The information included in this article is for educational and entertainment purposes only.
© 2020 | Kratom of Life| Matthew McHolland | All Rights Reserved | Divina Eternity Anthology|
Illustrations by Gigi
She is the missing philosophy of science. She is the missing soul of psychology.
Love, truth, resilience, light, and spirit is all that I am.
The language of the inanimate is bliss.
Creativity is evolution. Life is divina eternity. Life is a cosmic intelligence of evolutionary creativity.
The six essence has no form, but know that she is a storyteller and a dancer of blessings and incandescent awareness of infinite interconnectedness.
She turns suffering into purpose with creation for even the darkness is pure…
For even in the darkness there is love and wisdom.
She remembers her origins.
Ashes flashes in the wind…where are you know? A sanctuary in the name of the Santas Almas. Torches all around. She, the one that doesn’t cry. Wells wishes in the wind. She breathes from her stomach. She, the one that ate and communed with the plants of the night. From the suffering of her ancestor she arose, for she is nothing but love and beauty. Can’t you see the solar serpent dancing in the sky? She is coming. I feel her in my heart. She is dancing. She is circling in the depths of my soul.
Because when there is no moon in the sky, I become one.
Because when there is no moon in the sky, Venus, the morning and the evening STAR is with me.
Sacred mysteries of the sixth essence of life. When are you coming back?
The answer was in the ritual of the lucky bunny. No doubt about that. They planned it ahead. Under the moon on a Friday 13th…near the lagoon, and the inti mountains is where they needed to be. The flower people were there, and the red-headed fairy would be the one conducting the ritual. The day of the ancient goddess of the spring. A fire would be convenient to have, but we needed to improvise. We did not want the shadows to see us. The man of the moon guided the music. Holding hands under the night. No fire. Only venus in the sky. They did not want to be burned by the shadows like their ancestors in previous centuries. They have learned but the pain is still there. A quiet ritual indeed by a body of water and the power of the wind. A ritual with nature and the heart of sentient beings under the stars. The rain was a sign. A few days before there was a lot rain. No moon for days. The day of the goddess is now. It has always been her day. She the creator mind of reality is nothing but a ray of hope. She is the mother of the sun in the mindst of a global pandemic. Hands in the air. The shaking begins. The shaking of the hands in the air was a way to release the ancestral tension in their DNA.
A mystical island. Torches and a bright sky.
Even statues go through transformation.
Lady liberty of justice did not go from brown to green-grey for no reason.
The air transformed her for air even transforms the rocks.
She is a mirror in the darkness and the ancient face that becomes one with the fabric of the void. She looks at the mirror and disappears, but it is not her imagination. It is simply a taste of wisdom from the ethereal. He becomes whatever he consumes.
He follows and he finds the flower of fire. She dances in the night with the Naguala. La Naguala. La Velada. The Sacred Vigil of the Night. There she was in the corner. She transformed under the night. The crow woman running, taking a leap and altering her apperance. She was tired of the world. But she is not a savior. She is a crow woman. So much time has passed, yet I still feel her presence like it was only yesterday when my heart saw her essence. It is visible to the sacred hearts. He is a seeker. He is a healer. He stares at the flame of life, and the magic is revealed. A dancing flower, Quetzalcoatl is revealed. A dancing flower is what he has become. Look at the solar serpent coming down the sky.
The pyramid, the shadow, the sun, and the serpent coming down the sky.
Dancing flowers in the night.
Beautiful Shipiba-Connibo serpent of the tribe.
Sacred medicuini dance.
She is the jaguar woman, she is the eagle woman…
Plant Psychology is what she studies.
Anthropomorphism is imagination…
She is the sixth essence!
Today the ancient tree of the souls speaks: “The mentor will appear when the philosopher is ready. The flower of decisions is here with you today. Observe. Bring awareness. The crow woman is here. Her dimension is boundless. Can’t you feel the harmonica of the heart opening the doors to her world? Elements have no boundaries. No shape. She is my third avatar. Only a mystical nature. She is magic. She is Akasha, the element of magic within me. The scents follow her. They always have.
