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The Dark-haired, Red-eyed de Toltecas

Koyote the Blind appears, in another room. A room outside— no scenery, no landscape, not even my mother anymore—a silent empty room, where it is him in his car and me standing at his window, to listen to what he came to tell me. I remember he said, “You cannot live in both worlds. You must choose in which one you Will live.” In attention I saw a wooden house representing the Tonal, the ordinary comfortable and false glorious life, and what stood outside that house was the dark, unknown realm of the Nahual. I faced this choice, to live inside a wood house or in a place outside of it. If I chose to live outside the wood house I would surrender all that nested and lurked within it.

There I was standing, staring, holding this feeling of anger. Holding a bitter grudge that Koyote the Blind was coming to tell me, to confront me with this choice, I stood there with my hands turning to solid rock, and my eyes filling with fire of madness, with a burning sorrowful sensation asking, “Why”? In asking “why?” I realized I was holding onto something that felt like it came from a lower dimension, and it only was higher in an imaginary way. I held on to the idea of having personal glory and a heroic life, this life that the activist wooden home promised, that now I see was only and imaginary promise, even promise turned out to be imaginary, and poof! one after the other, the domino effect, that dream in the Tonal world was shattered, and was consumed by the fire that churned within the furnace this vessel had become. In the churning madness I became the observer, observing the bubble, or like a comic book reader, reading and seeing the pictures turning the pages to see the animation. From outside telling the character, “Watch out, don’t go in there!” and from that point that is all I could do, signal and warn the guy.

So Koyote the Blind told me of this choice, signaled and warned me of this choice. There I was attached to the promise of a great revolutionary life I was offered in the world of the Tonal, and Koyote the Blind from his vehicle telling me I would have to make a choice. In stepping outside of the Tonal I would have to surrender, strip all the clothes that was given to me in that imaginary world, and in surrendering I would also have to stop feeding that illusion within the Tonal as if it where real, no matter how hungry it seemed.

I would surrender to the world of activists, to their rainbow flags, and frou-frou whisky, to their quotes of hope and change, and their supposed active world. They, calling themselves activists, not knowing their houses were made of wood and were designed and put by a great magician—by the man who denies the whore, by the father who denies the daughter, by the pharaoh dividing the twins and sending the dark-haired, dark-eyed to exile for his unknown magickal sex, keeping only the blue-eyed, light- skinned magician. And they, the glorious white-haired sheep, wearing their rainbow flag, marching the supposed march of the homo, drinking the bitter-tasting blood and eating the stale body that dissolves in the humid mouth, they making stickers and gift wrap out of their prophet’s books. And there the silent dark-haired, dark-eyed exiled hermaphrodite observes in sorrow. He-She’s eyes glossy, watching the pictures of the characters before it animates. The fire the white-haired sheep burn on the sandy shore, reflecting in his glossy eyes, their dance, their worship to a pig-head god bring horror to He-She’s eyes. With blue colors in their eyes of flags, and their hands and fangs filled with red blood of those they feasted on, the wooden puppets dance around their altar made of sea shells to worship their lord of the flies. The dark-eyed, dark-haired hermaphrodite from the dark, shadowy jungle observing the dance of the sleepy hollow, touched by horror, evolves into a red-eyed savage. He-she listening to the breath of its own evolution going unnoticed, only to hear a screech as that of a strange animal giving birth to an angelic host, not knowing he-she too came from a time de Toltecas.

 Luciernaga, Spirit Radio

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