“When you let go of fear the truth will appear so simple & clear. There is a feeling inside so deep & so wide so open and free. When love is revealed, all beings are healed so naturally.” – Nick Barber
Disclaimer: This article is for educational & entertainment purposes only.
“Respect life. Honor life. You don’t want to end up doing anything that disrespects life. We need to follow the chants of the plants. We need to connect with their cognition. They are bioacoustic. Can’t you hear the seeds of the world cracking and growing?” the plant woman whispers through the digital web of the universe.
I can still remember my encounter with the serpent woman. And how can I forget the day I traveled to Ayaland for the first time. What a colorful world. What a mystical dimension. Walking along the river of death they go. We follow the scent of the yellow flowers. We follow the scent of the marigolds in my hands. Walking along the river of eternal life we go searching for the different dimensions of the polarity of the self. The scent of the Aztec marigolds is strong and powerful. Though it was only a dream, I can still vividly remember the scent of the marigolds in my hands as I touched them prior to waking up in the 21st century. The scent of these magical flowers, the flowers of the death bring me back to my childhood, to my roots, to my ancestors. The scent of the flowers lightens up the path to the spirit world of the walking trees. I look around and all I see are endless fields of golden petals. The aroma of the flowers increases our emotional intelligence, and I become one with the central nervous system of the plants. They speak to me. I feel their presence and their essence just like the light allow us to see the colors of reality. The scent of these enchanted flowers creates a numinous space for ancestral healing. My central nervous system is then eco-regenerated from the cellular to the cosmic level. And there we were searching for the entrance to Aya-land. The river was long and bushy. I had no shoes. We were coming from the beach in another dimension. Everything looked so surreal. I could still see the beach from my childhood. I could still turn around and see my cousins laughing as the portal of the waters slowly blended and rippled into this reality. We followed the chants of the yellow flowers towards the land of the death. We kept walking searching for the rippling door until the spirit of mother earth and the father sun showed us the way. I was worried. I was scared. I was nervous. I thought they were going to be angry because we were in their sacred lands, but they did not mind. We were standing in their doorway. We were standing in the land of the death, in the underworld with the seers of the light. They were peaceful. They were translucent and they carried the torch, the candle of transformation. They were visible yet invisible. Nobody else could see them. They spoke a tongue that I could not understand. They seem to know who I was. They seem to want to communicate but it is as if two realities (theirs and mine) came together but there was an invisible line that prevented us from speaking to each other. This was my first time looking at the interceptions of multiple realities rippling within a dream. I was asleep dreaming. And within the clouds of the night, a portal opened and took me to the river of eternity. I woke up. I woke up in the 21st century. Did I go through the portal of the river or did I just woke from my dream? Could it be that the physical reality is the land of the death? Are we in the land of the death where living people live to die, where people literally wait alive to die? “Are we living to die or dying to live?” she whispers back. “What a riddle,” and I laugh. “The warping of reality… the warping of reality,” I screamed to the winds of the void. My wow. I could put my finger through the bodies of mother earth and father sun. They were visible yet invisible. It was truly like seeing rainbows in the wind. They were visible yet invisible and they slowly disappeared holding hands within the immensity of the trees of the river of eternity. And they disappeared within the mist of the river, but they left me a bright path, a path of golden petals, petals of the cempasuchil.
