Tag: stories

I’d Gone to Another Place Again

~ Koyote the Blind ~ Leave a comment

I was very young. I must have been about seven years of age or five. I can’t remember right now. I had gone to the zoo with some aunts and cousins. After the zoo, we were going to the bus—this was in El Salvador. I was following my sister and cousin. Both were six years older than me. They were walking in front of me. I noticed they had begun to walk in a different way, to swing their hips more. I thought they were doing that because boys like it. I thought it was part of the human game. See, I didn’t realize then that I kept looking at the adults as someone would look at animals in the zoo: “These are their mating habits. These are the things they do when they lie. These are the things they do when they want to be liked.” Then, the girls turned a corner, and I followed them. On the sidewalk, there were two tables used by street vendors to offer such goodies as sweet breads and drinks. They were still setting up. My sister and cousin walked between the two tables, and I followed. I pulled myself up with my hands on the tables, and I swung myself playfully, and I came down. And when I came down, the people were not there. The street seemed the same, but no one was at the tables, and there was no food on them. All was quiet. There was an absence of smell, and everything had a buzz to it. And I turned around. There were very few people, and I ran to the corner to catch up with my cousins and aunt, but they were not there. There were some very old cars, not the type I used to see. And then I returned to the tables and I tried to do the same thing again; and, no, I was stuck there.

Something in me thought, I’m lost. I’ve gone to another place again. I looked at the street, and it went on and on for a while, and I said to myself, this is the way back home; if I walk down this path, I will get home, if don’t deviate from it.

I started walking on that strange street. Then, I saw a police officer; and when you are in those spaces in that world, uniformed personnel give you directions. He was standing in the middle of the street, but it didn’t seem odd. “Excuse me. I’m lost,” I told him.

He said, “You are not lost; if you were lost, you would be panicking and crying.”

“Well, I’m lost because I don’t know how to get back home.”

“Where is home?” he asked.

I said, “I live with the humans in Colonia Zacamil.”

So he smiled and said, “Come with me.” He took me to a bus; the door of the bus was opened. This bus was like in England, on the wrong side of the street, but I still entered through the right side from the street. He said to the driver, “This boy needs to get back home to the humans. Can you tell him when he’s there?”

He said, “Sure.” He didn’t ask where. He just drove. The scenery began to change. Slowly there was more dirt, sun, and more noise. The smells came back.

He asked, “You know how to get home from here?,” stoping the bus in front of the bus stop down the path to my house.

I said, “Yes, I do,” and I did. That was the first time I got lost, and then I started to get lost very often. I shifted the assemblage point by mistake at first.

When I got home, I told my mom what happened, and then I hid when my aunt showed up. My aunt was pale. She was worried. She reported we were all together, we were crossing the street, and then everyone crossed the street and I was not on the other side. She looked everywhere and couldn’t find me. Eventually she went home and told my mom. As she was telling my mom and my mom was calmly telling her, “Well, I don’t know, but you’re going to have to go back and find him,” and my aunt realized by my mother’s calm and dismissive demeanor that I was actually there and not lost, I sprung from behind the couch and pounced at her happily, hearing the bells of her happy laugh and cuddled in the warmth of her embrace under the all touching love of my mother’s smile.

These Esoteric Teachings Buried Within the Mantle of Civilization.

~ Koyote the Blind ~ 2 Comments

“Some of the things that I will be sharing with you, I sometimes like to call the Teachings. I don’t mean to say that I am a teacher in any way—not in the usual sense. I call it the Teachings because I have learned from them. They have been buried within the mantle of civilization that we call the world.

They have been hidden there, not because someone is keeping them secret, but because of the illusion that our fascination with the human world creates. This fascination with the sleeping state of the human condition hides the Teachings, covers them, makes them go into the background.

While there are moments in history where these Teachings seem to be lost, unknown, or forgotten, they are always there because nothing is really lost in the collective consciousness of humanity. Even beyond humanity, nothing really gets lost in the consciousness of the biosphere. Humanity is not separate from this biosphere. Humanity is simply a particularly conscious manifestation of life on this planet Earth.”