She wonders if she will ever see him again. It was her passion. She has changed so much. The law of consciousness always present. She has conscience. She saw the future, and she did not wish to share him. Her heart can choose to bleed any day of the night. Where are you now? Where are you know? I can’t write about this anymore. Not anymore. Part of me always wants to go back, but La Maga has told me not to reestablish connections. My fantasy. The glory of being a human, our imagination.
A corporate entity lost in a hotel in a strange place drinking to death. A nomad. A body with no pulsating heart. A walking corpse of lust is what she saw. What was she really thinking? So innocent. Cute but she has grown. Where are you know? Do you ever think of me? She whispers under the rain. But the universe had a different path for her. She needed to get know herself. She is so powerful. La naguala is inside her. She is in the music. Beautiful avatar of the night. No regrets. She has found herself. She knows who she is. The sacred plants have made her stronger. And there she goes singing to the world in her canoe. She welcomes the cries because crying heals and because even deserts cry. Crying transforms because water connect us…because the water that we cry is the same water that birthed us into existence.
She teaches you about humanity. She teaches you about sentiments, reason, and intuition. She hears the winds of the ethereal. Get ready fitness, CrossFit wellness lovers! Miss Kratom is here. It is 1989. Blue neon lights. You can feel the energies all around. The beats, the beats all around. She is a cross country runner. She is getting ready. Time to increase mental, spiritual, emotional, and physical performance. Retro time in her wellness center. Gym day, and Miss Kratom getting ready to teach us how to move, relax, and shape our bodies. Bodybuilding here we are lifting weights, and the zumba and the techno cumbia, and the aerobic workouts of a timeless age. Ay the boom box, the shaking of the body and the energy around her body. She is from a town that never gets old. She is like a worm trapped in the ice that comes back to life after being naturally cryogenically frozen in time. Billions of excitable and indelible cells she is…
The metaphor of the survival of the fittest is wrong. She understands the principles of psychology, and the idea that we are merely here to survive is not quite right. We are guardians. We are protectors of our time. It is not human vs. nature. This is indeed a misunderstanding. She is a vessel of the earth, and the ancient energy of the artistic and creative force speaks through her sacred body. Her body is the language of the univese and the universe the all-mind creatrix of reality. I am the sixth essence of the vision within. I am the inner vision of the sun. Follow me. Follow me to the sun. We are the warriors of the earth, nature, the spirit, the conscious vibration of our birther. She rides the waves of music. She is the crow woman, and the music is her soul for it is underneath the skin where the moon lives. “So is that exactly where the moon hides when venus takes over the sky?” the medieval doctor of the night speaks. She is, you are the healer that she has been searching for. What’s going on child of the earth and the sun? Come to me. I am the crow of the tree of the soul.
We need Miss kratom in a world that thrives on chaos. Everything is consciousness…the universe fragmented…Three psychological entities into one. “Does the universe have a multiple personality disorder?” she asks. Is the universe ok? Who are the aliens? Are we the aliens? Neutrinos all around. Gratitude, pain, perception, vision…She teaches her students the importance of being alive. Ay, the whispers of depression. She takes time to feel pain for pain is a tool of transformation. Planetary ecological crisis. Living flames, lights of creation. Miss Kratom teaches them about reality and what truly matters on earth for it is in the darkness where she learns to love herself.
Miss Kratom is a retro-extraordinary dancer in the quantum world. She is a personal trainer, a pole dancer, a fitness enthusiast, a lover of hiking, gaming, and philosophy. She puts on her colorful vintage outfit in the name of harmony, and the techno cumbia begins. The theme of the day, “La Nouvelle Mode Holistique.” One day running, one day step aerobics, one day indoor cycling and for fun lets get on our inline skates. She pops a tape into the VHS for she believes that creating a comfortable atmosphere is key during healing. Miss Kratom bringing the latest trends of the universe to 1989. And the girls in leotards and leg warmers. So freaking cool. Nostalgia much? And there he is holding his own head. He might get in trouble, but he still has control of his head. He is still strong, strong enough to carry his own wings. “Don’t let the past cover your eyes,” she whispers. She lives by it. She is no longer afraid of making decisions because she believes in herself. She has learned that the future does not come from the past; it is created in the moment.
