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Illustrations by Gigi

…Courageous, liberation, courageous, liberation…

Fountains of knowledge flourishing all around

Hands in the air, cascades of wisdom flowing through her veins

She follows the rhythm, the rhythms of life…

Abundant medicine of the ether…

She creates from within

She is a master of the inconceivable. Her imagination is FREE and unrestrictive.

Her creations are echoes of infinity. She interprets. She assimilates. She becomes.

Imagination is protection. Imagination is the language of her world.

Colorful eagles all around. She closes her eyes. Cosmic beating hearts. The golden age of wisdom and the dark ages, discoveries, and the science of the occult are revealed. Life is a dance. Life is a lullaby. I am now sleeping in a hammock. I sleep. I am awake. I follow the lullaby of the moon, and the ether is uncovered. Rivers of information all around, and libraries of ancient sights…I closed my eyes and I am there, the ruins, the flowers, the melodies the colors, the past, the present, the blessings of a new era. Her venom, the transpersonal cure of the planet, the empress, the loved one, the divine frog of transphenomenality is here. She is a pink fish that never ceases to be. She swims, she swims among the waters of the giant cantaros. Cold, fresh water from the streams and the snow melting and the sacred waters of the crest travel deep into the mantle of the desert. The healing of the inti frog is here. I feel the vibrations emanating from the void. The ether, the waters of love, the wisdom, the magic, the sacred rocks of the heart. Alchemy, vibrations, magic, sounds, and the whispers of las santas almas. The shadows, the running, the awakenings, the kisses of the soul. The trauma of a mad earth erupting, the screams piercing the heart of nature, and the clouds crying. Ay the misinformation. Ay the misunderstanding. Chaos upon the earth. The Tower collapsing, crumbling…it is happening all over again despite having translators at our fingertips…

She sees the awakening happening even among the chaos upon the earth. Her world is in desperate need of places, sanctuaries, healing centers of the soul, friendship, love, alchemy, transformation and the personal and collective mythology of the self, the encounter, the sacred encounter with the sounds, and the visions of an ancient future that has always been here. The pilgrims, the pilgrims of love and wisdom walking, searching for a new home and there I am among them. I am not alone. Strange lands with dubious hearts and a tribe looking to thrive. Gravity lifting the weights of their shoulders. Mother eather guiding them towards a new dimension. Walking lighter among the dew of the dawn and towards the sun. Life is a mirage. The doors of the mountains open, and La Mujer Antigua watches from afar. And there they were, the Tlamatini, the sages, the priests and priestess singing right above the hills. They hear them, they are healing, they are running towards the flowers. Ay the meadows, and the grass, and the marks that they leave behind. The trail of hope gets stronger when it gets caught in the fire of the wind. Happiness, purity, love, peace, and a place to thrive is what they have always wished for. The frogs, the flowers, the voices, the messengers, the dust, and the hearts that are opening now. And the ones awakening, and for those that are coming knocking doors. For the ones far away, for the ones that have entered the wheel of oblivion. Serpents, jaguars, and mother of the ether that came after. The disintegration, the fragmentation of the self. And there we were going in circles. Life’s cycle. Living, dying, blossoming, and the obliteration came after. And there we were going in circles. Life’s cycle. Living, dying, flourishing, and the devastation that came after. Tears falling from the sky. Sirens crying rainbows in the sky. Is the Frenchie frog the language of the divine? It was clear. She had to learn this language. Drums, shadows, darkness, and the lucky purple hummingbird in the sky. Drums, shadows, darkness, flashes and the grey cat ready to attack.

…Flowers, gardens of love growing in her head. She was sitting by the tree of life… and the ills coming out of her. Dissolving shadows in and out searching, hunting, and the inexplicable…Desperation, hope, tears, and screams… And so, the spirit of the frog jumped from a palm tree to rescue her heart. Ay the healing palms, with the palms of the desert she heals, with her palms she cures. And a new world she discovered. The owls, the birds, the doves… the singing of the stars. And there she was meditating under the sun among thorny bushes. The birds humming, and the sun shining on her body. The doves, their feathers, the doves, their plumes. And there she was…enveloping herself among the golden glitters of the sun flying in the air. The healing, the twinkles, the frogs, the pájaros, the healing, the eagles, the waters, the time of the Powerful Frog in the now. Spirals-pájaros. Spirals to the center, to the earth, healing spirals, healing portals, ay the palms, the palms of the desert. Healing, hearts, healing spirals all around. Giant jars of water, silhouettes moving on the mountains, doves in the sky, scents in the air, nature, and the fire of the pulsating hearts. Circles, spirals, drums, and the bye bye of the smokes in my eyes. Bye, bye smokes in my eyes… She welcomes the silhouettes. Thanking, equilibrium, dreams, movement, and the fountain of truth in my heart, in my veins, in my eyes. A native cosmic being is what she is, and so an Ethiopian Epidote the universe birthed from the void. The mother of the ether did not forget her. Protection, protection in the physical world…protection, protection from physical harm for those involved in amazing pursuits. Water, jungle, stars, and the silence, and the mystery of the universe all around. The mountains are alive. Walking silhouettes they are. Baskets, herbs, epidotes, and water… Cantaros, cantaros in their heads. Cantaros, cantaros in their heads. She has seen them move. She has seen the spirit of the healers of the desert. Ay the water, las narunas, ay the cantaros, the waters, the cantaros. Fountains of knowledge exploding, the palms, the waters, reflections and the warmth of the beyond on my body.