“They believe in the art of growing plants without soil. They want me to create my own jungle. They want me to build a sacred swamp of love. They want me to build a humid habitat.” I whispered to La Maga though the digital web of the universe. “Enjoy everything that you feel. Enjoy what makes you happy,” she whispers back. “You are alive” she whispers back through the digital web of life. And how can I forget the day La Maga told me that she no longer feels like a human and I told her that I feel more and more like a serpent of the waters. While my heart is now a bowl of serpent flowers, she has now become a walking tree of the forest of the light. I am so proud of her. She is a healing walking tree. She has become a loving walking plant of life. And that’s the goal she whispers. We are plant people of the moon and the stars. La Maga is very persistent. She was adamant about finding the door to Aya-land while I kept saying that I was not ready to enter. The night was coming and the air was cold. I had no shoes and I was certainly not ready to go inside the river where giant trees and bushes grew. I still feel the cold air of the evening touching my skin, and the breeze of autumn ruffling my reddish hairs from the seers. I got the chills from the surreal of the atmosphere. I kept telling La Maga, “I don’t have shoes” and we need a machete so we can get thru the bushes in the river. She looked at me and whispered, “a weapon? You need a weapon?” I could tell she was looking at me funny. And all she could say telepathically was, “there is a door and we just need to find it.” I kept telling La Maga, “I don’t have shoes” and we need a machete so we can get thru the bushes in the river. I am in shorts and I might get cut. And all she could say was, “there is a door and we just need to find it.”
“If we are everything, then each one of us has a truth of life,” La Maga, the plant woman whispers through the curtains of reality. In the mystery of life, everyone is truth. In the mystery of life, the universe is not only what we see. The universe is what we feel. Marry the energies and begin to change vibrations and frequencies. She brings sacredness into her life. She brings sacredness into her life through the power of ritual for she knows her mother, the goddess, as the great creator of life. We sprung from the mystery of the soil, the water, and the sun “La Maga” murmurs. “So, am I the trinity of life?” I ask the plant woman. “We all are. We all are,” she whispers right before I sleep. And the age of the plants grew and became the people of the flying serpents with the face of a jaguar and feet and wings and feathers of eagles. We were birthed from the earth and the earth will swallow us right back like a never-ending black hole of endless fertility.
She is the magical scientist of the eagles and the serpents and the puma. There is so much beauty in the lands of the serpents. They really thought they could kill all the serpents of the land. Legend has it that awhile back all the fields of Aya-land were covered with yellow flowers and daisies. They were visible from the moon and the scents rejuvenated the air of the earth. They really thought they could kill all the aromas of the flowers of the death. They cornered them. They crushed them. They took their land, and the serpents and the plant people had no other way but to evolve. Not all serpents grew wings and flew towards the sun. Not all the plant people became walking trees. Many were burnt. Many were tortured. Many lost their wings. Many were hung and cut and poisoned. Some escaped and went to live in the waters but not all serpents grew wings and flew towards the sky of wonder. Not everyone could fly and not everyone could swim. Some of them landed in the oceans and in the rivers while some of them chose to disappear deep in the jungles.
The warriors of Aya predicted the downfall of humanity in their dreams. The serpent seers saw the darkness forming in the void. They were revered at one time but the shadows were more interested about building a world to trap our spirits. They were condemned across the globe. The shadows saw them as a threat. The shadows were hungry for spirits and magic. They saw the shadows and the industrial age coming from afar devouring the earth and being transformed into a flying cosmic serpent-jaguar-eagle looking divinity of magical healing… all into darkness. The seers, the prophetesses would go into their dreams and they would try to destroy the shadows with the light of the sun and their vessels of glass. They weaved and weaved vessels of crystals. They weaved and weaved vessels of crystals. They would go in the eternal sea of consciousness, in the void of nothingness, in the uterus of the universe, and in the darkness, they would align their ships of crystals with the sun to annihilate the shadows. And in the darkness, they would align their ships of crystals with the sun to incinerate the shadows. The saw the hate forming in the void of nothingness and with vessels of crystals, they tried to incinerate the matter forming in the microscopic level… but they could only delay the formation of darkness devouring life from the center and the beyond. They new the formation of the shadows was inevitable. “It is part of the cycle of life” The Olmec Maga whispers. “Don’t get scared. Accept the truth and let it go. Civilizations are born from the bones of the warriors of the sun. Civilizations are born from the soil of the earth, but they all eventually come to a transcending culmination. There is no good. There is no bad. Life lives in an ever-ending cycle of movement.” The disappearance of the shadows was magical. The annihilation of the shadows was translucent. The beams of light would go right through their black hearts. They were not electrical beings. They