In El Salvador, the winds of October come whistling down to us from the volcano our old neighborhood skirts, bringing down with it the scents of the flora and fauna, hidden spices, unknown beasts, distant ghostly voices of families gathering for a last meal, ancestral trees, earth from the beginning of things, the song of that ancient presence that has always been with you. The force of these winds is such that, as children, you love to dare to spread your arms wide, like wings now opening the heart in ready for flight! And you know what that’s like…. And as children, we do dare to trust and let go, leaning into it, allowing it now to support you. And you can’t help but feel that you are supported eternally, lovingly, that it never lets go, that it is always there…ancient friend, Viento de Octubre.
Chris and I go way back, from when what seems like lifetimes ago, when I handed him a flier after he took my order at the Starbucks on Wood and Van Buren, in Riverside, CA. He was the barista and I was carrying a flyer packed with a magical intent sent through us by my brother the shaman. It was to Koyote’s “Power of Attention” workshop, I believe, where he showed us how to access and use the attention that is being exerted by the essential self having an experience through us, the one we would likely call the spirit that incarnates and is eternal. After I got my drink, he went outside, grabbed his guitar and played me a song as I walked to my car.
“A bard!” I thought.
A decade later, I learned NLP and started my breakthrough and transformational coaching business, Breakthrough the Other Side, and he became one of my first clients. We had all been through many wars of the psyche, of a life of life and death and magick and destiny and sacrifice. Our worlds, independently of each other, had gone through so much intense change under the work with our teacher that many of us ended up leaving by accident or will. Those of us suffering from accidents ended up in multidimensional labyrinthine chambers of stuck states. Without higher guidance, we found ourselves recluses of a very tiny existence in order to feel safe, even though we had beaten addiction and trauma under such guidance already. The demons were still inside. Through the programs I designed, we learned together to recreate a reality based on our own will, which has always been what we are after. And we used only what we already had inside of us to begin with, the very tools we already possessed from our sojourn through the School. If anything, all I have done is help him remember who he wants to be able to choose what he needs to become in order to live the life he is meant to live. He knows. That sentence is with purpose a lifetime.
We have seen each other through the shadows of shame and guilt, through the veil of anger and rage, dispelling illusions of identity, uncovering limiting beliefs and learning how to use our own power of creation to manifest the reality that best supports our desire. It’s on the record. He’s beaten alcoholism, PTSD, childhood trauma, and the ever present voice of a false identity which might wish to whisper until the day we shut it all off for good.
Chris was enlisted as soon as I aligned my NLP to my life purpose two years ago, and he started with my seven week Know Your Self breakthrough coaching program. He didn’t care what it was at the time, only that he was willing to try what I was proposing. He has continued to use me for transformational life coaching through the two years, going through my six month Allow Your Presence program currently. He doesn’t know that he is. He just sends me a payment here and there because we are family lol! And we meet about twice a month. Now he’s making music, living a dream he’s had since childhood. And we both know it is real because his dream is now showing up in the world as a song on a record.
I love hearing his song.
Allow Your Presence.
Plants are sentient. Protectors of those around them, they naturally adopt the needs of the environment as part of their own. We commonly place emotions and psychological influence on them to unconsciously hold for us through simple resonance, though we may also employ this knowledge consciously to affect our environment ecologically. That’s right, our own sounds, our emotional and mental states, our words and our thoughts, as well as the environment and the atmospherics we keep around them all become a part of why our natural familiars want to live. They have purpose, and they love to be allowed to be themselves and do their job. And when we do, we may witness how it all works in their endless interaction between everything else around them and on our behalf banishing, cleansing, purifying, sealing, giving oxygen, breathing our thoughts, watching, observing and recording while being part of the intimate flow of how and where we hold reality.
And we are the same. Adopting the influence of a higher being which is also a part of us sometimes only requires a solidly defined code of ethics, a conduit through which sacred resonance can be manifested and transformed.
Allow Your Presence.
About thirty-one years ago, my brother Koyote took me to a temple in the mountains of Northern California. I was fifteen years old, and I had never seen a monk like that. He was bald, dressed in flowing orange and white linens, light sandals, a meditation mala around his wrist. Koyote left us in a room with seating cushions on the wooden floor and a big window for a wall to my left, showing us where the forest of the mountain lived. We sat cross legged, facing one another. He vowed gently and sent me a smile. He actually waited, looking into me, until it landed. It was all so gentle, his presence and the atmosphere all around us. He was a Tantric monk.