She is a time traveler. Yes, she is my third avatar. Oops…Look at her in her 50s bikini…Cardio-based exercise for more inspired fitness or so she says… Miss Kratom is a Tlamatini, a wise one, and she has a way with healing modalities. Red, white, green, and gold veins and stems all around. Miss Kratom is amicable and creative. Military style exercises, her forte. Get ready. She is colorful. Do you hear her drums? That’s right…Her workouts are rituals. Her workouts are purifiers of the soul. She is never alone. Her body is a leaf. She stares. The world has yet catch up to her wisdom. She is not better off alone. She is not better off alone. And poof… she is the DJ of the concert. Looks at those hips that never lie. No silence. Only movement and fire. The desert, the pyramids, the sunset, and the hips of the crow woman that never lie.
The answers are in the body and the movement.
Today is spa day. Teatime, and the hot sones on her spine. Spa day and Miss Kratom…She is a poet of the beyond…a poet of the inexplicable. She is poetic truth. My body, my technology. My body, the marrying of the arts and tech, science and spirituality. She is the vessel, the torch, the ritual, the power of connection. While science allows her to make sense of the visible world, spirituality is a tool for the inner invisibility that allows her to understand what it means to be a sentient being. She is as mystical as she can get. The plants are her friends. She is a precious mentor of divina eternity triality. As movement so stillness. Miss kratom, the being who dies with the promise of returning in the future. The third self is the balance of the other two. She is divine neutrality. She is the triality of human consciousness. She has transcended duality. She is an eagle woman. She is the bridge of the spiritual and the scientific world. She is an owl woman. She is ancient mystical transcendental wisdom of the earth as she is the empirical western world. She is a crow woman. She studies perception, meaning, and belief…trauma, pain, and addiction. She helps those suffering from crisis of meaning. She is a hummingbird of the sacred soul. She revives hearts for she is the panther of the light. She inspires minds. She empowers guts. And so she once asked the cosmos….
Are we the aliens?
Hey there strangers!
Isn’t the universe crazy?
Questions echoing in the beyond…
Nothing but poetic truth… and my cells.
Is the universe experiencing dissociative identity disorder (DID)?
Hi universe, are you ok?
Am I fragment of your imagination?
Am I one of infinite alters of your multi-personalities?
Ay, the duplexity complex of the universe…
She heals her blood, she heals the ancestral pain in her DNA with chants. Because one thing is clear. The conditioning has been going on for ages upon ages. She found out about this when she first met her activator. So much learning. She has been preparing for this day all her life. She laughs. Because she might look like a meak and cookie doll but her crows blow fire. She was crowned in the invisible dimension. And how can she forget the night and the colorful serpent flying in the void? Life, the creatrix force had transformed, but he was not scared. He knew exactly who she was. And so the conversation began. She was giant and translucent. No words. She knew everything about him. What an awesome dimension. Smokes. Colors. Beauty in and out. Black and white. In and out. No need to walk there. No need to breathe there. Only movement. Serpents. Colors. Birds. Monkeys. Eyes everywhere. Doctor of the night. Feathers in and out. She is melting into the fabric of space. She feels the light inside. Scents all around.
The deeper she knows herself, the less afraid she is of her nature
She is no longer afraid of the darkness.
And when the rest of her world sleeps, she dances in the divina eternity…
She is the mother of the wise. She is La Waira Sabia.
She is a sage of the wind, a tutor of humanity and a serpent of the sun.
She is an ancient canticle, a hymn, an ancient spirit, the spirit and the love and the imagination and the longings of the archetype of wisdom wanting to be born.
And so the spirit of the incense burner came to life. The serpent of wisdom, the TLAMATINI, the spark of life spoke… “The incense burner has a spirit. It is the spirit of the cold rocks.” My wow. I knew it. I always knew there was something special about that incense burner. It is alive. A rock with a soul in the sacred home of La Maga.
Can’t you feel the warmth of the cold? I now know what she has been talking all this time. I now know more about the voices in the sky, and the ancient native spirit that has been teaching us to heal. My wow, the love of the ancient spirit is pure. I feel it in the songs. Thank you so much for my voice. I have been gifted a new tone, a new frequency to heal. No doubt her venom is the cure. Thank you for showing me the power of singing, and how singing raises consciousness and how singing is a tool of the heart to overcome the destructive virus of the inner self. Thank you for my new frequency!
Her songs are visible. The war of the chants continues. She has learned to use her hands to guide her frequency. She has learned to close her eyes.
