Month: September 2019

The Roaring of Her Voice

~ Koyote the Blind ~ Leave a comment

As I sat there listening to the roaring of her voice, knowing that behind me there was a jungle of life, and in front of me an ocean of time,

I could see the immensity in front of me; and behind me, the void. Everything and nothing behind me––just empty space. All that there was, was the ocean before me. All I could hear were her stories, but the stories kept coming one after the other. The images of origins and endings, beginnings and nevermores were here inside me and outside of me, and as the ocean was inside my mind, bursting it open, I couldn’t tell the difference between the ocean in me and the ocean outside.

I had no idea where I was. I had no idea what I was hearing. Voices came and went until every word, and every concept, and every memory lost any proportion and meaning. It was just sounds until no longer could I remember who or what I was, what I was hearing, what was she saying––only that reverberation that was felt through skin and spine, only the wailing until nothing else could be had, until that point of reference which is I was barely there.

Yeah. There I was, just a point of view, barely there. I, perceiving the ocean, hearing the stories. The almost I. The barely I. The uncreated. The eternal. That nothing that was not absent. That point which was ceasing to be. Unmanifested. Uncreated.

Something sat, maybe. I cannot really tell you for I did not see it sitting. There was an immensity, I believe so now. I can’t really say. For compared to what could that be an immensity?

There was a vastness that came and went that would give me moments of reprieve, when I could collect myself and think maybe enough to know myself as the teller of stories, as the thinker of thoughts, as the one who yearns for the kiss of that vastness whence I came.

I could never have enough time to consolidate this long enough before she would take me again, before my point of view would change to being a vast something that had existed from the beginning of time and will continue to exist until the end of time when the last flame in the last star goes off.

Do Not Waste Time

~ Koyote the Blind ~ Leave a comment

Here is the third and last commandment left by Ce Acatl Topilttzin Quetzalcoatl to his four high priests:

“Do not waste the time given to you by Ometeotl, the divine dual-trinity, on this world. Labor day and night towards the good without wasting time, for you shall not know if you will live again, if you shall know your true visage there in the world of true existence. Take prudent advantage of your lifetime.”

We Toltecas learn to use death as an advisor. This doesn’t mean we brood over the certainty of death, nor that we adopt metaphysical views about it. We simply use the certainty of the end of all things, including the end of this dream of life, to help us know that this moment is of extreme importance.

More in Tolteca 3:

http://amzn.com/B010NUJH1Y

Preñado de tu Luz

~ Koyote the Blind ~ Leave a comment

Preñado de tu luz sostengo la pluma en mis dedos. La mente vieja intenta dar a luz, pero el silencio gana esta batalla.

Y así nomás, sin porqué ni para qué la pluma toca el papel vacío y juntos dan sentido y rumbo al torbellino de silencio que tu aliento impregnó en mi ser.

Comenzó precisamente así, como la diminuta partícula de tinta que ni gota llega a ser, que no tiene sentido ni razón pero que sin barrera posible da comienzo por movimiento sutil y delicado de muñeca y dedos a las letras y palabras de luz torrencial que plasman al fin lo que me inunda a plenitud.

Así sale al fin un clamor a ti. Así se plasma en el vacío sin expresión un arroyo de tinta y palabra que quizás un día llegue al vasto mar. O quizás no llegue nunca, y tan solo se evapore gota a gota convirtiéndose en inperceptible vapor, uno con el cielo, sin rumbo ni ambición. Hasta que algún día llegue a ser tormenta, rocio, o arcoiris en el cielo azul.

––Koyote. junio 13, 2015

Consuelo para un Corazón de Niño

~ Koyote the Blind ~ Leave a comment

Hay un dolor en el silencio desde el día que no la vi.
Donde quiera que volteo, su ausencia me sorprende y me atrapa.
Y este corazón de niño no sabe para donde ir,
pues la siente aquí y no la ve,
la sabe ausente pero en todo la ve.

Se ha convertido en la ausencia del que murió,
eternamente lejos pero en todo aquí.

