Whence the stories come

In the silence between word and word, between day and day…

In that moment of silence before the pushing forth of meaning, the foundation for the making of the world flowers from the depth of the abyss.

It’s in that flowering that the tides of the waters of my heart flow unrestricted, seeking who knows what, moving where they’re being pulled.

Without the swelling of those waters, no story is worth telling.

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Dr. Gerald Porter reviews The Golden Flower

Review of The Golden Flower by Koyote the Blind

By Gerald Porter, PhD

“The Golden Flower by Koyote the Blind is a very special book. It is timeless, and yet, perfect for these troubled times – attuned with a unique sensitivity to the requirements of our time.

The Golden Flower is also a very practical book. Practical if you want answers to the big questions and are prepared to use your own experience as the laboratory of discovery. Koyote with great candor reveals his personal journey and models for those with eyes to see and ears to hear how to engage the mysterious with honesty and integrity. This is the embodiment of practicality and relevance.

Koyote presents an understanding of the dream that is big and encompassing. It is a pitch perfect response to the postmodern inquiry that has plagued scholars who have lost their way since cutting the moorings from the illusory comfort of the consensus reality. He provides a viable strategy to any in the alienated majority brave enough to find answers aligned to their personal experience.

Koyote, who is anything but blind, with this small volume provides anyone seriously seeking the tools to discover their own unique way. Although he always acknowledges each seeker’s absolute freedom that is their birthright, he does so always affirming the fundamental demands of the Great Work, of which he is a true teacher. If Koyote can be considered blind, then he is like the prophet Teresias, who was undeceived by the glamor of the world, so that he could have unfettered vision of the deeper truths.

If you are fortunate enough to acquire this beautifully laid out volume, you will not only have access to the rare information it contains, but will have in your possession a magical talisman. Such an object can only be unlocked by a pure heart and an enquiring mind, at least a little freed from the shackles of our reductionist materialist culture – a talisman with the power to fuel passage into new worlds not for amusement but self-discovery.

The Golden Flower is one of my most treasured possessions. One of a very small collection of books that speak my secret language, that until I started reading these words had eluded me. Turning each page was an act of discovery followed then by the most profound remembrance. Each word was spun not only by a master who knew the secrets of dreams from firsthand experience, but a poet who graced each word with the transformative magic that gave grist for the discursive mind, but more importantly, stirred the soul and called me home.

If the word “dream” conjures up rich and inexplicable mysteries as irresistible as a siren’s seductive song, then you should not deny yourself this very special volume. It is a bright beacon shining through the darkness.”

The Golden Flower will be available in paper back on June, 2018. You can pre-order here:

http://a.co/15WRKcS

You can still get the collectible hard cover edition by clicking here:

http://a.co/8wk97J0

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.

Viento de Octubre’s reviews The Golden Flower

“When we first started working on editing The Golden Flower, we had no idea it would morph into the artifact it turned out to be. This book is a tool of practical application resulting in direct engagement with the self. But this book is also a doorway into another dimension. And this book also carries an amount of presence, its own sentient emanation. This phenomenon has to do with the practice and reality presented in his book.

In a very practical level, The Golden Flower is a user-friendly guide to the other dimensions, with an emphasis on ascension, evolution, and mastery of self. It is full of practical exercises and experiments, all of which allow one to begin a personal exploration of the Dreaming immediately. Theory is bathed in masterful prose. The words alone, without doing the exercises, lead one to heightened states of awareness—but just slightly so, enough that it can become tangible—and in this state, one is able to clearly perceive the presence of the Other Self, the Dream Self. The exercises will then lead us to a better understanding of ourselves by exploring the Dreaming and the worlds beyond with the aid of these other parts of ourselves.

This book was first forged in the Dreaming. Every chapter Koyote sent to us for editing turned out to be blue prints. Every word uttered aloud while writing it, while revising it, became a cell of purpose, an imprint, a condition, a direction, an instance of life, and its very breath. The Golden Flower isn’t just a bunch of pages bound together to contain an idea. It is also a vertical construct, like a tower, a ladder, or an unfolding spiral—as it appears in the Dreaming. The book itself, under the correct conditions, both external and internal, will open a doorway into a construction of Koyote’s own devise existing in the astral, running through the etheric and, now, down to the physical. The Golden Flower is Koyote’s doorway into this place, and it is the manifestation of it in its entirety in the physical world. It is here that the training begins, and one enters it almost immediately and without notice.

Gently and securely, one is guided into the first instances of awakening into the Dreaming and towards the recognition of the Other Self. Before long, one becomes aware of just how to proceed into one’s own path of discovery and ascension.

The Golden Flower is an artifact. Its emanation is evident in people’s stories about how powerful it feels to hold the book in their hands; about how it seems to be magically charged; about how it feels as if it has a presence of its own, a consciousness. It has all of these things, which is why many copies have instinctively and inspiredly ended up with a spot on many an altar in many homes. It has a purpose and it carries a charge, both in the electrical sense and in that it has a responsibility and a task. If you allow it (and it is easy to do so—you’ll know what I mean once you start reading it), The Golden Flower will open up for you, and you will immerse yourself in the Yoga of Dreaming, which is the unfolding of your own Self.”

View The Golden Flower on Amazon

When I found him

He was dressed in dark cloak, wearing a black hat.

He had 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.

The invisibility of the FOG

There’s a story about the arrival of Spanish ships to the New World. What the Indians saw first in the island of San Salvador was the small canoe you drop from the ship to get to shore. Because there is no port, they settle in the shore and send small rowboats. They were amazed by the workmanship of the row boat; the way that it was constructed was so strange, and the technology unknown to the natives. While commenting on the strangeness of that boat they overlooked the huge caravelle in the background. There was nothing in their worldview to point to that. This is a phenomenon often encountered in shamanic voyaging, where the thing that is huge and in your face you don’t see, because you’re looking at what is known. This is the Face Of God (FOG), which is right here on your face; always touching you. And you don’t see God because you see the illusion of the world. You create the idea of God as something remote. So you don’t see God, because God takes the shape of whatever is in front of you. Or that beast which is the Dreaming. You only see the dream, not the beast which is the Dreaming.

This language like a snakeskin

If I say “I am hungry,” the “I” which is hungry is a product of that language which differentiates between you and me. Isn’t it the case that when I say “I am hungry” that “I” in that context is different from the one that says “I am koyote” and from “I did not hear what you said”? Each I is a different entity, new each time it is uttered. Only the illusion of language supposes this I exists somewhere inside me and is saying and hearing things. The one that listens is also just a product of what is being said; what is being grasped. As the I who utters ceases, the I who listens ceases. Yet something remains. And what remains makes no distinction between the utterance and the listening and the reality, perhaps the difference exists only in the language which was discarded like a snakeskin.

Some stories

Some stories were only told to men before the hunt and in the eve of war, around the campfire.

These stories were told and the men became the story as the killing and the fighting and the eternal dance of life and death were played.

And there are stories that can only be told to the dead.

Our meaningless ways

There were stories only shared between grandmother and granddaughter, because they were permitted to be alone without the power play of mother and daughter. In male dominated societies neither the elder nor the child is considered to be of importance. So they are allowed to whisper to each other and tell the stories that are not meant for male ears.

The nuance of the story would be memorized. The shape of the hand. The sensation of the cool air. The breeze between the legs. The subtle intake of breath in the nostrils will be noticed, and one’s organic reactions to the sudden turns of the stories. Such stories were never told among men, for fear that the veil would be ripped apart and men would realize the futility, the meaninglessness of their ways.