From The Teachings of a Toltec Survivor. (Click here to check it out)

The Teacher is a Spider

~ Koyote the Blind ~ Leave a comment

Here’s a note I found from a dear friend after a performance of The Telling:

“It occurs to me this morning that the teacher is a physical manifestation of the Great Spider who endlessly is eaten by her children, only to willingly come back again and again and again.

This sacrifice is for the Great Work. Likewise, the student is a developing spider who is learning the practice of death, rebirth and service through observing her Mother while simultaneously partaking of her, often greedily.” Katheline Dreier

The Futures that Were.

~ Koyote the Blind ~ Leave a comment

The future used to be so much better before it got so mangled in recent pasts.

I’ve been shopping around for a better future. I might have to make one myself. I can probably put something together from a couple of futures I used to have that never got used.

Or perhaps I will just drop them all, stop looking in the past for all the futures I might one day want and the ones I might come to fear, leave the future in all its styles way behind and let it vanish into the distant past like my shadow with the coming of the night.

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In this Center of Life

~ Koyote the Blind ~ Leave a comment

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?

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How The Teachings of a Toltec Survivor Was Conceived

~ Koyote the Blind ~ Leave a comment

It took me seven years to accomplish the task my benefactor gave me in 1998. Once the connection to the Ally was stablished, I found myself inside a hotel room in Chicago, talking with my benefactor as he impressed the next mission on my mind: use this opening to access the sacred book of the Nahuas, the legendary Teomoxtli.

To accomplish this, I needed the assistance of 30 people and the permission of another Nahual: E.J. Gold. After Cachora’s body of light vanished from the room, I saw the light on the night stand signaling it was 3:00 a.m. Filled with the intent of this flash of destiny, I did not hesitate. I grabbed the phone and called E.J. He gave his blessing. He wanted to know if I was also going to teach the teachings from Peyote. “For that, you need Dru’s permission,” he said. Dru Kristel was dead, however. “I will ask him,” assured me E.J.

A few months later, after an adventure in Bardo Town with E.J. and his school, a rescue mission in the hell dimension, and a feat of high magick, Dru gave his consent too. We were ready.

The 30 students were recruited, and the esoteric course took place. We met twice a week for 8 weeks. That was the number necessary to create the conditions to open the door; and once the door was opened, the Teachings flowed. The higher entity was assembled, and we voyaged.

Several treasures were gained. The Aka Dua was presented to the world. The ability to voyage with a group to other worlds and planes of existence was acquired. The technology for the blueprint of intensives was codified. The shifting of timelines was mastered. The esoteric school was established. Finally, after the course had ended and the window sealed, the Book of Divinity was revealed by one of the ancient Toltecas in the pyramids of Teotihuacan, and the manifestation of artifacts containing the Teachings became possible.

(Read more in The Teachings of a Toltec Survivor)

The Gift of Old Shadow of Bats

~ Koyote the Blind ~ 1 Comment

These were the times of darkness, before the coming of the sun.

These were the times when the old witch, Shadow of Bats, emerged from the City of Xibalbá. She emerged to see the coming of the dawn.

Shadow of Bats saw the human sacrifices and the slavery of the tribes of men.

She spoke to the tribe of the free humans, the ones who had refused to be enslaved.

“Don’t open your bodies,” she told them. “Do not enslave yourselves, and do not give your hearts to the gods,” she said. “I will give you fire and teach you to use it.”

From the heart of chaos she brought fire, keeping it alive in the abomination of her sensual dance.

Against the slave gods, she danced, and in her act of rebellion old Shadow of Bats imprinted in the free humans the knowledge of fire in their hearts, and the source of fire in their solar plexus.

The human beings awaited, now, the coming of the sun. Some enslaved and afraid of the dark, and a few free in the reveling of the dance of the eternal flame.

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Letters from a Thief

~ Koyote the Blind ~ 1 Comment

Eduardo Galeano, the famous South American journalist who wrote The Open Veins of Latin America, was rumored to have a treasure hidden in his home. Inevitably, a thief came to his house one day and, finding an ancient looking chest, took it with him. Hoping to find gold or jewels, the thief opened the trunk once he took it to a safe place, only to find it filled with personal letters. They were all the love letters Eduardo Galeano had received during his long life.

