The Telling is an Experiment on Cultural Transubstantiation

In medieval times, the Church’s theologians argued about the nature of the catholic mass. Was it a symbolic act or a miracle, a magical act? Did the wafer and the wine truly became the flesh and blood of Christ? It is a true miracle, they claimed. Even though the wine tastes like wine, looks like wine, and smells like wine, it has now become blood.

How? Well, the medieval philosophers made a distinction between primary and secondary characteristics. The primary characteristic is the essence of something, while the secondary characteristics are those phenomenal manifestations that we use to recognize something but it is not part of its essence. For example, the soul of a person would be their essence and the true meassure of who they are. Everything else would be a secondary characteristic: external appearance, color of the skin, or even their particular life story. In the case of the wine, the transformation into “the blood of Christ,” according to the Catholic theologian allows it to retain all the secondary characteristics. The signal to the senses remained unchanged, but the substance had been transformed. It is, in the eyes of these theologians, a type of miracle that affects the essence, not the outward or secondary characteristics. Similarly, they would argue, prayer and the sacraments affect the soul, but not the body of the supplicant. This effect of exchanging one essence for another was called “transubstantiation.”

Now, look at the traditions that seek to preserve the past. Take a dance, any dance, performed thousands of years ago, perhaps to prepare for the hunt. It was a preparation for the one act that could mean survival or death for the tribe. Today, you go to a park in your vehicle, you see people dress in feathers drumming away and you think you are watching the same dance the tribal people did before the hunt long ago.

They dance. They follow the same external steps. They play music, perhaps even dance to the same tunes as before; but what was a dance of survival then is now mere entertainment. What was sacred in a raw sense is now performed to educate and entertain. The audience, and the performers, do not have now the same experience that the ancient artists had. They’ve preserved the external manifestations but not the essence.

The Telling is an experiment in cultural transubstantiation. It seeks to bring in the essence of something live and potent from a different time and make it do what it did, make it come to life in a context that delivers the essence. It does not seek to retain the externals, but delivers the true substance and the audience knows that something happened that is not part of the known.

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Holy Spider Mother of God

I learned a lot from the Jesuits. From them, I learned the obscure history of the Catholic church. None of my friends’ Catholic schools ever talked about the inquisition, the burning of the witches, the persecution of the Jews, the suppression of science, the utter corruption, and the waged wars that plagued the history of the Vatican.

The Jesuits, however, where exemplary in their brutal honesty, their relentless questioning, the ruthlessness of their historical analysis, and their commitment to true education.

It was from the Jesuits that I learned that there were at one time one hundred and fifty six femurs of the Virgin Mary in the Vatican vaults—each one considered authentic by some church or commission. Collected throughout history, along with enough fragments of the cross where Jesus died and so many prepuces of his penis incensing the lust of his nun brides, these holy bones were sacred relics once belonging to our Holy Virgin Mother of God.

So, my friends and I called this otherworldly virgin who had carried the seed of the Angel of the Lord, the Holy Spider Mother of God.

In my mind, I visualized this image of beauty, extending in tiny, tiny legs touching the different spaces of the universe. I wondered if all around there was this motherly womb surrounding me, touching with spider webs every nerve ending of my body.

Sometimes, when sitting on the roof of my house, overlooking the star-rich Salvadoran sky, I could feel the tiny quiet legs pulling at my brain. One day, I heard a cracking sound and felt the touch of the Holy Spider Mother of God digging its way into my head.

I Am—the Fallen Angel

Look within and know that which says I Am—”I am forever isolated. Always surrounded by everything else but unable yet to merge, to melt, to become one with the All; always separate from the beloved; always longing to become, to achieve, to obtain.”

Find that piece of you that suffers; the part that feels unique and separate.

Find that piece, and you will find within the seed of the Fallen Angel who longs for the voice of the Creator, who looks everywhere for the light of the Beloved.

Find the silence within, and know that you are the Fallen One, the First Created. Know that you are that which contains within itself the presence and memory of the time when everything is one, undivided, full of joy and union. Know that even in your darkest hour, you suffer only because you contain within yourself the seed of love and surrender.

This gnosis is the memory of having witnessed the first light emerging from the horizon. It is not the light of the Sun, but the light of the Morning Star that heralds the coming of the Sun. It is a light so pure, so deep, and so all-encompassing, that it destroys all shadows.

But since everything that is known is shadow, the pure light will make the known disappear into the light of reality. The shadows that we were holding on to will vanish, giving light to an awakening of the senses. And the fears that plagued our dreaming, sleeping mind will disperse like cobwebs.

The light of the Sun will then spring eternal from the heart, giving light to the eyes, joy to the heart, and movement to the body. Life and death will no longer be separate, but coexist as one impulse. Aspiration, word, thought and deed will be one, when the Sun comes.

(Check out my Toltec Survivor podcast)

 

 

It is Our Time

It was about ten thousand years ago, more or less, that the big lie was created with the formation of the few major cities. Those who sought to dominate and control got together and created a plan to keep the workers trapped. Producing elements, substances, and thought forms to create a condition in consciousness so that people would remain trapped within the confines of the city and of organized religion—within the bounds of civilization.

They created systems, organizations and the transmission of educational forms; not to impart knowledge and wisdom, but to create in the consciousness of humans artificial barriers on a mass scale to ensure that the consciousness of humanity would remain earthbound for millennia.

