Oh, cyclic sages of the void
Guardians of the ritual
Flowers & chants of the tribe
Rivers of catharsis glowing
Sensations of the stellar planes flowing
New sparkles & connections in the soma
Eternal tears of harmony healing
Confessions of the day and revelations of the night
Fears dissolving with her scents
She listens holding hands & cosmic hearts
Xochipilli… dancing nature, infinite source of pure inspiration…
Let the spirit of the rain open thy pure heart and see the magic for thyself.
I am a dream-weaver.
And when it rains, she cries tears of love.
I am the bird-woman who blossoms in the dark.
I am the birth and the birther.
I am the art of nature, and her enchanting beauty is my teacher.
I hear and see the spirit of the rain.
I feel and taste the waters of her soul.
I hear the raindrops touching the leaves. I hear her feathers cleansing the winds.
Inside her womb is where I heal.
Flying, flying with the elements, bringing the medicine of light to life.
Spinning, spinning like a star in the sky… she blows love.
She sings. It’s cold. She sings. It’s warm. I am home.
I am the dew of the mountains. And her voice is the mist of my eyes.
I searched and searched until today she came in the form of a song.
Thankful I am for the magical mist. I welcome the mischievous helpers, allies, healers, doctors, guardians of the earth…
Welcome to midnight where the plant-people still crawl out of the lagoon searching for the warmth of the moonlight…
They are the ancient serpents of the waters.
…The moon is their sagacity. They reach the top of the mountains hoping to connect with their mother, the empress of the night.
They were once spirits running from the virus of dominion. They had nowhere to go so they asked for help. The snails helped them build their new world underneath the earth. And while they were crafting their new world, the desert snails let them live inside them. They created a planet within a planet. And time went by and the virus of death came, and the Quetzalcoatls and the magical white buffalo disappeared from the face of the earth. And life continued…and years when by…until the portal keeper’s presence discovered one of the entrance to their world. Ever since the portal keeper moved near the lagoon, the plant-people have noticed her inti magic. No doubt the lagoon has gotten deeper and deeper with her presence. She has seen them going up the mountains. She is…he is… the red-headed fairy-angel of the moonlight watching from afar.
She is everywhere.
She-hears sounds and pearls emanating from the red conch of life.
She feels love and wisdom of the one red heart
She transforms her destiny as she transmutes her thoughts, her deeds, her words, and her actions…
She is nothing but a cosmic reaction in action.
Now I feel the knowledge of the red torch of life
She makes the blackness of the multiverse cognizant.
She is La Chaneca… the protector of fears.
She is La Chaneca…Mother morning of the dew.
In the streets of his town he would jump to call the rains.
Singing, singing under the rain.
He finds comfort in the waters of life.
What a magical town. I smell the magic in the air.
The vibrant folklore of my town birthing wasps.
Colorful mystical town of winged warriors.
Emotions in motion.
They were once only spirits.
And the heart and the mind came after.
We are the world that came after.
She is diligent when working with the grids of energy.
She sees in the dark for she is the red spider of the night.
Lori, Lori of the night. She has seen it all in time.
“I am Lori, Lori the confronter of doubts,” so she says.
Colors, serpents, black, and white…
My body is a flower and the blooming is my soul.
Serpent-flower, serpent-flowers in my eyes.
Sabina in my mind… looking for her in the dark.
Colors, serpents, black, and white.
Crowned sea horses in my eyes.
Lori Lori forgot that she was the web.
She became a fly trapped in her own web.
Bright Tunnels. Red, and yellow tapestries on the walls.
Happiness surrounding the fire of my tribe.
What a miracle to be around ancient angel-fairies of the light.
The Pyramid of knowledge… always shining. Always bright.
Demons, feathers, hands, and feet, and heads ravaging for life.
Salvation, salvation from the sky.
Hands in the air. Hairs on fire. Eyes in despair.
Running frantically… thirsty…hungry…lustful walking flesh.
It is all a dream.
I have seen what they have seen.
No one outside. Only the virus and life.
I am the silence of the one-eye mountain watcher of the desert.
Always ready to defend.
He is patient.
He is a friend of the roman sirens in the sky.
The never-ending virus of the life and death on earth he sees.
Snails, Spirals, Snails Spirals…storytellers yes they are.
Hands, hands in desperation.
Giant snails and people inside, outside, within and without.
I can still feel their pain.
They knew what was coming.
They knew of the virus.
They knew before it happened.
They saw it and they lived through it.
It was inevitable.
The virus for the quest of knowledge has been as ancient as the waters.
But it is the language, our own symbology what confuses and deceits.
And how can I learn from the inside? The one-eye watcher of the mountains once asked?
Knowledge has always been granted to those who ask and work with integrity.