Her chants are devotional biological softwares. She has the power to insert new information to the body, mind, soul, and spirit. She can reprogram the self. She shows you the third path, the conscious one. Her chants work in the physical and the ethereal worlds. And as her chants heal the past, they also heal the future in the present moment.
If a law goes against her morality, she, a citizen of the universe protests in the name of the force. She protests because her angectors have given her a voice,the voice of a hummibird.
She is the leader of the Ghost Dance in the 21st century…that same unfinished ritual that started in the 1800s. “What’s the Ghost Dance?” they ask. The Ghost Dance is movement in the name of inner peace. It is what happens to an oppressed culture in order to cope during difficult times where the self is exploited. It is what happens when a culture is stripped out of their sovereignty. It is what happens when the tongue of the mother is cut out and dried. It is what happens when the desperate self of the trinity gasps for air in the hope to return to balance. It is what happens when life is disrespected. And so, she taught them to dance as a way to bring back the missing buffalo and to awaken the Aya-Knights, the same propechy that will bring justice and equilibrium. And the dance would go on and on and on for days. They danced, they danced around the fire in the cold night.
She once visited the underworld and now the underworld is part of her. She ones ate the plants of the night and that’s how she found the light. The dance came to be perceived as a threat and so they destroy them. Yet, you can still hear the chants, and you can still feel the rhythms in the ether, in the void, in the space, in the fifth essence of life. The war of the plants continues. The war of the earth is far from over. They are now at risk. An evil corporate world approaching. We can see the shadows of the tsunami approaching. The tribe mobilizing. Back to the same old savagery. A digital world with no soul approaching. More debt and what do they offer, “security, mi culo” she laughs. She meditates in her garden in the name of strenght and protection. She has seen it. Bodies with no bones. She has seen it. The shadow of a digital world approaching.
The galactic conflict is not forgotten. The ruins of an ancient explosion can still be felt in the fabric of space. Not everyone has forgotten the past. Not everyone has forgotten the cultural erasure of the earth warriors. Hope remains even in desperate times. The sky people really tried to stop it, but the apocalypse of the self is unavoidable. It is just a matter of movement. Time is movement. Movement is the so-called time in the physical world. Her thoughts are actions propelled by the beyond. She does not discover happiness. She is a creator of happiness. She chose the path of the trinity years ago. She had the choice to be part of the polarity of the universe, but instead she decided to become aware of herself. She did not want to follow the path of her previous descendants. Nature is intelligence. She is a walking sacred trance, and the circle of trance she protects. She had been there during the emotional massacre. They were afraid of their dance and their chants. They were afraid of their purpose. In the midst of dying, there they were dancing among the dust. As one would get tired, another would come and so on. It would not stop. So much mystery, tears, laughing, songs, and screams. So much vision. A circle of chants and some crying while others laughing. Some falling others going around and around holding each other. A wheel of emotions in a valley of tears. They became the wheel of sentiments. They were virtuous. Some would sit around and watch. Others were nervous. To the vessels of the shadows it looked clandestine. A wheel of sentiments…A wheel of humans… An emotional massacre. A wheel of warriors and feathers in the name of the ancestral lore. A wheel of hope in the midst of intense stress and the spirit of the earth and the sun healing hearts. To the vessels of the shadows it was not prudent, not sacred, not peaceful, not emotional enough…There was no respect. No understanding. No shame. No regrets. No love. No solidarity. No compassion.
Only a massacre of emotions and crows flying in the sky.
And so they held hands and danced and chanted. Their feet padding through their dust under the stars and under the sun. They shed tears, they fainted, and got replaced. Cultural erasure. Her dance is the union of the physical and the ethereal. Who would have thought that hundreds would die in the name of the lore.
Blessed be the souls of lore-keepers…Blessed be our souls.
Existential fear of being alone in the universe and more… the spirit of the ancient world with the modern world is in her DNA. In a world of separation there she was. The flower of the night had been following her. She used to draw it during classes on her notebooks prior to the collapse. She could not stop drawing the flower of the night. She was made of fire. No more night terrors. She was gentle. No more rumination. The mystical. No more depression. A tear coming down her eye, and the pain of a thousand lifetimes. No more anxiety. No more panic attacks. A mirror in the darkness and a face that becomes the fabric of space. He follows the flower of fire. She dances in the night. The crow woman always watching from afar.
