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.

Advertisements

Seek the center of your Self

Ultimately, there is beyond the center of centers, there, at the origin of your attention, beyond the sense of self, the origin of all you are. This is the God that creates the world that you perceive. This is the God that sustains the life of the one that says ”I Am”. This god within has been considered the greatest of heresies of all the religions that have made a world of worship, the have created a culture that sees them, and only them, as the true intermediaries between you and god. Their success, strength and wealth has depended on you believing that you are not god; that you are only a limited ego that is a suffering fool whose only possibility of happiness depends on the graces of an external, remote god, and whose only intermediary is the church.

In this unholy trinity, a tyranny of a remote father and a tyrannical mother, are placed the only source of redemption for a child that never grows. But the truth is that the Holy Father is you, not your ego, not your identity, not even your memories, but you—the one behind the curtains of perception. You are the true God, and this vessel of flesh and mind that contains the history of humanity, that contains all knowledge and experiences, that contains the good and the bad, that contains all the teachings, and all the words of all the masters is the true church.

The marriage between God and the church produces, outside of you, the kingdom of heaven—always new, always created, always reflecting the will of god. In this Kingdom outside, the world created anew, is a true reflection of the inner marriage between the true God and the true church. This union is the true wine of ecstasy that brings the satiation of our deepest aspirations. Those who would keep humanity enslaved will tell you that it is a great heresy to believe in this God within. And I tell you that you have nothing to believe. No belief is necessary. You have to approach this as a true scientist, a true explorer of the inner spaces, and seek for yourself the knowledge of your true essence, of that which is silence and infinite, of that which is true beyond all forms, beyond all time—the center of yourself.

Seek within your heart, not the emotional or physical heart, but the center of yourself. There, you will find it. Silent. Vastly infinitesimal. All knower. Creator. Maintainer. Destroyer of all worlds. Look for the god within. Commit the ultimate heresy, and make contact with your true self.

Know Thyself

To know thyself, you must first question the assumptions you’ve made about who you are. In fact, everything we have taken as truth has to be questioned, analyzed, and reformed in a conscious manner, so that what we are, what the world is, and what the universe is can be approached as a great mystery—as a unique path that will lead us to a lifelong adventure of discovery.

To know thyself, as the oracle of Delphi commanded, and as Socrates told his students, is not only to know your identity—with all its preferences and histories—but to know that you are not that identity at all. It is to know the limits you have imposed on yourself. To know that manner in which you were educated by family, culture, country, and religion; and how they have provided limits for yourself, because they have created an avatar that functions on behalf of those very same religions, countries, and artificial human groups.

Make the outer like the inner

This brain of yours is, right now, creating the world. It is, at the same time, forming scientific hypotheses about the universe. It is doing this not only at the social level, but also at the natural and even the spiritual level.

The process of awakening has to do with taking these processes of the brain and bring them to a conscious level. It is about becoming conscious of the assumptions that you are making when you are defining yourself, and the assumptions that you are making when you are face to face with the infinite.

The brain is doing all this in a mater that is unconscious to you. Automatic. Make them conscious, and voluntary.

The watcher within

Every thought comes and goes. Every second of time comes and goes. Every aspiration comes and goes. Every lifetime I’ve had, it comes and goes. Every second of time, it comes and goes. Every flicker of time, it comes and goes. The watcher watches. And when I move, the watcher watches. When I dance, the watcher watches. When I love, the watcher watches. When I kill and consume the flesh of my enemy, the watcher watches. When I sin of hatred, the watcher watches. When I sin for love, the watcher watches. When I pray to God, the watcher watches. When I blaspheme against God, the watch watches. The watcher watches all the time, and it does not change. It does not move. The watcher watches. And the watcher inside me is what the five watchers perched on the Tree of Life, vulture like, beady eyes and the darkness within them, they watch the watcher within.

I come from a “shit-hole”

I am not an American.

I was born in the continent known as “America”, yes. But somehow this United States has given itself the name of the entire continent.

Ronald Reagan demoted the rest of this magnificent continent to the mere “Backyard of America.”

That’s when I came here, to the “land of the free,” when Ronald Reagan sent billions of dollars to military dictators so they could use the money to rape, torture, and massacre my people. I didn’t want to come here. Oh, how I hated coming to this land so full of restrictions, prohibitions, and people kept so ignorant of their own history!

Once I came here, almost no one I met knew where my country was. They all assumed I was Mexican. Except for Mexicans. They knew where I was from, and knew they couldn’t trust me because if was from where I was, I had to be a drunk, a rapist, a criminal, a thief, and a repulsive human being. Few others ever knew where I was from.

After Reagan was done paying for the killings and tortures of 100,000 of my people, I was able to settle in this bastion of democracy–where I had to prove at every turn that I had the right be here, that I had the right to work, and that someone like me, too, could be educated.

Donald Trump gave the label of rapists and criminals to Mexicans, right when he announces his candidacy; so as to signal to his people that he will make this country great again by getting rid of all the human shit that is now stinking up the place with their Spanish and their colored skin and their desire for freedom.

However, that doesn’t remove the labels from me. After all, if he ever met me he would think I am Mexican.

The truth is that it is hard for me to say what I am. I was born in El Salvador, and its land and people are synonyms with love and freedom in my heart. But the country itself is an invention of an invader from another continent. Its language, its religion, its traditions all were imposed by the invaders, burned into us with fire and cauldrons. Our 500 year old resistance has left its mark in a perennial PTSD so ingrained in our bones that we don’t even know any other way of feeling is possible.

I am Salvadoran, even if the term was imposed by Spain. I am American, even if the US thinks they own the name. I am güanaco, even if you think it’s an insult.

I am not Mexican. Mexicans call me “cerote”–a piece of turd.

Today, Trump agreed with them. Today, he said he didn’t understand why liberals want to bring people from those shit-hole countries.

I am a piece of turd from a shit-hole country in the backyard of Ronald Reagan.

Yet, I am here. And I come from the Land of the Jewel, Cuzcatlan, the last bastion of resistance.

I am here to stay, and to change this land, this entire continent, into what it truly is: the mother land in the process of awakening.

You may see in me a turd from a shit-hole country, but I see in you and me and all the true silver light of the empty mind, the freedom from the past, the glory of the New Sun that heralds the coming of the True Human Being. I am here to share that future with you, my reader, without hatred in my heart, without resentment, and without any names to hurl back at you.

Before creation

The Absolute, to know itself, has to divide itself. But by definition, the Ab-solute is indivisible. It cannot be divided, but it can observe itself. This act of knowing necessitates two polarities. It necessitates the knower and the known. The observer and the observed. But how is the void to do this if it has nothing but itself? It is that first act of observation, of self reflection, when the first act of creation begins. It all starts with that triad, when there’s no universe yet. It’s all done before there is any thought, any language. It’s just a pre-mathematical computational seed.

The Palace of Dream

This experience seems endless. For no matter how many times I seem to dissolve myself, I keep coming back to this moment, to this space where I seem to be experiencing something. Yet nothing seems to ever be happening to me.

I am therefore in the midst of the Dreaming. I am the dreamer who realizes he is but a speck of imagination; a tiny particle of dust in the mind of an eternal sleeper. That he who sleeps, the God who slumbers, is for a tiny moment almost waking up, and in waking up gives birth to me and to this palace of its creation.