The seed of Quetzalcoatl Part Two

Part Two

(...)

I woke up shouting of that nightmare the 20 days of the entire month. But as she promised, if I could stand sleeping outside with my dreams and survive the mosquitos, fleas and spiders, she would take me to the mountain top to see the seed that was given from him. As a light of a Prometeus given to blind men. The fire that never taught them to love.

At that point she was not so cold. Her hostility became a bit familiar and even soft and cosy. She would laugh some day to my jokes and bring me some water to pass the increased fear and shouts from the last dreams. I felt I had knit something between us, something like a different air, a known air. Warm as a secret blanket, and just understandable between us. I created something we could call us.

I gave her one flower, simple but beautiful, it had two different white infinites, one pure as its color, another covered with pink stripes, converged in a yellow dot made of fertility from the earth, as the sun, it warmth her heart for me.

The whole town was accepting my presence, maybe they were forgetting me. I could not say I was becoming one of them, I would never be one of them but I was constructing a mask with my body, so my scent would not make them repulse me. So my skin would not be so different from them.

Working their work, eating their food, sleeping their nights, loving them as mothers and brothers, loving their women, loving their flower, dreaming their nightmares, loving Dalia.

The ritual for the ones who walked the road for the seed was the first day of the new month. The tradition was that the boys and girls which aged eleven should go together the day of the serpent, the day of darkest passions and deepest anger, and pray to the living piece of the god, so he will decide which of them survive and come back to be part of the humanity.  This time it was just Dalia and me who will go.  Dalia and her gods, me and my gods.

So the ritual started.

With terrifying masks naked man and women walked upon us making a circle around. With a terrifying shout one fire spread to many torches, lightening horripilant masks as brought from hell itself, until a gigant with the biggest torch had fire. Another ones, painted all with a black tar that stinked as the proud of an assassin, they hold and tied us to a woodpole encrusted in the center of the circle. At first I was not afraid, I knew it was a ritual, everyone there had lived it, but when I saw those faces looking at the empty space, looking for something I always had run away from, as pursuing death, threatening death with a knife, and capable to burn that girl and me alive, mercy had left their souls.

It just had started and I felt that was the very end of my life. I asked for Dalia’s eyes, but there was no calm but thunderstorms of fear and will to escape. She was sweating cold drops in all her forehead, arms and chest. Although I was frightened that image remained into my cornea, I was desiring her skin, desiring to confess my love before I died, I wanted to fusion myself with her, and maybe that could save us. Love could save us from death, but she never looked at me. My left arm had contact with her right arm, I was up to give something and she was about to receive something.

The fire was been left at the floor and everyone left.

It is over- i thought.

A calm passed all through my bones. I looked at Dalia smiling but she was alert, she was desperately trying to tie off the rope. I saw a boy, he might had 6 or 7 years, carrying two sticks of wood, making a cross in front of him. He was laughing, jumping and having fun, making circles around the fire in the floor. Then I saw it, those were not sticks, those were lances.

The boy stopped in front of me, he was not smiling anymore neither playing, serious he let the lances fall down a few centimeters far from my feet and left running. Dalia had lost her head, she was shouting as if she was being killed, she would not stop trying to reach the spear with her toes.

I was not prepared for any of the next. Could any man be prepared for such thing? 11 years old? Nothing on my body was enough to help me then no matter how old I was. I saw Tezcatlipoca itself walking toward us, The skull of the Smoking Mirror watched me, watched, watched.

the other of Quetzalcoatl, the mirror, death walking just as in my dreams but now I knew i would not wake up. With moves I could not see, Dalia had standed with the spear in her hands, cutting my rope and I felt all the force of a woman, protector, fearless, and gave me strength to stand up.

The battle begun just as in the nightmare. I received the first punch in my face, he was as fast as no man, as strong as no man, as deathly as no man. Me in the floor an Dalia fighting with the strength of a green light. The difference from my dream was her.

She was fighting for me, I understood I had to give my life right there, to save my soul. I took again the lance and felt strong, as if I had being prepared for that moment in the nightmare. When I had to fight in the air with Tezcatlipoca, falling to the abism and waking up shouting and bleeding water from every pore.

I fought as if I was someone else. I was someone else. Quetzalcoatl protecting his inner light against himself, against his darkness, I understood the light will win some night, the darkness will kill me some other night, and in the middle of that balance I will find myself.

I stopped fighting and hugged the man with the mask. He stopped the fight. The three of us were bleeding with the cuts of the obsidian as an obelisk in the top of the lances, the black stones were bleeding our bloods making a unity of the three of us and shining a gold inside, reflecting it from the fire in the floor. In the embrace, the man took out his mask at the sound of a simple applause, two applauses, seven, all the applauses of the earth sounded like rain, somehow healing the harmed bodies, somehow giving new scars, the tattoos of life we shall not forget. The ritual was over.