…The flame of wisdom is visible. It has always been there, mother consciousness, mother void, mother ether dancing with the wolves… The air caressing the ears of the giant Mujer Antigua. Ay the silence, ay the lake of emotions…Mother Waira speaks to her…Kaleidoscopic patterns all around.

The frog of the lullabies…the frog of the sight had arrived. Who would have thought that the venom of the magical frog would be used to heal trauma and perception? There she was sitting writing her book when she felt a pinch on her left shoulder. She looked and saw a drop of blood. The music had been activated. The spirit of the frog had come to the physical reality. The venom, her love, her venom the cure now in her blood.  She had been thinking about the frog for days. She would sing to the palms of the desert. The rhythms, the currents in the streams, the void, the cells opening and receiving. The cells upgrading, the biological upgrade, ascension, the science of the self. Ay the sounds of the jungle, ay the scents of the mountains, ay the space, ay the flowers, and the candles all around. Ay her chants, ay her devotion, ay her soul of the sun. Togetherness in the present learning about our multidimensionality, and the endless creative energies that we are. Zero energy is my body. The fire, our ancestor, the water, our ancestor, the thanking the healing of the sacred arts. Kaleidoscopic patterns…togetherness holding hands and the rain pouring thanking the ether, spirit healer of the earth. The wind, our ancestor, Quetzalcoatl, waira and the thanking of the earth, our ancestor. The chants, the rays of the silver-inti moon, the silence, the voices, the words, the trees, and the mysticism of life within…Healing, healing hearts, calming, calming nerves…listen, listen, listen to the sounds…Ay for the love of the sky and the birther of hearts. Energies of the moon, memories of ancient stars, and musical notes all around…the sounds, the peculiarity of the ether…

The thalamus, the amygdala, and the hippocampus she needed to heal… but she needed the help of the elements around her. Ay the guitars, she would follow the guitars. She was adamant to discover the driver(s) of consciousness. She was adamant to meet once again the serpent mother of the so-called silence. The mother of the ether had come to her when she was a child. She was barely remembering. There she had been under a tree with flowers in her head. And poof just like that the mother of the ether appeared. She was an intriguing spirit of the night. Navy blue all around, and silver dots in the sky. She had given her the gift of intuition. She was unappreciated. Jealousy and hate transferring from generation to generation so she ran away from her biological tribe. She was the witch of the family, the odd one, the so-called demented one…the hated one, the insolent, the rebel one, the collector of wings. Afraid, yes, they were afraid of her mysteriousness. Dimensions crossing. She was just a child. Oxum inside her, Fundi, her comforting doll, hands in despair, her old diary in the corner, the cleansing, the transformation, the catharsis, the feathers under her bed, the visions of the man with no eyes, the self-purification, the inner death, the expulsion, the guitars, she feels them in her throat, the purgation of the cells, of the inner workings of the body and the ether of the spirit, and the emotional traumatic contamination…the removal…A mother in the void howling in the beyond, pulses, signals, pulses traveling within the fabric of the void, the toxicity of a rough life exorcised… NOW gone from her cells in a ritual back to the inner sacred encounter of the self. As physical healing so transphenomenality. As darkness so radiance. As death so apotheosis. Happiness, luminosity, and she is finally herself! Ay the whispers of the so-called silence of the void.

Aguas y flores

Canastas y cantaros

Pajaros de luz

Montañas de agua

La mujer antigua

Al lado de un desierto sediento de amor

Peregrinos somos del ser, del viaje misterio stellar

Siempre lo hemos sido

De un lugar a otro peregrinos de amor, de conocimiento, de magia, de luz, de brillo, y resplandor.

Viajando, volando cruzando rios y mares

Viento, briza rocio que sopla mi cara, benditos los caminos que traen luminosidad, las experiencias, lo que nos hacen ser quien somos. Viajando por un cosmos de luz  en la oscuridad veo el faro del sol. No soy un clon.

