The rise and falls of Humpty Dumpty

https://www.amazon.com/Teachings-Toltec-Survivor-Koyote-Blind-ebook/dp/B07RMK9D4C/

A few millennia ago a community of groups formed in Mesoamerica, close to what is now Mexico City. As you know, many spiritual groups are small; some are very big. Think of moments in history when a lot of these small groups cannot operate because they are under totalitarian regimes, or because religious extremism prevails. Many of these groups sought to find a place where they could practice their spiritual craft and where they could do their group work without being threatened. There were so many empires everywhere in those days. Europe witnessed the rise of Egypt, Greece, Mesopotamia, and Rome. Asia saw the chinese dynasties and the Mongolian conquest. In America, the Incas, the Aztecs, and so many others wanted to do that as well, as if everyone remembered a period of one world government broken into pieces—like Humpty Dumpty—when knowledge was lost.

There are priestesses and priests who have pieces of that lost knowledge. While this big mass of humanity is trying to build empires, conquer, create trade, create technology, there are smaller groups who also remember what it was like and do not want it to be that way again. They do not want magic to be dominated by the aristocrats. A bunch of those little groups once upon a time made a trip to Teotihuacán, a place in the middle of a vast desert. No one was interested in that area, so they thought they would be left alone for a long time. This move was similar to what the Tibetans did by settling in the mountains.

After the Toltecs had been gone from Teotihuacán for two centuries, the Aztecs migrated from the North and discovered it. Mostly from Apache descent, these warriors came down Mexico following a vision. They were looking for an eagle eating a snake on top of a cactus, and they found it in an island in the middle of lake Texcoco. They built their city, there, in the middle of the lake. When the Spaniards marching with the conqueror, Hernan Cortez, saw the Aztec city of Tenochtitlán, one of his soldiers wrote that nowhere in Europe had he seen any city as magnificent as the Aztec city of Tenochtitlán. Nonetheless, as magnificent as Tenochtitlán was in the eyes of the Spaniards, the impact Teotihuacán had on the Aztecs was even more profound. After they had settled their capital in lake Texcoco, the Aztecs proceeded to establish and expand their empire. In their explorations of the region, they found the ruins left by the Toltecs in the middle of the dessert valley. The ruins were so magnificent that the Aztecs, not knowing who had built them, knew that they were not built for ordinary humans. This city had to be birthplace of gods. Thus, it was called Teotihuacán, or the city where gods are born.

Read more in the upcoming Teachings of a Toltec Survivor

Pre-Order Teachings of a Toltec Survivor, 2nd Edition

By popular demand, “Teachings of a Toltec Survivor”, 2nd Edition, is now being released!

It is coming out at the end of April, 2019, exactly 12 years after the Toltec esoteric course took place, the source material for this book.

The book has been out of print for many years, and will now be released with additional material and a delivery designed to put you right in front of Koyote, and experience the teachings of the Toltecs directly. Each chapter of the book corresponds to one lecture delivered to a group of about 40 participants.

This edition maintains the material presented in class, but delivers it in a powerfully experiential way, easy to follow, and full of humor and wisdom—the hallmarks of Koyote.

This is truly an artifact that carries the teachings as they took place, allowing the reader to benefit not only from the information presented—a rare treasure in itself—but also by allowing the magic of the moment to have a powerful effect on the reader, as if they had been present in the chamber.

Order your copy here

Be part of the magical chamber of the Toltec teachings.

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The Kindly Ladies: God’s World

I remember standing with the body of a child, looking down into the cement floor of the street in front of my house. I remember looking down as if I was a god or an angel, as if I had the eye of an eagle. I remember looking at a world small and remote. I remember leaning over a small fence, watching these tiny creatures—impotent and unaware of the one observing them.

I looked at this world of God, and the more I saw this tiny world made of concerns and intent, the more my consciousness was pulled into it. I became fascinated. I didn’t notice when I passed that tipping point. It happened in that silent moment between breaths, where no thought passes trough you, where no stories are told—that place in between moment.

I fell into God’s World. And it took me a while to get my bearings.

The sequence of ages happens to be only a feature of the moment I’m in.

