The Witches Sabbath is available for preorder on Kindle

The Witches Sabbath, the second book of the Spiritual Technologies series is available for preorder on Kindle.

The Witches’ Sabbath is an act of freedom, and a call to awakening to all spiritual warriors.

This is the Tantra of the New World. It adds to the existing technologies of the East and West the shape-shifting dreaming technologies of the Nagual.

The shamanism of the people of the Nahuas (the Toltec enlightened past of this American continent) has awakened, and it comes as a catalyst that will fuse the Eastern and Western traditions into a new Dharma, one that liberates not only men and not only women, but our true essence as beings who exist beyond bodies, beyond gender, beyond the programs of our past.

This is the tantra of the gender fluid, the religious experience of the variety of human expression.

This is the sexual alchemy of the queer, the transgender, the gender fluid, the asexual, the female, the male, the neutral, and anyone who is a divine star acting through the veil of human existence.

Preorder your Kindle copy here: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07VNTLQDQ/

The Kindle book will be available on August 28 of this year. You can preorder it now, and it will be delivered to your device on the day or release. I will let you know when the paperback copy is released.

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In this Emptiness I Forget

I let go, slowly but surely, all ideas of God, of eternal peace, of definitive knowledge. I let go of the idea that this person will love me forever. I let go of my name. I let go of my title. I let go of the ideas that I held on to. The more I see the emptiness––the expansive presence of the ocean covering and holding the light of every star––the bigger this nothingness becomes, and the more I fail to grasp on the stream of self-important thoughts.

Ordinary life, then, becomes the dream that vanishes upon the awakening of the soul. It no longer matters what happens to me in this life, in my previous life, and in all the chains of incarnations. I am no longer concerned with what will happen to me today, tomorrow, next year, after rebirth, after that life, in other incarnations. That stream of movement and happenings, I know it to be nothing but the subtle vibrations of a mind that moves, of a life that stirs, of the fire of existence.

In this emptiness I forget myself. In this emptiness, the entire drama of existence becomes as nothing but the flickering lights, the little shadows that come across the eyes when sleeping. It no longer becomes important, that life. There no longer seems to be a difference between being human or animal, rock, tree. It no longer seems different to be word or breath, to be flower or bee. I can no longer put my finger on the difference between being mountain or poem, between being the fluttering butterfly in the heart of a young girl or being the industrious burrowing of an anthill.

There is no longer an important difference between the radiant light flowing from the heart of the sun and the lightning strike flowing through a path of emptiness, emanating, spreading light and death. There is no longer any difference between any one thing and any other thing.

I abide in this state of not being; at union with the eternal presence; at-one-ment through the floating, deeply refreshing sensation of being a simple center in the womb of the mother; growing in eternal peace and sleep. I revel in this sweet dissolution in the forgetfulness of life and death.

 

 

The Sweet Fall from Grace

Do I then bring her down through the rushing of light and matter?

Or does she descend like the gentle starlight: flowing down the empty void to fill up this vessel?

Does she descend gently and loving like dew drops, like the high pitched electrical vibration?

Does she come to me as ambrosia, sweet nectar from above touching the tongue, filling the heart with the most sublime, soft, gentle love?

Is it just the mind that sits by the well in the full moon?

Is it just this silly mind of mine, divided between thought and feeling, that sees a difference between the graceful descent of the utterly tasty and satisfying dew of ambrosia and the rushing of the falling from grace?

The Love of the Father

When the times bring you to that place where you feel unworthy of love and divine grace, think about the love parents have experienced for their child.

When immersed in remorse for past deeds, or when feeling weakened by the chains of habit in the sleeping state, think about the love present when you see a child you love. You do not love him for his strength, his power, or his abilities. You love him for the essence in him. If he is sleeping, you love him the same as when he is awake.

So is the light of your heart; worthy of love divine even when you are trapped in the sleeping state.

The mother sings to the child, though in his sleep the child knows it not, and his small breath is enough for the mother to feel all her loving care rewarded. That divine breath in you, makes your heart love, and that love comes from the infinite in you, and that awakens the love of the supreme consciousness witnessing your heart of hearts.

In the source of that love, no merit or deed is needed to justify it. Its existence is its reason to be loved.

The Weapons of Humanity (pt 1: The Cup)

The four pillars of the world had been corrupted and turned into evil.

The sword, the coin, the wand, and the cup have been co-opted by the power elites of the world and taken from humanity to make a few people rich and powerful and to make the masses enslaved, ignorant, and powerless.

I would say now with all that I am and all that I know that these weapons belong to every single person in the world. That they are the irrevocable and rightful inheritance of every person in this world. That every person alive in the world has the inherent right to use them, just because each person is a direct descendant of the living omnipotent consciousness that encompasses the world.

We are the rightful wielders of the coin, of the sword, of the wand, and of the cup. Which means that every person in this world has the inalienable right to the pursuit of eternal happiness. That means we all have the right to know God, to not be denied access to the fountain of bliss. That’s the cup, always open to the immensity of the heavens. The one who holds the cup, that’s the heart in its maximum potential and expression which is the cup that opens to the blessful waters of infinity.

That’s the cup. And this opening to the blessings of God has been closed off by the religions of this world and it has been denied to humanity by those who have found the secrets of magick and science and have tried to decide that only a few are worthy of it and most are not. So that if you ever want to connect to that source of enlightenment you have to pay them. You have to obey them. You have to work for them. You have to do this and that. You have to be of a certain race or of a certain class, otherwise you can’t do it.

But if you are truly the king (and you are! For you are no other than the direct expression of Brahma, Shiva and Vishnu in human form), then the cup and the knowledge of the love of God is for you. It is yours and no one has the right to keep you from it. No one.

Click here for a talk on the path of direct attainment for all, without dogma or exploitation.

Without the Swelling of the Heart, No Story Is Worth Telling

In the silence between word and word, between day and day… in the silence between dream and dream, between knowledge and understanding, between thoughts and emotions… in that silence that exists before thought and feeling become one… in that moment of silence before the pushing forth of meaning, the foundations for the making of the world flowers from the depth of the abyss.

It’s in that flowering that the tides of the waters of my heart flow unrestricted; seeking who knows what;moving where they’re being pulled.

Without the swelling of those waters, without the emanation of that light, no story is worth telling.

Click here to listen to this Telling of the Oceanic Tryptic.

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 Sacred Prayer

One day this bubble of existence will burst into a million pieces, sending fire and light, and spread it all through creation.

Or maybe it will dissolve into the liquid nothingness of the solar waters that flow from that sunset that’s been waiting to come for all eternity.

It will then be so that every experience I ever had, every word I ever said, every pain I ever caused, and every hope I ever gave will turn to be just the vibrant resonance, just the booming ocean, just the happy dance, and dissolve in that ocean of experience and move amongst your shadows as meaningless signs and sights.

May I never live through that!
May the memory of me fade away in time.
May my soul not be important.
May my life not be object of remembrance below or above.
May I not be significant.

May my shadows be forgot and go their way, where the shadows go and the light of Her eyes shine brightly.

(Click here to receive a free ebook on Shamanic Voyaging and Lucid Dreaming)

In this Center of Life

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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The Gift of Old Shadow of Bats

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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