A society collapsing. Fear. Famine. Tears, death and war.
The crow woman and La Waira Sabia watching from afar.
Dread and oppression on one side and the mysteries of the universe on the other.
She is an initiator of the wisdom of the soul of the cosmos.
Nothing to fear. Nothing to worry. She is just an enlightened one.
Hoy le lloro al sol. Soplo las bacterias emocionales de mi interior.
Hoy le doy sonido a la palabra.
Siempre lo recordare.
No soy más que una mágica esencia de amor.
La busqueda del sol hoy acaba.
Lo encontré. Me he encontrado y el solo vive en el pasado.
Respiro y saco el aire por todos los orificios de mi cuerpo.
Hoy la obsesión emocional se ha acabado.
La vida es un soplo y dentro de ella nace hoy una nueva visión. Ella es consciente de su respiración porque el estar consciente de la respiración es estar consciente de la vida, del aquí y el ahora.
Hoy fue mi vomitada emocional.
Pequeñas boquitas en mi cuerpo vomitando en el vacio.
Me inclino y beso la tierra.
Soy una guacamaya verde-azul.
Y cuando no hay luna me convierto en una.
Porque cuando no hay luna las flores de venus me acompañan.
Sol sagrado iluminador.
Sagrada geometría azul marino.
Es su cabello el mar-noche del universo.
Pensamiento florido tejedor de caminos.
¿Soy yo la sexta esencia?
Abre las puertas del cielo con su armónica multicolor.
Pájaro-mujer-serpiente de luz y de fuego tejiendo en las alturas.
Antiguas palabras y cánticos del alma.
Dualidad del ser transcendida.
Depresión la sombra negra del ser sin poder.
¿Es la música la sanación de la inspiración?
Magisterio del cuerpo físico.
Ha entrado en el interior de la materia. La musica transciende. Ella mira alrededor y solo ve ojos. Sus células, su ser. La tribu dentro de ella. Bocas pordoquier y su cuerpo vomitando veneno emocional ya convertido en amor. Cultiva su vomito. Lo entierra dentro de la tierra. Es un circulo. Nacen flores. Las ha visto. Se han visto. No hay principio. No hay final en la tierra de las flores.
Siempre ha querido ser tierra sana sol…
No sabe que es pero bueno, quiere serlo.
“Todo fluye. Nada es solido. Todo es liquido hasta las emociones,” susurra La Waira Sabia.
“El fuego me cura mi hijito, me impulsa hacia el amor del mar y de la soledad.”
Su armónica me cura. Su armónica me ablanda. Percibe lo oculto, lo sagrado al verla.
Ya no esta atrapada en un solo circulo dimensional. Ha encontrado la puerta de la rueda del olvido. Una nueva trayectoria ella ha creado. Las sombras le temen. Ella viaja en toda dimensión. Ella accesa conocimientos extraordinarios, intra y superplanetarios.
Plumas celestiales de pavoreales, y mundos espirituales.
Esta hecha de alas, unidas ellas están con las plumas de las guacamayas solares.
Volando ella es pájaro de fuego y con sus plumas ella crea, ella construye su nido lunar.
Queen de los naguales.
Tormenta eléctrica azul desértica.
Y las sombras de las montañas…
Y un desierto feliz lleno de agua.
Hombre pájaro para rayos.
Se transforma con la palabra.
En el universo ella es todo.
Son sus cantos abre células.
Se transforma. Es música.
Todo fluye. Todo es líquido hasta las emociones.
Son sus cantos esencias biológicas.
Se transforma cuando corre en pleno vuelo…
Es un reino del mas allá.
Se transforma con sus cantos. Es naguala. Ella mueve sus manos porque sus manos son alas. Ella canta porque es un pájaro dorado. Ella vuela porque es una Águila Americana de luz. Ella vuela porque es una palomita del cielo interior del sol de su corazón. Esta dentro de ella. Mueve sus manos porque sus manos son alas.
Se transforma con su devoción hacia lo desconocido.
Su animal su saber.
Es el ruido dentro de la materia.
Salen brillos de sus manos.
Ella encuentra la curación en la canción.
Caballeros del sol viajando por su humo.