were nothing like the plant people. They were nothing like the serpent people. The shadows would see the beams of light and they would evaporate from the micro to macroscopic universe as if they never existed. The shadows from afar could see the ships of crystals navigating in the dark sea of consciousness while aligning with the sun and shooting beams of light. Incineration the vessels would cause, and the universe saw its first fireworks of life. Incineration the vessels would cause, and rainbows of light illuminated the void. They saw the annihilation of the earth many centuries before. They did their best to warn us for the power of the shadows was strong and eventually, they found a way to deflect the beams of the sun. The seers of the underworld tried to warn the Americas of the industrial age. The seers of the underworld tried to warn the Americas, but they had yet to be manifested. They had yet to be manifested in the mantel of fertile consciousness. The serpents and the plant people fought and gave their lives for the eyes of the future. They fought and gave their lives for the eyes of the future. They protected the sanctuary of the mother flying serpent until there were no sounds in the airs. No birds. Only crying trees. The warrior of the serpent woman was the last standing Aya-Knight. He protected her with his word. He protected her with his shield. He protected her with his spells. He was the first serpent of the words. He was the first serpent of the waters. He was strong and beautiful and a kind cosmic and colorful lion. He was a true warrior of the arts but he was also a grumpy-loving cat. He was a healer and a protector of rituals. He is the conjurer of my heart. He is immortal and though many think he died, little do they know that the serpent woman would never let her warrior die. He is back. They are back in the 21st century working together against the dark forces of the silent. In his veins, the light of the moon heals his trauma. In his hazel-honey eyes the birth of the universe is visible and irreplaceable. In his veins, the light of the stars caresses his souls. He is never alone. He is always protected by the symphony of the magical animals. He is the muse of my heart, and his grandmother is his savior and the nurturer of his heart. He transformed and flew towards the sky casting his return in the air after his catastrophic devastation. It was him to destroy… all the anger and pain and trauma from his loved ones. He transformed. He flew towards the sun, and in the air, he cast his return. He flew towards the sun because he wanted to become one with the rays of the light. In the air, he cast his return, the return of Quetzalcoatl. He was magical. He evolved in the deep primordial fiery waters of the earth. Other serpents landed back in the soil and decided to dig towards the core of the earth. He fought and fought against the shadows but their birth was inevitable. They never left. They only vanished. The serpents of the water never left. They only hid. The invisible cloaks of hate were after their translucent magic, and they found comfort in the deep waters. The invisible cloaks of the shadows were after their wisdom and their creative natural healing powers. It was she, Aya the serpent who brought fire to the earth and hope to the planet. It was she the mother of the waters who brought rain and thunder and destruction in the face of a new opportunity. It was she, the mother serpent who has risen in the 21st century. She is the return of the earthly divinity. Her energy traveled the seas, and the rivers, and the mountains, and the skies. She jumped from land to land always finding comfort along the way and among the people of the feathers. Her skin is covered in blue roses. Her skin is covered in shining emeralds. She is majestic and her splendor glows in the yellow vortex of the mountains. Her spirit lives inside the caves and within the trunks of the trees. She is the red weaver of imagination and new beginnings she writes for she is the goddess of the flowers as she is the goddess of music.
She is love at first sight. She is creative. She is free. She is wishful. She is innovative. She is a philosopher. She is dreamy as she is galactically ambitious. And in her magical circles, she heals with her mystical therapy of solidarity, serenity, and amity. She heals with her magical realism. She is a genius of the culinary arts and science. She is the marriage of spirituality and technology. The feathered flying serpent is a decoder of our biology. She understands that disease is nothing but an opportunity for us to evolve and to transcend. She travels through the veins of my blood, and through the neural network of my body searching for conflicts. She transmutes everything she finds unhealthy in my DNA. She transmutes disease to balance. She transmutes disease to beauty. She is the mother of the fire and with the elements, she heals. Aya sings in the land of the serpents. She calls the serpents and they all appear. She is the mother of the unicellular organisms that allow us to experience life with an organic body of multi universes. She creates and plants mini universes of love within the layers of my existence. She creates and plants mini universes of enchantment. A mystical environment she creates to heal, and her powers allow me to evolve. She understands psychology for she is the doctor of the soul and a master of transmutation. She sings to my cells. She speaks to the invisible world of her ancestors, and the astral scars of my evolutionary path are healed with awareness, adaptability, self-responsibility, and self-exploration. The reality warps in my living room and all I can hear is the plant woman whispering, “in your dreams, you can be anyone you want. In your dreams, you are anyone and no one.”