They whisper, “the matrix-creatrix is you.”
You are the virus of life and death.
What a miracle to be on earth.
They were marginalized and silenced long ago.
But their spirit never left. They are still here… healing with me.
Orange and blue sceneries all around.
Eyes wide opened and the visions of the heart.
Roman sirens, sirens in the air.
An upside-down world.
Sharing space and multiple dimensions within the self.
Spaces created to know thyself.
Raining, purging, raining snails.
What a magical night… seeing through the illusion of the red heart.
Singing, singing and opening portals with my heart.
Serpents, spirals crossing, dancing with the hands.
I can still hear the astonishing vibration coming from the rattling of her hands.
In the darkness rattling there she was.
Candles, candles all around and voices, whisperings from the past.
She is happy.
He is learning.
We are never alone.
Oh, serpent-flowers, how wonderful to see you in my eyes…
Candles all around dancing with the fear of his heart.
Raining, raining blessings all around.
In the cosmic sea of consciousness she is empty.
No organs. No blood. No body. No color. No light. Only the sense of being.
Fighting, and sending love and light to Lori, Lori the wicked spider was not the answer.
I needed to work on myself for nothing exists outside of me.
I am a hologram. I am the illusionist. I am the medicine. I am the magi of the void.
I am a child of the cosmic creatrix. I am the birther of the light, and liberator of the night.
Dreams, visions, and reflections of my mind.
“And when you find yourself in hopelessness… ask without responding,” she whispers.
Desert rain transmuting into snow.
I am the one-eye of the inti mountains.
The moment is love.
Now I seen what the portal keepers have seen all along.
I am the weaver of words.
I am the flowering ritual of the soul.
I am the springs of knowledge.
I am the imagination and the symbology carved in my blood.
And when it rains, she cries tears of love.
I am a loca emotion in motion.
Oh, sabios cíclicos del vacío
Guardianes de las tradiciones del ritual
Flores y cantos de la tribu
Ríos de catarsis resplandeciendo
Sensaciones fluyendo en los planos estelares
Nuevos destellos y conexiones en el cuerpo
Eternas y armoniosas lágrimas de sanación
Confesiones del día y revelaciones de la noche
Temores disolviendose con sus aromas
Siempre sanando manos y escuchando corazones cósmicos
Naturaleza danzante, fuente infinita de pura inspiración …
Deja que el espíritu de las aguas abra tu corazón puro y vea la magia por ti mismo.
Soy un teje-sueño de palabras.
Soy la mujer pájaro serpiente que florece en la oscuridad.
Soy el nacimiento y el parto… la araña en la telaraña..
Soy el arte de la naturaleza, y su encantadora belleza es mi maestra.
Escucho y veo el espíritu de la lluvia.
Huelo y siento las cortinas de lluvia en mi piel.
Oigo las gotas en sus hojas.
Escucho sus plumas.
Dentro de su útero es donde vuelo y curo.
Vuelo, vuelo con la voz de los elementos.
Girando, girando como una estrella en el cielo … ella sopla amor.
Ella canta. Hace frío. Ella canta. Estoy en casa.
Soy el rocío de las montañas.
Y su voz la niebla de mi corazón.
Busqué y busqué … pero hasta hoy … ella vino en forma de una canción.
Agradecido estoy por la neblina mágica de su voz.
Soy, soy el príncipe Quetzal de las plantas sagradas.
Soy lluvia abre caminos del cielo…
Huelo la magia en el aire. Qué milagro estar cerca de las antiguas hadas de la luz.
Se convirtió en una mosca atrapada en su propia red.
Del aire a la tierra … humo y cenizas del alma.
Túneles brillantes. Tapices rojos y amarillos.
Felicidad que rodea el fuego de mi tribu.
Qué milagro estar cerca de las antiguas hadas de la luz.
La pirámide del conocimiento … siempre brillando.
Demonios, plumas, manos y pies… y cabezas devastando la vida. Salvación, salvación del cielo. Manos en el aire. Cabellos en llamas. Ojos desesperados.
Corriendo frenéticamente … sedientos … hambriados … lujuria…carnes caminantes.
Todo es un sueño. Todo es un sueño. Yo hablo con mis ancestros de la tortuga. He visto lo que han visto. Nadie afuera. Solo el virus y la vida. Soy amigo de las sirenas del cielo.
Caracoles gigantes y personas adentro, afuera, adentro y afuera.
Todavía puedo sentir su dolor.
Sabían lo que se avecinaba.
Ellos sabían del virus.
Lo sabían antes de que sucediera.
Lo vieron y lo vivieron.
Soy amigo de las sirenas del cielo … compartiendo espacio y múltiples dimensiones dentro del ser.