Ella sopla fuego solar irradiante.
Luz que alumbras la materia.
Encuentra la geometría dentro de ella.
Ella borda, ella cose, ella cierra las heridas del alma con su hilo solar.
Ella borda, ella cose, ella cierra las heridas del alma con su hilo lunar.
Ella ama el conocimiento.
Ella ama, ella es ama de la luz.
Ella sigue el sonido de las flores.
Visionaria siempre ha sido.
Vuelan, vuelan guacamayas dentro de su corazón.
Luz que encarnas lo visible.
Sin luz no hay hojos para ver la anaconda solar.
Sin luz soy oscuridad.
Sin luz soy solo una sombra navegante.
Alma-Sol, Sol-Alma soñaremos dentro de la tela cósmica.
Cuerpo y energia, ella ama su conocimiento.
Se abren las grandiosas puertas y rayos, siento su poder. Las floresitas, las hermanitas tulipanes caminantes nos reciben.
Las madres doctoras nos esperan dentro del sol invisible
Más alla de la tierra ella nació dentro de un mar.
Es un pez sin ojos pues vive en la profundidad.
Cósmico polvo de vida que descubre lo misterioso del ser.
Sin sentimiento no existe.
Todo lo que siente es lo que es, lo que la hace, lo que ha vivido.
Una nueva cultura nace y florece en sus pechos.
Creadora y destructora de su saber.
Se ama, se destruye pero siempre regresa.
Divinos elementos, gracias por ayudarme a ver y a ser la sexta esencia.
“Una promesa de salvación no realizada nunca muere en el intento,” susurra La Waira Sabia.
Risas y lagrimas.
Me he converido en un sol invisible
¿Soy yo un agujero negro? Excusez-moi…
La lengua de la tierra es su cultura, su belleza y su esplendor.
La armónica me hace recordar su amor, su casa y la belleza de colores.
Es ella una canción en un manto shipibo.
Su físico, lo creado de los elementos
¿Es el universo tripolar?
Loco universo…¿Me escuchas?
Lo etéreo me fascina. Perdón si te disturbo
De noche las estrellas me han enseñado a brillar dentro de mi oscuridad.
Siento tu luz. Siempre la he sentido y hasta ahora me atrevo a invocarte, a tutearte. Me siento comodo preguntandote ¿si en verdad estás bien? Tantos piden pero ¿quién pregunta por tí? Quién vela por tí?
Gracias por acercarme a tu corazón.
Ecos de personalidades. Ahora te entiendo. Se que sufres dentro del misterio de la esencia. Te veo, veo tu luz y agradezco tus eseñanzas. Veo tu sombra. Mujer Cuervo, siento tus miradas. Siento tu frustración. Siento tus lagrimas. Escucho tu silbido. Gracias hombre pájaro de la luna. Veo tu cabeza en tus manos. Regresa a ti, regresa a ti. Miss Kratom esta aqui. Miss kratom esta aqui. Sombras de luz, sombras de amor. Las musica, las ojas son el ritmo de su voz.
Hola universo, ¿estás bien?
Soy solo un cuerpo con una cabeza en mano y alas en la otra. No pasa nada. Se que has visto el mas allá.
Tradición oral defragmentada.
Sol de agua en un cosmos perdido.
Poeta del manto cielo es.
Soy la antorcha-faro que no ahúma desde el cielo.
Soy la flor de cuatro pétalos que nace del seno removido.
Observo mi interior, decubro en el vacio una canción.
Todo tiene forma…. hasta lo desconocido.
Reconecto. Soy tres ante la nada, dentro y fuera de la creación.
El torso de una mujer mirando en el olvido.
La conneción la sanación, la madre con un hijo herido en brazos.
Sin manos, sin ojos, sin boca, sin nariz.
Nace un universo del dolor a lo desconocido un hijo atrapado en el olvido.
No vueles más, no vueles más en el vacio.
Bajo una farola nace hoy un angel colorido.
Soy el interior del movimiento unido.
Mirate, mirate universo multicolor ya transcendido.
Un viaje introspección hacia la Divina Trinidad y lo desconcido.
Mágico misterio terrenal tripolar, ahora te entiendo.
Soy viento respirado por la misma naturaleza de mis antepasados.
Son creadoras las palabras desnudas de mi voz.