Before 3 days of healing our bodies with herbs, Dalia and I walked inside the sacred jungle following the instructions of the tlatoani. We had 17 days to get back. Or else our souls would be eaten by Tezcatlipoca and we would never find our way back.

After five days of a man walking, nothing can be the same, we thought ourselves more as a part, more as everything, in the fifth day something changed in her eyes. She trusted my steps and the pureness of my travel. The seed started flowering in both of us.

Before we slept, we ate a pear, green in the outside and white inside, sweet as honey or milk or flower, Dalia you flower of hope showed me your body of petals. We shared the secrets of a fruit which has not got any sin inside. We made the pear burn into our lips and tongues, when it was finished we ate our lips, we ate our tonges, we shared the secrets we had inside.    

You embraced my body of rock. Made it softer, softer until it was more a orange rind, then more as the skin of orange that keeps the bubbles of eyes and life inside to give pleasure. You made me yours in every shape of the jungle, in every shadow in every step and fruit until we made the earth tremble, for us and for others, up to the sea.  

You wrote me letters with the promises of your forever love.

Your skin started to change, the petals became squama and you decided we should be a sacrifice to Tezcatlipoca.
-Is there any more glorious than to be accepted with open arms from the god of death himself? Deciding it. Can there be something more glorious than accepting yourself as an offer good enough for a god? - You made a song of that and repeated it.

We had 9 days left to day 17 and we where just one day away from the seed. But you did not wanted to keep on.  You said that paradise would made both inmortal.

There was no nightmare anymore, but that night something woke me up, the wind was blowing strong, I saw a little path, you were covered till the neck and the scent of your skin made me want to lie again and sleep. But I doubted, and the chant of something made me turn, some light called me.

I got away and there was not a last kiss, that was the way to the seed and I had to take it, even if that meant leaving you.

And as I climbed, I could not get you of my mind, the colored yellow deathly spiders pursuit me, your smile, your grape lips. But over all those black eyes, now kind, affable. Golden black as your skin, as your necklace that melted in you, as the squame that made you as a mermaid. Lost in desire with your sweet chant, forgetting the paths. I am sorry I leave, but it is for the seed why I am here.

(...)

(Part three will be posted around 10th of January)

The seed of Quetzalcoatl

For a complete multi dimensional experience please listen:  
Jorge Reyes- Prehispanic Rituals

Part one

I remember the first day I got to the city with no lights, the city city with no boundaries. The hot fire of the torches hanged in every wall, as if that fire was infinite, it illuminated the air. That day we shared the water and the earth in a plate with living insects and a cup with swimming souls. I remember your first hate.

I remember how we played in paradise.

I read the letter she wrote, with the promise of forever love. My eyes share the water of clouds and it rains. It rains because of the loss. The loss of the things you can neither have, nor forget.

-You are not welcome here.- The first time i heard her voice broke the night as a harmful blade calmed but capable to assassin.

We showed each other the path of unexplored jungles and we smiled until it hurted.

She had the name of a flower. Dalia.
“She is more like a bud than a flower”

From the burned brown skin sprout the sensuality. She was not timid, but her silence was a good friend.

-So you want to go to the jungle? I told you it's forbidden to foreigners.-She said with a challenging-wounding face.

-That's why you will come with me.

-Why would I do that?

-Because I won't leave until you accept.

The first day I spended in that small town gave me a whole night to think about my reasons and question about my path. After some important tears I remembered the promise I had made.  

I ran the tattoo with the tip of my finger. Below the left shoulder I drawed the Quetzalcoatl and felt his feathers and flakes. His necessity to slither with the passion of the reptile as the will to fly with the vision of the eagle. I made again that promise of founding the first waterfall he showered in. The first water Venus dranked when came to the Earth, just before using the shape of a man.

We ate a red soap, the spice burnt inside from my throat to the stomach and remaining in my mouth, making me cry the same cry as the past night. The boiled corn delivered the sweetness into my tongue, slow, with no limits, infested my soul with the flavor of childhood. To the memory of the pot and grandmother mixing the water with her fire-fingers looking for a truth in that water, inside her past as if she had left it somewhere behind. The water made of powdered rice had inexplicable freshness and it was sweet enough to forget all pain.

I implored them to let me stay, to let me show them I worth it, even if i was the most doubtful. We worked until the sun Tonatiuh turned the strips of light orange and red.

She had hostile eyes for me, at that hour she was so beautiful; her skin shining as gold, a brightness companion to golden corn fields, with the light of fertility feeding the plants as a dew that hang from the leafs so they can drink. Her black eyes shined as a black hole illuminated with the star that is being consumed.

Before the night had gone I got out the hot room I was told to sleep in. Delimited by wood that still had roots, walking outside the sky had purple strokes, there was no darkness but shadows of life.

I walked naked through the wet trees and the plants touched me every step. I found a pond full of frogs. Thousands of them one above the other, as a one self being, breathing the same air, the same time and space. I got myself close enough to breath that air, to understand the importance of sharing the being.