The lands are green and yellow. The hills surround us, and I feel the energy of the waters from the magical Indian wells pouring out of the earth. The stars shine in the beautiful sky, and the women of my tribe dance and heal with the serpents. And the mothers and the grandmothers dance with the fire of life. The fire burns and the hairs of the women release the aroma of the yellow flowers of death. And burning hairs they have. Yes they do, their hair is hell fire. The voice of my grandmothers sings through my mouth. The flute of my grandfathers allow me to journey. The magical waters of the mountains keep this mystical place alive. The earth is fertility and the women dance under the moon and under the sun. Mother earth devours me, and I become a flying feathered serpent. She throws me up here on planet earth… in the 21st century…unaware of who I am and unaware of my purpose. Mother earth devours me, and I become an Aya-Knight, a warrior of the sixth sun. I am a mystical Völva, and I conjure the power of the serpents with circles of love. My sisters, the planet, the animals, the plants, and I join hands in meditation, and we conjure the stars and the rains of the amazon. We conjure the water and the fire and the soil and the air. Together we are proud witches of the red moon transforming electricity into life through the marriage of the sun, and the soil, and the waters, and the winds of the sacred void. Together we are brujas and warriors of the sun. We are virgins of the earth and we dance, we dance among the trees. The men of Aya-land are men of pure hearts. The men of Aya-land bring us yellow, white, and red flowers for our rituals. They grow them in the floating gardens of the rivers. You can see them from afar. They are right below the two giant volcanoes. The valley is wide and open. They are the lions of our earth. They are the agricultors of our blue roses. The men of Aya-land bring us support. They believe in our elemental magic. They believe in our creative powers. We are the same and they know. We are the birth givers and they are protectors of the tribe. They are the warriors of our lands and kings of our hearts. They are the sorcerers of our pleasures and obsessions. They are our protectors and the secrets of the ancient serpent woman they protect. They are the warriors of the air riding the moons in the horizon of infinity. They are our beloved guardians and the secrets of eternity and consciousness they protect.
There are women of the earth who give birth to children of the light. They are fertile magical women of divinity. They need no men to birth for they are the daughters of the fertile earth. They are the same witches of the first dawn. They are the daughters of Lilith the mother of liberty. They were the first healers and huntress to roam the meadows and the seas and the civilizations that came after. They dance and warriors protect their circles with their sword. They dance to the earth. They dance and they let their bodies become one with the winds. They dance among the feathers of the sky. Feathers are falling. Feathers are falling from the sky. They dance. They dance and the vortex of the feathers opens. They dance. They dance and the feathers of the vortex bring the energy of the stars close to our hearts. They birth magic. They birth energy of the healing waters of the ancient well of eternity. They are the healers of the earth. They are the undying dancers of death and life. They dance and they disappear from our reality. They are only visible in our hearts. They dance and transform vibration into curation. They sing to the medicine. They sing to the mystery of the heart, and to the airs and fires of the universe. The larks of transformation have arrived. The larks of transformation have come out of the vortex of the feathers. The birds are all around us. They are all around us. The festival of the healing arts has started. The vortex of the larks has opened and new energy, plasma has been released from the baby nebulas of the sacred void. The tribe watches the wonder of transforming vibrations in awe. The vortex opens and the mothers of the serpents are revealed. The vortex opens and the dancing flying feathers dance in the orange skies. They are astounding. They are magical creatures of the void. They are my ancestors. They are my descendants. I am a serpent man. I am a serpent woman and I dance in the currents of the eternal waters. Her medicine is sacred and powerful. The serpent woman is giant, and she