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.

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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.

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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.

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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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Letters from a Thief

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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Where the Witches Go

There’s a place, old and musky…
up on a green hill, where the witches go.

There, under the full moon,
they dance, sing, and take out their brooms.

Their existence was forbidden,
so they had to learn to go to this place in the dreaming,
from the earliest intents of creation,
to unite with God in sexual surrender.

Here, in the true church of the living flesh.

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Pure Will Is the Splendor of the Sun

Intent is an actionable manifestation of Will. Intent is a reflection or refraction of Will. One Will, a series of intents. It takes a lot to accept your own Will. You have spent a lifetime covering it up, trying to not accomplish it, saying, “Not yet, not yet, not yet.”

Will is not synonymous with desire. Desire belongs to the law of accidents. You come to desire in accordance to the programming that was given to you. Will is more connected with destiny than to the desires of the ego. In fact, when under the light of pure Will, the desires of the ego become nullified, like the light of a tiny candle before the glory of the Sun.

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Enlightenment Is Your Natural State

Enlightenment is your natural state. The world of human concerns is a veil covering the naked presence of reality. The ego is product of that veil, and it is built with thoughts, beliefs, and concerns centered around that ego.

When the eternal self identifies with that ego, we fall into the slumber of the dream state.

In order to evolve from that slumber, you have to create some restrictions—self-imposed restrictions. They can’t come from someone else. Listen to this: they can’t come from someone else!

If you do it just to obey someone else, it’s only a distraction. You are merely placing the power of your own will on someone else. I don’t care if that someone else is a teacher, a guru, a great illuminated master, an ancient spirit, a voice in your head, or God himself. If you accept restrictions because someone else wants you to have them, they are useless to you.

Of course, you can decide to follow someone else’s advice, but that’s all you can really do. You decide on a course of action because it seems like a good idea to you, and if so, own your decision. In all ways, follow your own counsel, and be responsible for all your choices.

You are the architect of your own being. You choose what is it that you will not do, and what you will do. Once you choose, develop discipline by submitting your actions to your will.

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