En las profundas lejanías de la noche

… Lo que si puedo observar es que en las profundas lejanías de la noche, allá en lo profundo del cielo nocturno donde la noche y el silencio son perennes e idénticos, las estrellas tiritan silenciosas y lejanas; dejándome percibir a través del inmenso vacío las vibraciones del silencio.


… What I can observe is that in the profound remoteness of the night, there in the depth of the nocturnal sky where the night and the silence are perennial and identical, the stars tremble silent and distant; allowing me to perceive through the immense void the vibrations of silence.

As We Improve So Do All Beings Around

It is not easy to discern the nature of the situation. At this point, the coronavirus is mutating—as expected. As humans work to strengthen defenses by internal and external means—enhancing immunological response, masks, regulations, and vaccines—the virus is under pressure to improve its capability of attaching to the body and reproducing itself.

This is common in our symbiotic relationship with microbes. We would not exist without them. Yes, they have created deadly and crippling strands, but also have created variations that have become an intrinsic part of our body and even our DNA. Viral mutations and their access to our DNA code has allowed some of them to become part of the survival tools we have developed; and indeed, part of what has improved our capacity to feel more, to grow in consciousness, and to develop our capacity to evolve.

As we seek to become immune from this virus, there is an intelligence attempting to make the virus better at what it does. It is the same intelligence that allows humans to try to understand and survive. Either the virus gets controlled and rendered innocuous, or it becomes too strong for us—is how most of us tend to think of the road ahead. However, evolutionary ethnohistory teaches us that there are times when the viral entity has become so good as to learn not only to bypass our defenses, but to evolve to the point where it becomes a important collaborative tool for our evolution, increasing thus our intelligence, sensorial acuity, and capacity to face this infinite vastness wherein we thrive.

What is to happen with this one strand? We don’t know, except for one thing. We must do what we have always done: strive beyond the limits of our comfort to understand, to survive, and to keep growing in joy to thrive in the face of any and all adversities. This is what allows all beings around us to also strive to improve.

As we evolve, so do all things around us.

Face this time with courage, therefore, and stay alert. But do not succumb to dread and fear of the unknown. Do not fall into the pit of false knowledge either. Opting to feel the comfort of belief is the hubris of a lazy mind. Know, instead, that we are always facing an endless field of light in infinite extension, unknowable, and in this facing of the mystery of existence we take each step into the unknown with courage, with joy, and with the evolutionary tested strategy of having each other’s back. Thrive in the knowledge that as we get better at what we do, so do all sentient beings.

Missionary Work

Missionary work is one of the main tools used by colonial powers. Sure, you go and get your experiences with native people, and you come back with memories and pictures and all the feel good you brought from your encounter with loving and grateful people. You never get to see the destruction and degradation you left behind, nor the way the colonizers and oppressors will use the tools you left there for them. You can remain blind to the way in which you came to a foreign land to tell them their native ways are wrong, that they need the Bible and you church, that their millenary spiritual ways are wrong. You come with money and charm, and drop a paradigm on them designed to make them abandon their wisdom and ways in favor of your Jesus and your cult. How different it would be if you came here with the simple desire to learn and be a guest, with respect. How different if you didn’t have the putrid desire to change the natives into followers of your ways.

Que Liberen La Niñés

Que vuelva tu risa.
Que tu luz no se apague.
Que se espanten los miedos y te huyan las sombras.
Que tu cama te acoja seca y suave.
Que la loma sostenga tus pasos y te vea correr.
Que la luna no te llame en vano.
Que tu voz ya nunca más resuene en ecos de paredes frías y duras cuando llames a tu mamá.

——- (translation)

May your laughter come back.
May your light not extinguish.
May the fears recoil and the shadows run from you.
May your bed embrace you dry and soft.
May the hill hold your steps and see you run.
May the moon not call you in vain.
May your voice never more resound in echoes of walls, cold and hard, when you call for your mom.

defundICE

immigrationreform #noconcentrationcamps

LGBTQ Constitutionally Protected, declares the Supreme Court.

After an exhausting week of verbal racist attacks, violent threats, insults, and the daily dose of invitations to go back to where I come from, it was such a beautiful soothing balm to my heart to see this rainbow colored glimmer of hope.

This is a sign post, dear friends. We are walking the good path. Keep going! Keep going!

Never have I seen a sparrow stop in mid flight just after lifting skyward.

Neither shall we stop.

Take a moment to enjoy this brief respite in the storm, and take in the rainbow beauty announcing the world to come.

(Historic ruling: Supreme Court says LBTQ community enjoys constitutional protection against discrimination.)

Defund Now

“Defunding” doesn’t really mean a complete elimination of the police, but a radical reworking of its role and the amount of funding it gets.

The reasons given against this are reminiscent of the reasons empires give against accepting the independence of the colonies: that the savages won’t be able to manage themselves and achieve peace on their own.

Even if that were true, and it’s not, the system as it is—a systemic oppression against minorities—is untenable and inexcusable.

Defund the police. Redefine the role it plays and allocate resources away from violent repression and towards helping the growth of the community.

Privilege, you?

My, oh my!

How polite you sound when you tell me to tone it down, to not be divisive, or polarize.

Ooh! I love it when you show up all enlightened to explain that the spiritual path is to detach, to go inside, and not dirty your white mind with the mob’s concerns.

You make me tingle. Kundalini awakes! See how free you look, how happy and gentle your unconditional love for all puppies and saints.

I’m amazed at the way you misquote those dead holy men. Inspired! Awake!

Privileged? Who dared called you that? Don’t they know you transcend race, darkness, and class?

But don’t listen to them. Don’t let that word melt your visage. I’m sure they are stuck in old thinking, 3-D concerns. They’re probably sheep who follow the beat of the fake media who never wants peace.

Privilege, you? Forgive them. They do not know. The troubles and pains you’ve had to endure! How much it took to get you there, with all your certificates, travels, and mirth. You also had to struggle, I’m sure it’s the same.

Don’t worry. Detach. Disconnect for a while. Take a break from having to hear about race, oppression, and strife. It’s better for you, better for all. Stay gentle and pure. Smile, breathe, count your blessings and teach.

Her Loving Kiss

But in the solitude of the night I stay and know that all the words and all the stories are lumps of life and meaning; and in the center I find myself trapped in an island, surrounded by life, all rushing at me at the same time.


In this center of life I can’t distinguish anything at all. There is no name. There is no God. There is no hell. There is no movement of time and space; just the glorious silence; just the breath rushing in and going out; just her touch; the soft fingers of life holding, moving around, dancing around me.

In pain and joy, her hands play with the silent center. It moves. Sometimes I play with her by moving, talking. The light pulls my arm. The wind moves. The face looks and smiles when she looks back, and in the center of this magnificent womb, what can there be if not the warm embrace, the kiss of her ecstasy? How can there be anything but the loving kiss of the angel of death?

By the Road’s End

Emptiness pouring itself into emptiness. Light merging with light. Darkness hiding behind darkness.

Nothing is, nothing will be, and no thing ever was.

All witnessing is just the intersection of these gentle soft strings; it’s just the interplay of word over vibration creating the illusion of continuity, creating the sensation of tapestry and feel.

In the intersection of light and dark, there by the Road’s End, the weaver weaves. The hands create tales and sights untold: untruthful, meaningless, fathomless, groundless.

There by the Road’s End, where the ways intersect, you can almost hear the weird sound of the ticking and tapping of the Kindly Ladies weaving your life, ending your life.

All that begins one day comes to an end, there by the Road’s End.