He asked me if I wanted to learn how to meditate and I told him I did. He explained to me that he was going to initiate me into an order that is mostly unseen and unknown, and then he asked me if I understood what that meant, and I said I did not. He smiled and waited for me to receive it. As I did, he asked if I wanted to learn how to meditate; and with a smile, I told him I did.
The monk produced a small, round ashtray, a piece of paper, a wooden pencil, and a small box of matches. The silence he emitted palpably, produced and maintained with purpose, like words to speech itself. He wrote a word and showed it to me. He explained to me that, in this lineage, we never reveal the sacred word that has been given to us for meditation; that it is a direct sound that comes from God; and that it is unique to us in that we will never need or receive another. He claimed this one word as a direct communication from God to me, that it contained a code that would unravel itself in time as I used it, revealing God through meditation in my path. He talked of a certain door that I might come to, claiming that I would then be able to join the lineage “as one of us.”
He asked me if I wished that he pronounced my word for me once, and I told him I did. He pronounced it once, and asked me if I had memorized the letters of the word, and I told him I had. A match was magically on and the paper was burning as he placed it gently onto the ashtray. We both watched it turn to ash inside the circle.
The monk then asked if I preferred to close my eyes or to keep them open for the meditation, and I whispered, “closed.” He told me to begin saying the word in my mind, to just keep saying it over and over, once after the last, on and on. “And as you do, begin to see yourself becoming one with everything around, all of nature, one with the tree, with the sky and the wind.” He then instructed me to meditate every day and bowed goodbye.
Back then, I couldn’t comprehend what the monk meant, exactly. I would close my eyes, internally chant the word, and keep imagining that I was sitting before a tree and that our images would begin to blend with one another, superimposing ourselves into the other. Thirty-one years later, I now hear my brother clearly. He sits here with me now, under my tree, at the heart of my grove, chanting the sound of God.
Level One In Druidic
The upkeep of this new charge and class is not cheap and it requires much of my time and energy. So much, by necessity of maintenance alone, that whatever coin, sword, cup, and wand is necessary to accomplish this existence will be dedicated, consecrated, used, depleted, and replenished towards it. It might take about three thousand dollars of local coin to cast even a first level Create Water spell for a thirsty tribe, and probably no more than five gallons at a time. And that is because I cannot let go of anything that has been placed under my charge thus far. It is an interesting climb up a ladder of light which needs its manifestation to penetrate the roots of reality for creation to concur with the path of will designed by the Great Mother. We are not constructing the garden; we are its keepers.
To this end, my production and sales of magic rings, charms, readings, magical life coaching, breakthrough healing, Aka Dua training, and all other ingenious ways of manifesting sacred coin and blessed circles will continue to fuel my base of operations, my home, my work, my school, and all aspects of my life in order to continue my training and execute my charge. I will continue to strengthen my body, mind, and heart with real nourishment. I will need to practice my priesthood with more fervor and desire for service as I ascend up a path through Art, fueled by The Devil and absolved by Death, The World beneath me a well balanced foundation for work and spirit, manifesting light through the New Aeon, and offering it all to The Moon. It isn’t easy, I know, but there is a way. Just keep walking. The Sun is just ahead.
The playing field is leveled. Druidic magick is all about the maintenance of the balance. Not concerned with the evil and good doings as my care, those of mine or others, only of the life and the natural balance between all the forces within my grove. The world of humans is theirs to have. Evil and malign spirits abound, as well as forces for good, and the meek and the sleeping; and it isn’t my concern to direct or influence their dance and engagement with one another. They may kill and exterminate. One side might obliterate the other, man or beast, and my only divine charge for now is to establish my presence within the grove as care taker of the natural forces, including fay and sprite and sylph and skunk and termite and tree and grass and sun and wind.
The cover of night seems to work as an etheric barrier void of sunlight—not completely, but enough to deny my replenishing spell. I believe The Moon and Netzach are the key that unlocks my ability to heal myself even in the cover of night. For now, I must rely on sunlight manifesting the land.
