Lightning in My Head

In the midst of a massacre, we were laying down at Hell’s gate, waiting for death.

Looking up, I saw a peaceful blue sky far above us. My ankle was throbbing from a shot wound, right where an asp had bit me in a dream days earlier.

Like lightning inside the head, the realization that all states are already in me struck.

This bolt of light showed me the opening across the dream beyond which lies the path of mastery of perception.

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The Stirring of my Beloved

The undifferentiated silence becomes distinct by the introduction of sound and movement. Having forgotten infinite lifetimes, this new appearance of appearance, grabs the attention.

I begin to forget the eternal emptiness. I hear the laughter. I feel the love of the mother. I touch with my tiny hands, and the touch is joyous in the extreme. I experience searing pain and suffering, and the suffering is like fire innundating all my senses. I laugh. I hope. I experience. I become.

In the becoming I transform myself. I create many me’s from expectation, arrogance, and hopefulness. I create the illusion of suffering. I create the illusion of the importance of my life. I create even the fiction of a spiritual path––the reading of the books, the listening to the teachers. I create an expectation of liberation. I create the fiction of salvation. I create aspirations. And in the creation of aspirations I immerse myself more and more in the illusion that what happens to me is somehow of any importance whatsoever.

And so on I continue with the chain,
the unending chain of life,
enlightenment,
and nothingness.

Nothing is permanent.
Not even the experience of the empty
voidness of the void.
Life runs out.
Death runs out.
Ignorance runs out when I realize
the eternal truth of the eternal empty void.

And the experience of enlightenment
and the dissolution of illusion
also ends with the forgetting of the illusion.
It ends with the stirring of experience.
Unending chain.
A cosmic breath between creation and dissolution.
The long night of Brahma.
The eternal dance of the empty void and her beloved, her lover,
the stirring of the experience.

Are They Still There?

Today, there is no volcano in my view.
No people.
No path.
No city.
No hum.

Today it’s just the fog
holding and dissolving billions of worlds.
They have become more clear and solid.
They exist within me, and without.

The word showing an external reality is no longer dead.
It’s the gate keeper who is dead.

Who, then, punishes the archangels?
Or do they exist inside me in caravans?
Do they exist in my grandmother’s room,
collecting dust and gathering consciousness of little children?
Does the manticore fly?
Does the unicorn travel on solar paths?

Is the man in the cross still there,
looking at me with those eyes,
asking me if I know that I am there
nailed to the same cross,
to this creation of my mind,
unable to move and going everywhere at once?

How I Create Myself

Imagine all events of the universe already laid out as a finite multidimensional field. Now, imagine God’s consciousness entering a point in this matrix of events. This point of consciousness now begins to experience events in sequence. The sequence followed becomes experience, and with that comes the concept of time.

With the accumulation of experiences comes a sense of self born out of the memories that I can see behind me. I also sense the field of events around me and ahead of me, not clear to my vision but I sense they exist ahead of me, in my future. When I place my attention on the future, I project what I know onto it. What I know is born out of my past. This is how I create my sense of past and future.

Now, when I turn my attention to my past, I have to choose what events I remember and which ones I emphasize. I tell a story to myself about my passage, and the way in which I tell this story determines what I leave out and what I underline. I can only do this story telling from the perspective of an author.

I am the author. But I am not a fixed, limited author. I am creating myself each time I see my past, and every time I project my story onto a future. I create myself according to the story I weave, and I weave my story out of the material at hand (i.e., the memories available to me).

So, my sense of self is created not only from the passage of memories, but also from how I weave these memories and how I project them onto the field of possible futures.

Don’t Let the Driver of your Vehicle Fall Asleep

The main reason your instrument, your carriage, your human biological machine does not get into the waking state is because it is deathly afraid of it. When everything is working properly, the Master expresses his wishes, the driver knows the direction and controls the horses, the horses have the strength to go wherever the Master indicates, and the carriage simply follows. When everything is working in harmony, the Master gets to where he wills to go. If something goes wrong, then he might not get to where he wants to go. If the wheels are not attached correctly, the carriage will go nowhere. If the horses are not well trained, the carriage could go anywhere. If the horses are going crazy, berserk, they will not go anywhere. If the driver is drunk or asleep, it can’t get anywhere either. The nature of our sleep refers a lot to the driver falling asleep. The driver falls asleep and the horses go to where they want to go according to their preferences, their instincts.

Who are the horses, the driver, the cart? The horses represent your desires and your fears; or more properly said, your seductions and your aversions. When the driver is asleep, you are on autopilot and you move in accordance to your instincts. You are driven by the winds of karma. Some of the words I use here, you might be familiar with, but I will be using them in different ways. Here, I’m not using karma to mean “you do something good, you get something good.” That’s the soap-opera version of karma. Think of karma as a wind that moves the leaves of the tree sometimes here, sometimes there. We are like those leaves, and we’re moved by our desires and the circumstances around us.

