Broken is Beautiful Too

This brought to the light of memory what the war I came from broke: a heart, a memory, a home, a future, a peace, a silence, and a life. But it never broke my laugh, my love, or the revolutionary hope.

Drained Batteries

“Para de llorar, it’s just a plant.” My mom would say.

And she’s right, the pot fell and broke, and that’s that.

“We can glue it together,” I’d offer, refusing to throw the pieces away. “We can do something with this.” I wanted to save it, and I was sobbing because I knew this pot was older than I was. Just like how her sewing scissors were as old as her marriage, and how our vacuum could be my older brother.

It was worth something, broken or not, because she kept it for so long and it was her favorite.

She threw it away without a care and a normal kid would be glad they didn’t get in trouble for it. And I was– I never got in trouble for breaking things.

I punished myself enough with the guilt I felt, anyway. I’d be a wreck the whole day after.

View original post 566 more words

Advertisements

What the system has over you

This is an excerpt from a talk I gave at UCR on “what is a revolutionary?”:

“Forget about yourselves…it’s not about you…not about your education…not about your money…not about your wages…not about how hard it is to go to college. At the end of your lifetime, nothing that you have done, accumulated, published, is going to count; only what’s in your spirit. If at all.

It’s not about you. Change that orientation. The ‘me first’ attitude is the shackles that the system has over you. The fear of losing your lifestyle is what the system has over you.

If you have nothing to lose, what can you do? If you owe nothing to church or government, if you have no money to lose, if you don’t care about what car you drive, what kind of freedom can you have?

There has to be a deep surrender to your destiny, a deep knowledge of your personal freedom and an undying love for others. Without this, there is no real revolution. It’s just demagoguery and cheap talk…like this one.”

I want to say to those young flakes

I want to say

To those lazy students,
(walking out from school and raining on Washington)

To this uncaring egotist youth,
(speaking against the dangers all face)

To the snowflake generation of pampered cowards,
(mobilizing united against the murderous gun makers,
the cowardly law makers for sale, puppets of the NRA,
and crime spree of hate fed by our government)

I want to say…

Mobilize.
Speak up.
Enlighten.
Shout.
Fight.

We failed to make this world safe for you.
We got distracted with reality shows, with stupid banter, and cynicism.
We kept shouting “Fake News”, and “Build that wall”, and “It’s the homeless fault.”
We shouted so hard we couldn’t hear the bullets.
We were so blind we couldn’t see the color of your blood.

It’s up to you now.
Discern the voice of your spirit.
Learn to think for yourself, don’t wait for us to teach you.

Speak up… and listen to yourself.
Observe… and remember.
Survive… and vote.
Stay woke… and live.

—Koyote the Blind

Haiku del vuelo

Tengo dos alas.

Se extienden al confín.

Vuelo sin surcar.

Sin dejar rastro

se desliza mi mente

en las alturas.

Y veo por fin,

en la faz del silencio,

el infinito.

Vacío tu rostro,

que todo lo refleja,

me veo en ti.

Ojo eterno.

Misterio de misterios.

Todo y nada.

Soy lo eterno

viendo el infinito.

Ya no soy nada.

Soap bubbles, these worlds

When I dream, I like to see these worlds grow like tiny bubbles of soap. I like to see them color up and take on the shimmering lights and tentacles, to then explode into unnamable sentiments and feelings that I could almost name–if only I could remember the language of all.

I see the ones that are still here scramble away from me, swimming through the currents of air that flow into them. I try to touch them with my hands and I cannot. When I get close to one, it vanishes into the nothingness of illusion and memory. I know that just a few seconds before I was seeing those tiny universes made up of flimsy shells of dream stuff.

I can only remember them when I am asleep. I know that when I fully awake, they will give way to a shared reality in a solid world. Or in something that pretends to be a solid world but contains within it millions of little creatures and worlds that scramble away into remembrance and lost memories as I bring my hand close to the light and touch them.

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)