En paz, caminando, suavemente andando ando…

Águilas coloridas por doquier. Ella cierra los ojos. Corazones palpitantes. Se revela la edad de oro de la sabiduría y las edades oscuras, los descubrimientos y la ciencia de lo oculto y el ahora la evidencia. La vida es un baile. La vida es una canción de cuna. Ahora estoy durmiendo en una hamaca del pacifico. Yo duermo. Estoy despierto. Sigo la canción de cuna de la madre luna, y el vacio es revelado. Ríos de información por doquier, y bibliotecas lugares cultos antiguos … Cierro los ojos y estoy allí, las ruinas, las flores, las melodías, los colores, el pasado, el presente, las bendiciones de una nueva era. Su veneno, la cura del bosque, la emperatriz, el ser querido, la rana divina está aquí. Ella es el resplandor del sol y la piramide de la comunicacion antigua. Un concierto en un desierto inesperado. Las piramides y la luna detras de las caderas gitanas. La curación de la rana inti nuevamente ha regresado. Ciclos, y ciclos, y vientos, y truenos… La vida, una cancion de cuna. Siento venir sus vibraciones…emanan del vacío. Las siento en mi cintura. El éter, el amor, la sabiduría, la maga, las esmeraldas sagradas del corazón de la tierra. Alquimia biologica, vibraciones, movimientos, las llaves del cielo, sonidos, y los susurros de las santas almas.

Las sombras la perseguían. Estaba cansada de correr. El trauma del mundo no se detenia. Los gritos atravesando el corazón de la naturaleza y las nubes llorando sangre negra. La desinformación. El malentendido. Barcos abandonados en el cielo rojo y un mar negro por debajo. Caos sobre la tierra. Relaciones. Mentiras. Ignorancia, y el hombre jaguar de la montaña siempre a mi lado. Mi iniciador nunca olvidado. Siempre a mi lado. La Torre se derrumba, se desmorona … está sucediendo de nuevo. Cielo rojo, cielo rojo. Y bendito el despertar que ocurre entre el caos sobre la tierra. Fuego en el aire. Cielo rojo, cielo rojo. Lugares santuarios seguros, amistad, amor, curación, alquimia, transformación y la mitología personal y colectiva del yo, el encuentro, el encuentro sagrado con los sonidos y las visiones de un futuro antiguo que siempre ha estado aquí y ahora. Los peregrinos, los peregrinos del amor y la sabiduría caminando, buscando un nuevo hogar en las alas de una Aguila florida volando por las estrellas. Tierras extrañas con corazones dudosos. La gravedad levantando las pesas de sus hombros. Caminando más ligero entre el rocío de un rojo amanecer. Y allí estaban, los Tlamatini, los sabios, los ojos del universo, los sacerdotes y las sacerdotisas cantando justo encima de las colinas solares. Los escuchan, se están curando, corren hacia las flores amarillas. Ay, los prados, y las huellas que dejan atrás en los suelos y los ultimos suspiros en el viento. Son sus ojos esmeraldas. Cielo rojo, cielo rojo.

Valiente, liberación, valiente, liberación …

Fuentes de conocimiento que florecen por todas partes…
Manos en el aire, cascadas de sabiduría fluyendo por sus venas
Ella AHORA sigue el ritmo, los ritmos de la vida …
Senos empoderados…Caderas sabias…Labios rojos
Abundante medicina del éter corazón de un según llamado silencio …

… Era la bruja de la familia, la extraña, la llamada demente … la odiada, la estúpida, la insolente, la rebelde, la recolectora de pájaros. Miedo, sí, tenían miedo de su misterio. Ella era solo una niña. Oxum dentro de ella, la muñeca de trapo en sus manos, ojos lagrimosos, su diario viejo en un rincón, la limpieza interna, la transformación, la catarsis, las plumas muertas debajo de su cama, las visiones incontrolables del hombre sin escrúpulos en sus sueños, la auto-purificación, la muerte interior, la expulsión, las guitarras dolorosas de recuerdos en su garganta, la purga de las células, el alivio interno del cuerpo y del espíritu, y la contaminación traumática emocional … la eliminación total de un odio viejo transferido …HOY Una madre en el vacío del universo aullando por sus hijos en el más allá, pulsos, señales, pulsos viajando dentro de la tela del vacío, la toxicidad de una vida dura AHORA exorcizada…Y ella de blanco sin aliento como una muñeca de cabeza en las manos de lo etéreo. Se desvanece en el ritual de regreso al encuentro sagrado interno de su maravilloso ser. Como curación física, también la transfenomenalidad. Como los colores ay los olores… Como oscuridad también el resplandor. No importa lo que digan. La medicina es imaginación. Como la muerte dolorosa, la apoteosis. Felicidad, luminosidad … Ella finalmente es uno con los susurros del silencio y del vacío. Ahora vuela con nuevos ojos. Se ha convertido en un bello, mágico, y cósmico Quetzalcoatl de luz y de amor. Es AHORA un ser pájaro-serpiente de esmeraldas, empoderado y alineado con las fuerzas divinas del universo y el arte sagrado de la vida y la fantasía.

… Valiente, liberación, valiente, liberación …

… La llama de la sabiduría es visible. Siempre ha estado allí, la conciencia de la madre, el vacío oloroso misterioso, el éter de la madre baila dentro de la sonaja … El aire acaricia sus oídos. Ay, el silencio, ay el lago de las emociones … La Sabia Waira le habla, y ahora ve los patrones caleidoscópicos a su alrededor… Todo es un espejismo. El mundo interno de la maraca ella ha descubierto.

La imaginación es medicina.