Rarely do we have a driver that can direct our vehicle wherever we want to go. The driver is our conscious self, the thinking part of us that can plan, strategize, and make thoughtful decisions. A driver that is pulled and repelled by sensual or emotional attractions, is a driver that has given control of the vehicle to the horses. The driver is asleep, or otherwise merely witnessing the car being pulled by the horses of emotional identification. The driver might know where the master wishes to go, but he is incapable of directing the carriage.

The influence of the Master is very subtle. He has no direct influence over the cart. All he can do is talk and send a voice to the driver. But if the driver is drunk and asleep, he won’t listen. If there is a racket going on outside, he might get a distorted notion. All he has is that voice coming from somewhere behind him: “Take me to the park.” But the driver has to interpret, apply the command, and go. You have to listen to the voice while awake. If you are asleep, who knows what you’re listening to.

From The Teachings of a Toltec Survivor

My Precious Double

Think of a dream you are having. You project yourself into that dream. That projection is a double of you, an avatar that is native to the dream environment. You are creating both the dream and the dream self that inhabit that realm.

If you identify with that double, you act and feel as if that is your only reality.

To be aware of both the dream and the one who is outside the dream allows you to loose your form, and to exist beyond the limits of your dream.

To withdraw your identification from the dream double is to wake up, and to find yourself in the wake world–which itself as a dream to the eternal void beyond all dreaming and experience.

The Elusive I Am

The being who says “I am”, implied in every sentence, the being that observes, that hears, that sees color and light, sits in the shadows between the worlds.

If I look within the source of attention, trying to find the I Am, the I Am retreats even further. When I think I’ve grappled it, when I think I have surrounded the I Am in a web craftily and carefully constructed with meaning and concerns, when I say “Ah! Here I Am!,” the I Am becomes smaller, more remote, more in shadow.

I look for the I Am, realizing that the one who searches is also the I Am, forever retreating yet always at the center of the experience.

I Am a Figment of Your Imagination

The one who speaks and the one listens, that is the “I” and the “you” implied in a sentence, are theoretical entities. That is, they may be actual beings as, for example, the person who wrote this and the person who is reading it, but the sentence itself exists even when no one is reading it and when no one is saying it any more.

This writing stays there somewhere without any real being saying it and no one reading it. It reads as if there is an author and an audience, even if no one witnesses it, but the author and the audience become actual only when someone reads it. It is the reader, then, that gives life to the writing, making the author and the reader actual, real.

And even then, the one who writes when this paragraph is being read is not the person who wrote it, but the theoretical entity implied in the mind of the person who reads it. I, the writer, am only an entity implied by these words you read. I am a figment of your imagination, only part of you created by you through the mechanism of this language, by the magick of these words you read. “I” am only implied by these words.

Your mind creates me in your mind, yet I could not exist in your mind as the author of these words without the existence of these words, these words that never really existed until someone read them, these words that were not real until now, when you are.

Meet My Benefactor

It was the Spring Equinox of 2007 when a door opened, illuminated by the sun directly above the equator. It was a doorway to the ancient teachings the Toltecs held for millennia, before the conquest and before the empires of blood and sacrifice.

My benefactor, Cachora, had appeared before me exactly on the Fall Equinox the year before, and told me about this opening and the opportunity to access this doorway to find the Book of Divinity hidden in protection by Hueman, ancestor of our lineage and keeper of the knowledge of the people of Nahuas. Cachora came to me in his body of light after I had accomplished the charge he gave me at the end of my training with him in 1998. It was at the end of my apprenticeship that he gave me the Ring of Power, after he told me to go on my own and finish my training by my own means and intent. “This is the ring a Nahual gives to his student, to give the student the power to do what his teacher can do,” he explained. I asked him what I was supposed to do with it, and he told me that to complete my training, I had to call an Ally, a master of praeter-human consciousness who could help me, teach me all magick, and through him I could serve humanity in its quest for evolution. “With the Ring of Power you will have the power to call on the Ally, and if you are strong and true you will survive the ordeal and receive the Teachings.”

The Teachings of a Toltec Survivor is one of the artifacts created from the esoteric course. It can activate a transformational process, and the flow of gnosis will be experienced. Do not be fooled by the form it has taken. It is a book in appearance, but its effects are truly beyond form and reason.

Meet my benefactor.

Be the Author of your Story

What you consider to be your personal history is, in reality, an artistic creation. It is the story you are making up in this dream. It is possible to put the plot, narrative, and message of your life the way a scientist designs a blueprint, or you can design your life as an artist puts things together.

You may systematically, and using data, design your manifestation in this world. You can also be an artist and not only design it for a utility standpoint, but grab a seed from the vast unconscious and create a work of art.

When you think of your lifeline, you are not only remembering what happened. You are connecting events, impressions, intents, and doings. You are making decisions of what to leave out, what to emphasize, and how to see what happened.

More importantly, when you look at your life story, you thread these events with an invisible, hidden thread. This thread that unifies and arrange the memories in patterns create a story full of meaning and significance, an artistic array made of life.

Tell your story. Use it to discover the hidden threads of destiny. Tell it, even, to uncover that most elusive of beings: the author of your story. The narrative of your story implies the story teller, the narrator, the artist who creates patterns of meaning and sense and, in so doing, emerges as the unifying force in this work of art called life.

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