Pregnant with your light,
my soul lies in plenitude
crying for a child.
Pregnant with your light,
Pregnant with your light,
my soul lies in plenitude
crying for a child.
The Inner Circle of humanity is the true source of knowledge and authority behind every esoteric school, every major religion, and every initiatory spiritual movement. Whenever an esoteric school looses its connection to this true source, the school carries only a carcass, an empty mausoleum of rotting remnants of what once was a living teaching. This sad situation happens more often than not, for every time an esoteric school seeks to have power and influence in the external world, they ground the energy flowing from above and settle in the external world. Once grounded, all they have is political intrigue, power grabbing intents, and petty wars to secure the few bones remaining of what once was a living body of Wisdom.
But the Inner Circle continues its work: initiating temples, schools, and even civilizations to achieve their evolutionary aims. To each region of the world, to each race, and to each historical period they gave seemingly different techniques and precepts; but in truth, all their teachings had the same aim and the same results: illumination, evolution, and the ability to become a receiver of gnosis.
Here in the Americas, we developed our own tradition, and the same situation is encountered again where a semi-mythical, semi-historical character appears to impart principles of knowledge, civilization, and science. He was known as Quetzalcoatl–the Plumed Serpent–in his first incarnation of a little over 5,200 years ago. He is said to be the one to teach the people of this region the principles of initiation, the techniques for contacting higher intelligence, the formulas for building civilizations and esoteric schools. He was the principal manifestation of the Inner Circle of humanity in these lands.
I felt as if I had just woken up from a long, long dream in which I had been many, many beings: man, woman, criminal, judge. Where I had been a saint and a sinner. A fish. I had seen myself as daughter and mother. Lover. I was the betraying one and the one who cried in desperation after being betrayed.
I had had many dreams and I had seen myself lost in all those dreams, in all those worlds. I remember myself collecting pieces of me, calling them my companions. Members of a group that searched for an idea, an illusion that we called reality. Futile enterprise. For nothing in that dream could be called reality.
There is only this room. Only this chair. Only me and no other. I am where I have always been and there is no one else. I have always remained in the here and now, even throughout all those changes of form and vision, immersing myself into the hellish vistas of pain and unending suffering with the hope of forgetting the real world, searching for heavenly spheres of life and peace and happiness–eternal happiness–only to be able to forget the stark reality of the here and now. That here I was again, all alone. Nowhere to go in this room called Reality.
If successful, this book will be more than entertainment and much more than a source of information and ideas hard to find elsewhere. You have in your hands more than a collection of theories and entertaining stories. You have an artifact, a container of a very old wisdom that is still alive. If you lend me your attention, I promise you that something of a seed will stir—something imbued in the pages of this tome.
This book will be a transformational factor in your hands. Don’t expect a linear narrative, nor attempts to convey unidimensional perspectives of the world. It is not an academic book full of discussions and references to other writings. It’s not a manual with exercises for you. This book has encounters of power, strange points of view, practical advice, effective techniques, and historical data; but it is more than that.
This book is a view from the world of the Nahual—the Toltec Survivor who shares his being with you as you read. If you place your attention on the narrative, you will know that I am talking to you directly, a heart to heart conversation.
You will know that in reading this narrative, you are altering the world in you and around you, as a dreamer alters a dream when she begins to wake up to her personal power. Lend me your attention for a moment, and I’ll go on a journey to a different place with you. In this place of power, something deep in you will stir awake and stand up in attention.
“The Teachings of a Toltec Survivor is like an ancient recording of Koyote on some level, one one may play and pause at will and even share with others nearby. Like everything ancient, it resurfaces through what it survives.
A seed carried and nourished by a lineage willed to germinate. For a Nahual, it was his call. The clever genius of this book is that it isn’t just a book. It carries a call. The Teller masterfully instals filters into the consciousness of the reader, awakening something. The reader becomes a voyager. There is a playing field that only few will enter. Koyote will continue to speak to every reader, and he will be specifically sending instructions to an intelligence that is beyond what is being experienced while engaging with the book. It is in this playing field that The Teachings of a Toltec Survivor opens as the seed; and there, in that moment, the call is transmitted.
His canvas is the Tonal. Koyote placed detailed attention into being heard by the reader. The voice of the Teller is present. Throughout the writing you will find ways and alleys, methods and formulas, doors, hacks and triggers into an inner journey the ancients call a voyage. Open the book to any page, any chapter, and the writing in any phrase will invite you in. The writing is a key to the reading. His teachings allow you to follow, daring you to know and be guided to turn on. Ancient, deeply buried mechanisms of transformation and evolution are contained within the organic human host as you read and allow yourself to follow. Alchemical furnaces internalize a heating of change-causing agents within an alchemical laboratory known as a temple by simply following along. The act of reading itself becomes the conduit through which Koyote reaches the voyager essential navigational instruction.
He Tells in magick the story teller within, the one writing your story, in a way that allows for the awakening of something deep. Contact is essentially maintained with attention. Guided through by an inner voice that sometimes becomes Koyote, sometimes your higher self, sometimes something else speaking in tones devastating to the ordinary field of thought and meaning. All that remains then is whatever you muster to gather about yourself for a quick reality check, and the book again holds your self gravitationally attracted and electromagnetically attached to whichever reality Koyote is presently presenting your presence as you read. The words proceed again to guide you into an inner world where the voice resonates, and you engage deeper and deeper with the Teachings until, again, you come to realize, as if materializing into something sacred he has already constructed elsewhere in a time long ago forgotten, that Koyote just took you there again. As you read so you voyage.
His art is the Telling, and The Teachings of a Toltec Survivor is an expression of that. It isn’t the Telling itself—not an invocation as such. It is, instead, a sculpture of the artist using elements of his artistry. On his palette one sees magick, lineage, School, Teachings, Toltec, the Telling, Tantra, Yoga, shamanism, comedy, intent, philosophy, story-telling, gaming and more. Will, Nahual, and The Great Work are impressions now left inside your eternal coding as a way to manifest just that. This is his masterpiece.”
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.
The word Survivor in The Teachings of a Toltec Survivor is not just about me. Yes, I have survived war, exile, two massacres, death squads, shots, magical attacks, tuberculosis, and the bubonic plague. But that’s not really why the term appears in the title. It is not because I am still alive; because, while my beloved death can be evaded today, she will one day succeed. Death is the most relentless of hunters.
These teachings are of a Toltec survivor because the Tolteca in me has survived, though the world has tried to bury him with lies and cover him in the illusion of self-involved problems. The Teachings have also survived. They have survived genocide and the night of forgetfulness.
It has been five hundred years since the light of this continent, this American continent, was covered by the European invasion. The conquest and colonization tried to eliminate the cultures, the language, the religions, the way of life; and more than anything, the identity of the inhabitants of this American continent.
For over five hundred years, what we were has been obscured, covered and forgot. And yet, through this long night of five hundred years, I’ve survived. If you are reading this, that same ineffable and unexplainable something may also survive in you.
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
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?
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.