Being a druid is proving to be entertaining. Today I took Pepe around the little grove and found Salvador, the character in the wheelchair. He’s our town drunk, a religious Christian. His chain got yanked right out of his chest by three local rogues—part of the gang in the alley in the northwest quadrant—a couple of weeks ago. He went around trying in vain to recover his chain, which held the pendant with the image of the Virgin Marry in gold—his holy symbol. What hurts him the most, still to this day, is not that the chain is gone, but that those boys did that to him. Feelings of being betrayed by something he holds dear flooded him. And what he holds dear is his neighborhood. It was this act against Salvador from an inhabitant of the neighborhood that got me to want to explore.
Later, I come out of the house after dropping Pepe off, heading for the banishment of the grove (which, again, consists of me walking the perimeter counterclockwise while doing my druid thing) and find Valerie, the damsel in distress from across the street, seeking refuge next to Salvador. Salvador has many spots around my grove. He likes to pick the shade, and moves about the town following the shade, so as the sun moves, so does he, from tree to tree, leaving behind in all his spots mini bottles of Tequila and Vodka. There is such a spot of his right in front of my house, on the north side, where the circle begins. Valeria has been fighting with her boyfriend Danny’s mom. She is so drunk—today as yesterday, when Diana found her. Her arms and legs are bruised and scratched, left knee looks dislocated. She is crying and agitated, but in control and a lot calmer under the shade of Salvador. I notice the demon in the alcohol and the drugs that have infested the whole house across the street. They are the cholos of the neighborhood; their gang is across the street from my grove. The demon has all of them, from mom and sister to father and son and Valerie. I notice the demon and begin my NLP. I invite her to consider the fear she has of leaving that house, and after just a few more sentences, I have her confronting the fear head on. Her mind floods with images of the jail cell she has just been released from yesterday morning, ghosts of her mother calling the police to take her away, and of her father hurting her in horrible ways since she was just a child. She cries that she can’t leave that house, that she’d rather take the beatings than go back home. She weeps and I invite her to weep with the angels circling above, pointing my Staff of the Grove to the blue golden skies above us, secretly sending Andromeda to spiral straight to the sun, creating the upwards swirling emanations of the songs of angels to vibrate instantly under the shade of Salvador, and we were all blessed. She wept holding herself, wings of air and light behind. As I turned to leave, she lounged towards me, stopping herself just so the tiny impulse of an intent that awoke something inside pushes her up on her tiptoes, and she raised her arms to the sides, as if to stop herself grasping air, like an angel again. “That thing you were saying, about the going up to the heavens, I want that.”
“Good. Then look up, way up as far as you can see; and then, close your eyes and keep looking even deeper and higher, and as you are moving up, use your voice to ask for the help you need.”
I had to leave them there, bowing to the blessing, and began my banishment ritual. I activated all the seals to banish and cleanse the grove. It is how I am banishing daily for now, using the grove like a freaking druid y que?
This is the day after the Heart of Nahualismo Intensive. I have spent my day knowing the plants within my house and legal property. I have watered them and conversed with them, and I have bonded with them all through this new heart I am carrying. The earth and the grass and wind and the heat of the light have all responded to my touch and my wake. I have walked a squared perimeter of roughly 1.75 miles in a counter-clockwise direction for cleansing; my house rests on the eastern perimeter of this marked territory. Tonight, I will walk the same perimeter in a clockwise direction, for blessing and marking.
My first level as a druid is now charging me with duties towards the land, and a strange stewardship has been assigned to me. I am not yet sure what my job precisely is, though as a druid, my nature is to continue to walk the perimeter, cleansing, banishing, healing, nourishing, and protecting as I go. Tonight, I mark this land with my seal.
As I walked, I came to know five major trees, ancient and protectors of old, and many other allies of the Plant Nation. I activated them, and charged them with keeping my light and resonant will protected within my mark, and to help in sending it outward as a beacon of light, transmitting healing and protection to the Nations of the world around us as far as my power wills. May those in need of refuge find their way to our forest and be guided.