Something as an explosion made me fall into the pond. I got the head out hardly breathing, making dumb movements with my hands. I felt the water in my neck and found a rock below my toes.

In that moment the rock below started moving, I asked myself what could that be, and swam the half frog half water pond. Trying to find some corner of earth to hold on. Suddenly the body of a big snake passed grazing my legs.

The fear paralyzed me but I was drowning. As a reflex I held that body as holding life. That thing got us out of the water floating. My heart was beating with the drums of life and death dancing, fighting to get me.

My eyes distinguished clouds but we were still in the jungle, going fast though vines and branch which did not stop the way.

I realized it was him, I had found him, he was taking me somewhere. He made an abrupt move before I shot off to a sea of green leafs. Falling, I felt a hand pressing hard my shoulder. Dalia was standing beside, moving my body strongly.

-Shut up foreigner. You shout like a sick beast. I told you to go, you won't stand your own dreams.

Get out of here. And don't come back. That what you are looking for is unreachable for your impure soul.
(...)



(Part 2 will be published around December 25th )

The Eyes Behind Sunrise

I was waiting for the sun to light the road in the middle of a bridge, hearing the song of excited birds, I can feel they belong to this world, I'm trying to grasp the stains that follow the tempo to the waterwaves which follow the rhythm of colors. In their head flows the sound of the sweet flute, the flute with the name of the goddess, the flute my companion the flute my shelter.
My feet howl me to keep walking, the lake and the fish chant me to stay. Beyond the clouds the light starts to odd. The festival of colors is about to start and nobody else is watching. The flute provides the choir and the air is as cold as the breath of indiference.
The birds squawk extending their wings, the dogs bark showing their teeth, the cars make the sound of progress and the moon still squire me between the daring purples, the untold greens and at the end white. Your face make no noise, no color. But I feel you inside the skin, blowing thoughts, remembering of yesterdays, flavors, smiles, movies and your open small eyes staring as ever, staring behind the sunrise, the hugs and the heat i do not feel. Do you exist? Why are you not here?
I touch my own skin, helps me forget the loneliness. The water would not let me alone and start reflecting the first shy yellows, the promise of the trail brings back the strength. It was just passenger.
Nothing absconds on this side of the highway, with my static feet, the air roam my body, the steam arising from my throat condenses in the air leaving a blurred vision. And those wings are loosen from some meters above, falling into the water, sometimes they catch a fish, sometimes the cold water catches them.

Photo by Daniel Diner ©

I wonder if there is already enough light and I concede to this legs the hard work of carrying this head, which for some reason it will not stop thinking of you. Even if you are not here, even if you have never been. My real company is this sun and this moon that shine and illuminate mi world day a day.
Step by step I throw the left thumb. Where is it going to take me this path?

A New Start

RECOMMENDED TO EAT WITH SPECIAL SPOON (Creep-Radiohead)

This had started a long time ago, before I can remember. I don't know how did it started or where, what I do know is it found me. It found me and got into the air I breathe, into the sounds I hear, into my veins and pull me to the place it wants. It controls my voice, my moves, and all I can do about it is to write. Mainly that is what this is about.
I know you have it, somewhere deep behind those fears (I feel the fear), somewhere behind that everyday smile, I know sometimes it shows up, when you are more tired and look at the mirror wishing something has changed, but it hasn't.
It hides on the corner of one eye with the hope that you will look at it one day. Be afraid, be really afraid because it knows everything about you, your passions, your dreams, the unfinished business with your own, your failures. It knows your deepest wishes. It is the only thing that can bring you real happiness. Look at it. Ask its name, never forget its name.
Let it grab you, it will destroy you, from the lies you tell to others to the ones you tell yourself. It will burn you to ashes and if you are strong enough it will give you a new body, new wings, new eyes, and you will take the shape you have always had inside.
Be afraid, but never run. Let it live. Drown it with the darkest wine or with the purest water, feed it with the bitter tears and the sweetest smiles.
Look again in the mirror, you are right there. We are right there. And now we are ready for a new start.
At this point you absolutely know what I am talking about. Be afraid, but do not escape.
Swim in the sheets and scratch the blankets, inhale and exhale 3 times, 7 times, sleep tight.
This is not over.
This is not even started. It will be when you want. But hurry, that won't wait forever. Mine was really harmed when I found it. What harms them the most is the unhappiness of a potential smiler. Be one, smile. Mine is waiting for another burning eyes, mine is making me go crazy with the sound of the guitar imperceptible, and I don't seem to recognize the fingers, neither the tones.

And so, here I am. In front of the tiny line winking and waiting for someone to show it the way. Why? How? I do not know the way. I have to find it. I will try really hard behind this lines and many others, if you ever get a string of something that looks like it, please, please let me know.
Welcome to this absurd lines. I hope they make some sense.






Wheat Field with Cypresses, 1889
Vincent van Gogh (Dutch, 1853–1890)
Oil on canvas