silence of the ocean.

I crossed the border, because I am free.

Many people in this country tell me I do not belong here. I do.

They tell me to go back outside the imaginary border they set over my people, and they tell me that I should not come over here. They say they will build a wall, and that they will criminalize my existence if I live here as a free human.

I say they are wrong about this. They say that their fear of terrorism and crime justifies their wall, a wall that will keep me and other worthy humans out. I say their fear is not reason enough. Why? First, because their wall, as their border, is already a way to divide my people, to keep the poor poor, and to justify violence over the people. It has been the case ever since the conquerors divided the land by violence, rape, and enforced poverty. The borders currently existing did not evolve from the natural growth of communities. They were imposed through inhumane violence, and maintained by institutional violence.

The reason I had to come to the United States was directly because of the violence of the Reagan administration against me and my people. This is no political discourse, I demonstrated this in a US court, and it was determined that it would be a violation of human rights to expel me. I came here illegally, when all I wanted was to live in my land. But I had the right to live, so I came, I crossed the border illegally, because my right to exist and live free takes precedence over the right of the United States to draw a border.

Living here, does not make me a criminal, as many are wont to say. Living here without permission is only a misdemeanor, not even a crime according to the laws here. But the wall is designed to keep many worthy people out, like me and most people I know. It is designed, moreover, to cast a shadow over my people, to stigmatize me as illegal, as dangerous, as criminal.

Looking at today’s messages on Facebook, in just one day I have personally been called criminal, brown, ignorant, dangerous, illegal, and terrorist in the walls of at least 5 friends. All because these people commenting want to find a reason to build a wall. The wall won’t protect them against crime. Crime has always been part of the human condition. It won’t protect people from terror, for terror is executed first by those who build walls and define borders. It is meant to protect people’s prejudices and inhumane acts against the marginalized, the free, and the outsider.

I say, that all people are free to live on this earth, as it was for all our ancestors, as long as they do not thwart the rights of others.

I am a free born human being. My freedom and humanity takes precedence over any immigration law, any racist ideology, all artificial borders, and the economic interests of any nation, class, corporation, or crime syndicate.

I am a human being.

I am here.

Freedom is my home.

No Wall

I was born in the American continent.

Therefore, I am American.

I belong to this land, from ocean to ocean, from pole to pole, from soil to sky.

More than American, I am a human being.

Therefore, this planet is my home.

Humanity is my race.

The vast universe is my shelter.

I’ll come and go as I please anywhere in this planet.

Any border invented to contain me, to starve me, to kill me,

is illegal, inhumane…

It is null.

Just to be clear:
no puny wall or inhuman law takes precedence over my freedom.

–Koyote the Blind

The Shimmering Springs of Xibalbá

“There used to be, they say, this kingdom, ancient and old, existing and thriving before the coming of Man and before the building of cities and empires, before the wars and progress, before the isms and the movements and the forms, there was the city of Xibalbá fed by the currents and rivers of chaos and storms—all underground, barely perceived by the inhabitants of the human world. It now exists in ruins, without its rulers, without cohesion and coherence, without rule and form.”

The Shimmering Springs of Xibalbá is a collaborative piece with Maurice Laflamme III, where a Telling and a painting emerged as an act of creation from the sempiternal city of Xibalbá.

This is the first of the Xibalbá series, where I will collaborate with other artists to co-create shamanic artifacts.

You can now own a limited edition print of this amazing painting, along with the script of the Telling and a link to the audio recording of the performance.

There are only 27 prints made on a 16 x 20 canvas.

Click here to obtain your own shamanic artifact for $225

Your bundle contains:

-A canvas print of the painting by Maurice Laflamme III (16×20 in)

-A booklet with the exact script of the Telling

-A link to the audio recording of this sacred performance.

Note: this edition consist of only 27 numbered prints.

You can place an order through paypal or credit card: Click Here for the Shimmering Springs of Xibalbá limited edition print.

Original Sin

One of the first barriers in the spiritual path is being stuck in the way in which we see ourselves, begining with our own body and sexual force.

The notion of original sin was invented and used to enslave humanity. Once you feel something that is intrinsically part of you is your enemy, that it is shameful, and that it can only be exercised with permission of the elite, then they got you.

You live as a slave to someone else’s ideals and judgements. Especially when you internalize this belief, when you make it your own, and when you yourself begin to censor your expression, to censor your force. Then, everything that you do is already controlled by those who control your moral center.

This Our Land

This is our land, el continente americano.

I’ll say this unequivocally: In our land, you have the right to speak any language you wish to speak.
To live where your heart is.
To create and contribute.
To move about, learn, explore, and do.

In our land, you are welcome to establish a home,
To raise a family.
To help one another.
To protect and serve all beings.

In our land, you can be of any color.
Of any creed.
Of any culture.
Of any gender.
Of any identity.

Or of none.

I’ll also say this: this is our land not because we own it.
No one can own it.
It is our land because we are related to it and all its beings.
It is our land like our families are ours, like our friendship is ours, like our future is ours.

To All My Relations!

Koyote the Blind

The Here

It is of course a mystery to know that one is here without having a clue what here is; without having a clue how is it that one is here. It’s hard even at this moment to remember the situations that led to this moment. It’s a moment that has been waiting in the corridors of time for hundreds, thousands, millions of years–for an infinity.

Since before the world was created, there was this moment, here, waiting; standing within an ocean of time; creating an island of being where someone sits here and sees shadows and movement, where sounds are heard and lights are coming and going.

This moment will be over, and an ocean of time comes after it. This moment does not by itself come back, yet the moment is visited over and over again. And how is it that there is this moment here and not another? How is it that these words are read right now, and not others?

I, The Flame

In the vastness of time I stand in this brief moment between a dream and a dream with no name, no face, no past and no future; alone and naked, giving the light of not-being to the false dreams of prophecy and the path; breathing hope to the hopeless hearts; narrating the stories of the void; burning my light over and over until nothing remains of me.