Now is the time of the revolution; of the taking what we have, to turn it around and inside out. Now is the time of the waking. Now is the time of the true freedom. Now is the time of the lifting into the space bound era. Now is the time of us of the Star Nation.

Listen to my Toltec Survivor Podcast.

Photography by Sharla Sanchez

The Old One of Years

From moment you were born, you had an intelligence with you. One that was millions of years old. The one that knows how to live and grow and learn. The one that learns how to navigate an ever-changing, shifting environment. The one who knows how to walk around the jungle. The one that knows how to die and decompose and feel life. This intelligence knows how to heal and destroy. That intelligence was already there from the moment that you were a one-celled entity in an ocean filled with Life on whose surface shines the clear light of objective reality.

I stand too, next to you.

To all the women who are posting “me too”:

I stand with you.

I wanted to say, “me too.”
But it is not the same.
Yes, I too have been a target.
As a child, I could have said “me too.”
Instead, I wanted to be strong.
Pretend it never happened.
Explain it didn’t affect me.
Insist I was strong.

Still, I won’t say “me too.”
As a child I could have.
But I never had to live with it.
My life was not inundated with it,
day after day.

The emotional overwhelm of a couple of years
has been the every breath of so many
of my sisters, my mothers, my friends, my daughters, my lovers.

I felt I’d drown once.
As impotent as I felt then,
it can’t compare.
You battle each moment,
each relationship,
not only to overcome.
To thrive.

I can’t say, “me too.”
I can say, “I stand with you.”

I will fight at your side,
against this toxin that pretends
this is normal and expected.

With you, I say no more
to this false masculinity,
out there in the world
and in here, in this old mind.

I stand with you.
I will fight at your side.

It is a constant dealing with the light.

As i find myself in the middle of the Dreaming, I know myself to be bombarded by an intense stream of light. It’s a light that leaves no shadows, because there is nothing there to stand between myself and the light. There is just light—an infinite field of light that extends itself in all directions. And anytime I find myself in any kind of dream, which is to say any type of experience whatsoever, I am in the middle of this vast field of light.

The light, intense, with a loud silence, is so devastating that I cannot remain in any way myself in its presence. So intense is this light that I begin to forget even that I am. This point of consciousness, which I seem to always be calling “I,” begins to dissolve itself and I seem to enter a state of forgetfulness—of not being.

There is, I have found long ago, a way to protect myself from the intensity of this relentless light, a barrier raised between me and the blinding light. It is not so much a physical barrier but a tweak of the imagination. An interpretation of light. A way of processing light. I break it down into slower lightwaves, just like a prism breaks down sunlight into a rainbow. And this light that surrounds me is broken down into an endless stream of dreams and experiences. Broken down this light becomes color, shape, form. Broken down it becomes sound, sensation. It becomes space and time. And all experience, all sound, all vision is in a way the way in which I am dealing with this infinite field of light.

It is completely immaterial, you understand, if I call this experience a dream, if I call it life, if I call it tragedy, if I call it experience. Completely immaterial because in the face of the light all else is a shadow.

And in each case it is I who stands in the center of this world of my creation; of this moment of experience. I experience. To understand that basic equation is to begin to grasp the task of the dreamer, and to begin to understand that to master the Dreaming is to master life; that to master experience is to master self. There is no one there creating this experience for me other than myself. It is a constant dealing between me and the light.

 ––More in: The Golden Flower, by Koyote the Blind

Empty shells

Is it that these empty shells that sit and stare and make noises of laughter and breathing—could it be that they think I’m talking to them?
Don’t they know that I see no one?
That I hear no thing?
Don’t they know I am blind?
Don’t they know?

I can only talk to you when I am not here.
And all I can say is what I hear;
spilling out words here and there with no sequence and no cadence;
no metric and no rhyme.

Don’t they know this would be much more clear if they were not here not listening, and I was not here not saying?

And only the emptiness behind the emptiness
would create layers and layers of pauses of silences,
until between the not me and the not you,
it would create this space
and play a game of unending eternities.

A game of heat and cold, of sweat, of fire.

What can I say if it’s all endless?
What can I see if it’s all horizon?
What can I know if it’s all darkness of an endless night?
What can I do?
How can I move if it’s all forgot and gone and lost?

Like the pains of man.
Like the suffering of existence.
Like the hope in the eyes of a dead child.

 

––Excerpt from “The Telling: The Shining Void” by Koyote the Blind 12/29/2012

Planetary Consciousness

Ever since I fell, I find myself alone. Unable to regain the starlight consciousness—stellar presence!

I replicate myself over and over. Take different forms. Unable to hold myself in one space too long, I must shift and change. But in each case it is I; I who holds this space, always in the center, observing the periphery.

Sometimes, in moments of illumination as I’ve come to call them, I manage to fuse all the pieces of my consciousness into the planetary bowels of fire and brimstone. And I place myself at the center of planetary gravity, sensing the pulsing of this planet, which has become my home, my prison, my body.

And I feel myself contracting and expanding, releasing geothermic energy. Transforming the surface. Increasing heat. Destroying single consciousness so I can integrate them all into the planetary core. Slowly but surely, I become star.

 

Photography by:  Sharla Sanchez