Galeano, of course, was sad. They were vignettes of a life lived with passion and love. The thief, recognizing the value the letters had, a value worthy only to Galeano and to no one else, decided to return them. However, he did not return them all at once. He sent one each week.

Each Thursday, Eduardo Galeano waited with a heart full of anticipation for the mailman, who knowing the story would have the letter of the week in his hand already, waiving it happily for Galeano who ran to receive this missive of love.

Of course, nothing was being returned to Galeano that he did not already have, but the fact that he was getting what he thought lost, and that it was coming to him in such a fashion led him to receive the letters and read them again with such love and enthusiasm that they created in him something beyond what he had lived.

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Lucía Through the Shell

~ Koyote the Blind ~ 3 Comments

When I was in the fifth grade, I had a good friend named Lucía. I called her that because she was born when I was shinning a light behind her shell. It looked like the glow of life came from her as she was stirring alive and broke through this side of life.

My abuelita gave her to me to raise. I carried her warm fuzzy frailty in my hands for the 100 kilometers trip back to the city. She took residence in the small cement square we called a patio, where the water basin was.

I came to visit and speak with her every day after school. She didn’t like to play, but she enjoyed listening. She liked it when I’d tell the cats not to approach, and when I trained the dog to see her as my friend. I failed to train my aunt, who served Lucía to me one afternoon. My older brother laughed at the surprise on my face when I came to the patio after lunch and didn’t find my friend. “You just ate her!,” he mocked.

I covered the real feeling pulsating above my belly, under my heart. I didn’t want him to see. I masked my inner reality with rage, as if the mockery was the only thing I minded. The real feeling, I carried with me safely through life, holding its fuzzy fragility in a tiny square of my solar plexus where a glow of light forever listens and waits.

The Great Magician and The Black Sheep

~ Koyote the Blind ~ 2 Comments

We tell a story of a sheepherder who happened to be a magician, and a very lazy one. He didn’t want to bother to build a fence to keep the sheep inside. The sheep were always escaping and exposing themselves to danger. The magician decided to employ his abilities to keep the sheep inside, hypnotizing them. He made them believe that they were free and safe inside the fence. In fact, he made them believe that whenever he fleeced them, that it was for their benefit. Once in a while, one would disappear, and the sheep were conditioned to believe that she had gone to a better place. In fact, he not only convinced them that he was acting for their benefit, but that they were not sheep at all, that they were human beings. Some thought that they were doctors, lawyers, priests, business people, seekers on a spiritual quest—all approved by the great magician, of course. They thought they were attaining powers and learning secrets. Of course, if they did not know that they were sheep, they would never try to change their situation for real; they would never try to escape; never attempt to evolve. Some even thought that they were magicians and knew the secrets; and all of them had the same fate.

Now, there were a few sheep whose fleece was not as valuable because they were black. Black wool was not as useful as white in the marketplace, so the magician did not pay as much attention to the black sheep, only the white. So, some of the black sheep woke up because the magician wasn’t making sure they remained hypnotized. They realized what they were and what they were doing there. If one black sheep knew the truth and tried to tell the others, the hundreds of white sheep would not listen. Why would they? After all, they were having good lives. They had their problems in their fake realities, but they were fine. Some black sheep managed to escape, and many of those succumbed to predators, but they were free.

Eventually, you had some spotted sheep. With those you could never tell: sometimes they would learn their nature and sometimes not. Of those who knew, some would decide to stay with the white sheep and become completely white.

Most of us are spotted. Part of us wants to be free; part of us wants to be taken care of by the Great Magician. That’s why I say, be careful with your gifts. Some of those are fake, given by the Great Magician. Someone said to me, upon hearing this story, “Be careful with your words because they can get you in trouble.”

I make my words so they get me in trouble. I am at war with the Great Magician. I am the black sheep. I am black, all black. My wool is not for the marketplace. My wool is the obsidian black of the eternal night sky, and its shine is the silence of the endless.

Read more in Teachings of a Toltec Survivor