I didn’t know some times if I had dreamt my memories. I didn’t know if I was me or my brother. I didn’t know if was dreaming that house, or if I had dreamt that other place in the jungle among pyramids. Had I just been born, or had I just died from that wound? Sometimes I got confused remembering things not from the past, but happening right now in different bodies.

I was living all these lives, all at once. I was confused by all these things happening to all those bodies. I started up asking a question and ended up telling a story. I would start a story in one body and continue it somewhere else, and in the end I had done nothing in this body.

I moved about this life between story and story, putting a lot of attention on making things slow down, so that the story I told of my life could be told as if it could happen, as if it made sense. Putting much care in the spinning of each piece, weaving each strand, forming a work of art with the cacophony of color and events: to make something whole out of non-sequential chaotic star dust; to sit as an old woman weaving the story now. Or, like a spider, extracting the web from within my womb to lay out for the wake.

This is the beginning of the Kindly Ladies, and the spinning of stories and the laying of worlds.

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Listen to this episode of The Telling by Koyote the Blind

In the vast desert of the mind, we searched for strange maps.

We were a small band of psychonauts, explorers of unintended spaces, out to the Mina Es—a mine of clay soil we had named after the last letter of each of our last names. Ivan, Omar, Milton, Macoy, Ricardo, Pío and Toño. Our last names ending with the sound of es. Not enough money or food at home to make sandwiches or any kind of meal. Only salt, we would take with us. On the way, we could cut lemons to suck with the salt, our provisions for the journey. Sometimes, if someone had a cent, we could buy the refuse of the mango twist from Doña Evelia. She had a machine where a green mango was stripped into long delicious spaghetti-like strips and mixed in a clear plastic bag with lemon, salt, algüaishte and chile. Quite the mouth-watering 25 cents delicacy! So far from our budget, but not the peel of the mango. They discarded the green peel of the mango, and that we could buy in bigger bags for only 1 cent!

And so, armed with provisions and hand made sling shots, we went in our way to the Mina Es. On our way there, we went through ravines and hills, tunnels and shanti towns built on cardboard houses. We visited the abandoned medicine classrooms of the University long ago taken apart and abandoned by the armed forces. We would see the big pig inside a corral, maintained by some unknown caretaker in the deserted department of agriculture. The pigs’ huge testicles protruding behind his legs, each one the size of a soccer ball from some magic or science of the frustrated dreams of some students turned guerrilla fighters.

We went through so many worlds and adventures, running from guard dogs and ignoring the strays, guided by birds and playing with familiar spirits. We went following the maps in our heads, until we found ourselves in a field of golden brown clay, from where we supplied our bags, making room by eating the lemons and salt—or the refuse of the mango twist, if we had scored earlier. We took our loot back, to make cups and plates and strange gods out of the clay: also leaves and toys, little people and trees. And on our way back we would always take a different route. We came to the Mina Es by way of the forgotten passages of Zacamil and Mejicanos, but we returned home through other stranger passages not of this world. We voyaged through uncharted passages of forgotten worlds, using words and stories of long ago, forgotten as the race of people who once inhabited these lands was itself forgotten. We allowed the perceptions of these long ago impressions and sensations, not delegated to hints and adumbrations behind flickering shadows of the unconscious, to come out and guide us on our way back.

Thus we searched for strange maps; maps which described not physical properties of the known world but the shadow world. Waded not through accepted history, but through recurring mythology. We sought the stories of the old ones. We recorded the lies told in prisons and mental institutions. We were guided at times by the sexual fantasies of the dangerously deviant.

Walking from dream to dream, recording every distortion: shadows that move within a blink, the dissolution of the world as we fall asleep, the dissolution of time as we begin to wake up.

Those became our stepping-stones.

And madness!

Yes, madness. Those were the definitions of our maps for a long, long time: lies, distortions, inaccuracies, old-wives tales, intentional lies, honest beliefs, and entertaining mythologies.

Songs and dreams! They created a vast wasteland, a desert made of thoughts. We started to chart the territories where this sand of mind-stuff had congealed into miles and miles of glass, forming cities—illusory cities made not of glass itself but of the reflection of the moon upon the glass.

 

Photography by Sharla Sanchez