Haiku for Danni Blackman

Shifting, moving clouds
send images, dew and storms;
but don’t change the sky.

(A haiku for every person who donates to Preserve the Medicine Wheel. Click here to help!)


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.

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.

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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…

Speak up.

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.