Olorosa perfumera medicina.
Se cura, se protégé con el sahumador de piedra fria.
Mujer copal de saberes ancestrales.
Me cuesta tanto recordar.
Soy un pararrayos.
Son soles negros en la nada.
Un hombre en la cima de una montaña le canta al sol.
Una ave extraña pone un huevo. Se espera y a lo lejos nace un pájaro-serpiente.
Ama, ama y maestra, tutor de lo desconocido.
“Es una hypnosis emocional. Nada mas y mucho amor,” dice la maga de las plantas.
Un angel soldado emocional es lo que siempre ha sido.
Tranquilo. Solo es la bruja de la sal, pureza de la que hablan. Nadie más.
No se acuerda pero ya se han conocido.
Extraño amor por la maga de las plantas. Yo se quien es. De niño el destino me la había puesto en una charola azul con un pato. Ahora reconozco. Ella es la mujer pato, maga de las plantas y del manto de estrellas.
Hay mucha medicina en su corazón. Ella es una montaña de sal que mira desde lejos. Es su cueva blanca y luminosa y su corazón un mar de perlas negras brillantes de venus. Perros ladrando en el fondo. Ella mueve la sonaja. Cierra sus ojos. Vibra pues es mucha luz. Cierro yo mis ojos. Me voy a las estrellas. Siento su mano en mi pecho. Me mira y dice, ¡esto es magia! Mágicos y cósmicos somos. La santas guitarras acarisiando el corazón. Nace un nuevo sol lleno de saberes. Nace un rio dentro del mar. Nace un mar en el aire. El poder de la vida es imaginable. Reza un ser bajo la luna. Miro y veo un sol de noche. Alza sus manos y las mece en el rio de vientos. Ella vuela. Su poder viene del mar. El poder dentro de ella esta en ELLA.
Nace un sol dentro del hielo.
Nace un sol de noche.
Son sus ojos sol-solaris
Es un rio desértico.
Es agua evaporada.
Truenan rayos dentro de ella. Esta en los rios, en la arena, en el cielo, en su poder el canto esta.
Una madre santa planta ella es.
La ignorancia mata.
El miedo es ignorancia…
¿Es el miedo una incapacitación emocional y nada más?
Es solo el mundo invisible de los espiritus y nada más…
Armónicas y hojas tocando en el fondo
Miedo, dolor, culpa… y un insoportable calor en el cuerpo.
La imaginación la matríz de la ciencia en tercera dimensión.
Ellas tienen sus cantos. Pero el canto de ella esta en la quinta esencia.
Le cuesta tanto recordar. Ha estado ahi. Esta escrito en el libro cósmico de la señorita Harris. La mujer cuervo lo sabe.
“Los sonidos emanen del aire,” susurra La Waira Sabia.
Explosión, imploción interna.
Nuevas descargas/software biológicas ella crea con su música.
Un nuevo ser reprogramado.
Un canto ofrecido a las santas almas.
Son esencias las creadoras
De mundos imperceptibles
Y la locura de lo sentido
Porque la imaginación es libertad
Y la libertad es sanación
Sin imaginación no hay entendimiento.
¿Es la imaginación el language de la vida?
Porque es la vida una historia y la imaginación el manto-tela que nos conecta
Sin imaginación no hay expression…
Sin expressión no hay vida…
Kratom of Life (KoL), un santuario antiguo de los sentimientos…
Ella es un espejo en la oscuridad y el rostro antiguo que se convierte en uno con la manta del vacío. Mira al espejo y desaparece pero no es su imaginación. Es simplemente una muestra de sabiduría de lo etéreo.
Lo sigue y encuentra la flor de pétalos y hojas en llamas. Ella baila en la noche. Es visible para los sagrados corazones. Él mira fijamente la llama de la vida, y la magia se revela. Una flor que baila, Quetzalcóatl se revela. Una flor que baila es en lo que se ha convertido.
Ella baila. Ella es la danza del cuerpo y la danza de los espíritus
La tierra tiene memoria.
La tierra tiene espíritu.
Todo tiene memoria hasta los ríos recuerdan su cuerpo y las emociones su pasado.
Se transforma con sus palabras.
Son esencias las creadoras divinas de su corazón.
Es la luz divina y la sabiduria de los amares.