births hope and imagination. The serpent woman is loving. She is an ancient, cosmic spirit of fertility. She dances and her feathers release new energy. She smiles and with the fire transforms the plasma of the planet. She is happy. She is singing and dancing. She is bewildering and the words she emanates are incantations. She is magical as she is terrestrial. She is terrestrial as she is magical. I ask for words and she gives them to me. She gives me the magical words that I have been searching for eons upon eons. She gifts me the elemental magic that I have been searching across the universe and the beyond. The portal of the larks has opened. The cosmic mother of the serpents has come out of the earth through the sacred well of the waters. She is free. She has been released. The reality changes color and all of us here in the tribe can see our nagual, our inner totem. The reality changes color and during daylight, we become the flying serpents of the light. The reality changes color and during the night we travel to other dimensions. “Time does not exist. Time is a mental construction. Time is what keeps us jailed to the physical reality.” La Maga whispers once again. We are awake in our dreams. We are awake in our dreams and I build, and I weave, and I sew a new world in my dreams, in the fabric of space. I wake up and the physical world is a new world. I go into my dreams and I change the frequencies and the vibrations of the void. I wake up and I am in a new reality. I wake up and I am back in the 21st century. We just traveled to Ayaland. We just traveled to a distant past that is still a world, a reality in my heart where I can go and heal with the serpents and the seers of the underworld. The portal of the meadowlarks has closed. The portal has closed, and the words of the serpent woman and the serpent dancers and the serpent plants have gone back to the soul of nature. “Devotional love opens the gates to the tree of life. Thank you for your singing,” La Maga murmurs through the curtains of the void and reality as I get ready to dive back into the perpetuity of my dreams. You dreamed my parents she says. You met my parents in your dream and they are seeking the dimensions of the self. Something is up with them. They are searching for the sanctuary of life in their golden years. They are searching the sanctuary of life in their golden years. They had never come before. They were strict in their beliefs but they came asking questions with utter respect. They are ready. They are ready. And after all these years… and all the deep-seated conditioning of the whore of Babylon they have come to their daughter, the plant-woman. “She is happy. She is thrilled. I can see the stars in her eyes. They want to wake up. They want to wake up before departing. Tell them to follow the scent of the yellow flowers and the singing of the meadowlarks back to the river,” I whisper back to the plant woman. The path is wide open if you only open your heart.
…And from one ripple to another I go and new secrets are revealed through poetry. “Learn Spanish, learn Spanish so that you can continue to learn to decipher the secrets of the place where humans transcend and become creators.
…Oh, Teteo Inan, legitima Teotihuacán,
Tan rápido como el deseo
El tiempo arde brillantemente en fuego
Oh, Teteo Inan, legitima Teotihuacán
Tan rápido como el deseo
El tiempo arde brillantemente en fuego
Y a los cuatro vientos de la selva llamo mi nagualli
Soy Quetzalcoatl-Tlamatini, agua-flor, canto, y lengua magica-infinita del vacio
Y florecen en mi volcanes, rios y células de luz, y de raiz ardiente
Madre piedra neolìtica, sois la piramide del misterio y enredadera de serpientes voladoras
En la faz de la tierra te encontraron y por miedo-ignorancia tu conocimiento y tus plumas sepultaron
Voláis y pintáis con auroras las paredes del vacio
Sois la piedra sana-sol, sois la piedra jade del lago de las emociones
Nagualli soy y a las aguas llamo
Nagually soy y a la lluvia, sirena de la Amazonas llamo
Benditos los pulmones de los místicos amaneceres
Y miserables los que ignoran la inteligencia emocional de las plantas
Sois una persistente transparente teje-flor del manto estelar
Por las noches duermo-sueño y bordo realidades en la nada
Por los dias vuelo-escribo yo en mi estrella
Sois pluma-teo, alba, sur, elemental, y claridad del cielo
Sois sanación y el camino hacia los pétalos dorados
Y tan rápido como el deseo
El tiempo arde brillantemente en fuego
Oh, Teteo Inan, legitima Teotihuacán