Se ha vuelto pregunta incansable, tormenta del qué pasó.
Está confundido este corazón, sin saber a donde ver.

Y es que ella era la voz que entra en mi templo
preguntando si me puede ver.
Era silueta en la puerta.
Era el texto diario y la broma inesperada.
Era la risa a flor de piel, y el peso del mundo.
Era dolor gentil,
duda de si,
mirada triste y eterna.
Era compañera de mis silencios.

Hoy es dolor del silencio.
Ya no se oye su voz detrás de las cortinas.
Bueno, no la oigo, es cierto, pero la anticipo.
Todavía mis ojos esperan ver su figura siempre al trabajo y con paso brusco,
y aún siento su altar divino en un cuarto ya vacío.
Abro la puerta y espero ver los santos en las paredes
y los espíritus sorprendidos escurriéndose en las esquinas.

Y creo que al fin encontré la clave de la incógnita.
Ya puedo susurrarle a mi corazón la explicación de su sentir.

Eres, corazón de niño, un viejo altar encendido en un cuarto ya vacío.

Always the Ocean

~ Koyote the Blind ~ Leave a comment

The sun had just immersed itself in that beautiful golden rainbow water in the distance. She came out, this beautiful creature, out of the ocean. She walked towards me. I remember it. I could almost see her, but not quite. But she was there, I think—or almost there.

She was barely true, almost real. I could tell she was there because of the soft shimmer on the outline of her body. The light of the sun, indirect and gentle, almost as if saying goodbye, would reflect on her surface––small glimmers of dew telling me of a hair, a curve, a breast, maybe a mouth.

She was almost there. Barely there. But the likeness of her being was unmistakable. I could feel it in my skin. It would tickle me. It would make me burst with a small gentle smile. It would make herself known when I took a whiff of air into me, and she smelled like the ocean. She smelled like the sand. She smelled like the sunset. And there she whispered in my ear.

She told me the story of the doll made of salt who would sit by the ocean as I sat by the ocean, waiting for the water to come close to her, almost kiss her, and go back; come back and go back; and one day it came too close and it kissed her on her feet. The oceanic water touched the feet of this doll who sat just as I sat. But her love and yearning for the ocean was so great that just one kiss of the ocean begun to dissolve the doll of salt. In her love for the kiss, all of her dissolved and she became the ocean.

When she told me this story, I asked:
-“So, what happened to the girl made of salt?”
-“She became the ocean” she said.
-“But, aren’t you the ocean?” I asked.
-“Yes” she said.
-“So, do you remember being the girl made of salt?”
-“I was never a girl made of salt,” she said. “I’ve always been the ocean, and I will always be the ocean.”

Why I Lay This Soul to Be Torn Apart

~ Koyote the Blind ~ 3 Comments

I have seen the dunes of time, rolling with the shifting sands of the endless desert between the dream of life and the wake world of the House Absolute.

Who can cross this unforgiven vastness?

Who survives the ancient whirlwind that tears apart gods and worlds?

Who stands whole before the terrible stentor of The Heart Of The Sky, whose voice creates and destroys the infinite abode?

Who will cross this desert, whose ever shifting dunes are formed out of the cold breath of the eternal void upon the sand of time where every grain is the unique divine point of view of every traveller, of every dreamer of the House Absolute who ever entered this desert void?

And why is it, beloved of my soul, that I would lay that very soul to be torn apart, to add one insignificant grain to the infinite sand? It is so that you too may come to find your completion, your satiety in the constant embrace of the beloved, and that you may also know the glory in plenitude as I have.

God Fearing

~ Koyote the Blind ~ 2 Comments

The god-fearing are victims of their ignorance. Ignorance is not knowing who you truly are. Ignorant of their true nature, they believe the little gods of their imagination have created them. The more they fear, the more they channel the force of fear to create a world full of evidence that they are powerless. They become trapped by the power of their own ignorance. The gods they created are placed as guardians of their prison.

The free human being does not draw from the power of fear.

The people of knowledge, free from ignorance, do not hold guards to keep them trapped. They are free from belief, and free from fear.