The land speaks to me of a weird power infecting the mantle of the Mother. I have noticed the fenced squares of metal fences blocking the passage of beast, humankind, and desire. It is indeed a strange state of affairs I seem to have come to inherit, for I find myself knowing that it isn’t within my power to cast away the fences of man and its laws, that I have come to realize an ancient way trapped by chain links and concrete.
The human population has relinquished old and sacred charges towards our allies and protectors, our brethren. And though they have multiplied to the point where the land is unable to hold them all, forcing them to build houses upon houses upon houses, they have come to pretend that the Earth no longer exists and the land is useless. Everywhere I looked with my eyes as carried by the winds and the voices of the trees were miles upon miles of concrete death. Humanity is a golem. The weight of their machinery stumps growth and light.
My charge and claim is yet to be challenged by the local bands and guilds. Hopefully, the law of man is not alerted to such a presence. A tribe of black-clad punks in boots and chains live in the streets and operate within my perimeter and around it on the north-west corner. These streets are much more theirs than mine, as my claim isn’t their terrain but the flora around. A gang of local youth with older leads scurries under the sunlight, attacking sometimes the cripple and weak, sometimes carrying demons and addictions, operate within our land in the alley splitting the south-west wall, with inner access into the back of the General Market store parking lot and towards the west side, where the punks are. There is something deeper within the center which I detected as it watched me circling, healing, blessing, and activating. It would not speak until I come closer, and it isn’t human, and it might be a watcher, a guardian, or something else.
Walking the land, cleansing, activating, connecting, and blessing, I realized I am getting nourishment and mana from the ground and the plants; and as I walked introducing myself to everyone (I even spoke to three humans and waved heads with an albino humanoid of sorts. I don’t mean to presume he isn’t human, only to imply it), the sun light opened to a patch of grass and dirt, and as I walked over it, my energy replenished, cleansed and refreshed, like a shot of juicy, yummy mana. So I called upon it as I went along, giving it right back to the land and its inhabitants.
I walked over private property and I noticed the ghosts within my own labyrinth rising like automatically triggered advertisements within the world of sub-modalities, which I was, of course, able to turn off—though I did keep them on when I sensed a watchful, hidden presence from inside one of the houses. The truth is that the only way I will be able to assist and administer the inner inhabitants of our land is through the heart and the power of my intent, and for that I need to maintain the knowledge of my true self by staying close to my own center and the school.
It is strange indeed that the heart of the land has been blocked off to human passage, except to assigned participants within a game that is not nearly as old, as powerful, or an intriguing as the Great Work. Nonetheless, a druid once lived that awoke an ancient tree to become present within the dance that never ends. May the land and I heal, sweat, bleed, and die to live as one. And may I walk forever in its service, to unreachable borders across an endless horizon.
Aho Mitakuye Oyasin
PS: Oh yes! And I could never forget my new familiar, Andromeda. She’s an air elemental dressed as a sylph in the etheric realms, but an astral planar born of the sun and the ocean, and is daughter of the vibrancy of Her evaporation and His piercing Eye. She dances within my circle of intent, diving into the realms of light above whenever I need a message sent and brought, inciting my desire to living destiny.
Unnamed it remains
To name it
To know the unknowable
To speak the unspeakable
From beyond that great abyss
Before the first sound of God
She wears a mantle of infinite suns
To hide its very presence
He emerges a star
Triumphantly manifesting light everlasting
To hide its very presence
Unnamed it remains
But As None
“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…
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The love of a warrior is not reactive. It is not triggered by any external stimuli. It is not ruled by hope or wish, but emanates from intent. It is voluntary, and do not emerge out of need, but from an over abundance of power. That love is given as a manifestation of the pure will of the warrior.
The warrior’s love is the light of the sun; it sustains all it surveys, unconcerned with what it gets back.
It is the light in the night, warming or destroying, but ever alight.
Just like the flame, the warrior who would give light, must first burn at the core.
They took our lands.
We give our fruits.
They took our language.
We give our poems.
They denied our gods.
We give our prayers.
They changed our names.
We gather under The Tree.
They took our water.
We give our thirst.
They tortured us.
With our tears we clean the soul.
They massacred us.
Our blood we feeds the future.
They buried us deep,
but we are seeds.
They erased our memories.
We remember the coming of the New Sun.
–Koyote the Blind