Wednesday, April 23, 2014
Miguel Méndez, from Pilgrims in Aztlán
We were living in the desert. Dry land, as greedy
as a mother without teats, under a sky that was like a magnifying glass, at the
foot of slopes so rocky that from a distance they looked like they were covered
with petrified turtles. My younger brothers and I had a little friend we
adored, a little stream. It rolled down in a curve to where we lived from a
hillside that at night turned into a mountain. Its pebbles were toys that we
loved so much. We played with it every day, caressing its dream until one day
the miracle of the rain would awaken it. Then, lively, naughty, noisy, it would
run like we did, joyfully. When we caught sight of the rain, we would run to
meet it. It’s looking for us! Would you like to play with us, little stream?
Yes, yes, let’s go play! You know something? The water is like a magician or a
fairy godmother. It’s colorless, takes on the color of things, tastes like
life, and brings forth the voice of nature in everything it touches. As it
rushed downhill, we would hear the scrub brush and the branches drinking
eagerly, thirstily. It would conjure up the whistling of the large and
calcinated stones. When the current spread out, the little stones, half out of
the water, would sing together a sweet song of babies dressed in white. We
would run to meet it. And in order to get down to where it was flat, we would
wait at a two-meter waterfall that took the water over an enormous crag, which
slapped strongly like a dry tongue and then noisily continued to drink. We
continued to run.
Tuesday, April 22, 2014
Miguel Méndez, from Pilgrims in Aztlán
It was in those days that I crossed the Bacatete
range. I spent four days and four nights contemplating the rocks down a ravine,
the trees, the animals in the hills, the sky, the riverbeds, and everything
that I am and what I do not know. I knew then that I’m an old tree, very old,
and you can’t imagine the sap that flowed within me. In my arms, on my
shoulders, in my hair, a symphony of birds lived. I felt myself happy, very
happy, in spite of how those were the days when the sun hurled its columns of
fire at the earth. The nights were cool to me because I went about naked like
an animal. You see, I would begin to sing out of happiness, and my voice would
go out from the throat of the canyons to fly among the valleys. Have you ever
felt yourself to be a raging river? How marvelous it feels! You come down from
the heights, roaring like a bull, carrying along with you the dry, useless
branches, bringing the greenery to life, and you carry along in your current
the seeds for those same trees withered by the years to be born again, just
like you were a stream of life. It doesn’t take long for you to feel like a
tree yourself at the same time you’re a riverbed. You also feel like a deer
when you see them running like they were flying with those horns that in
reality are dismembered wings. I sat down to think, wanting to know about the
rocks and the sky, when all of a sudden I began to feel myself full of thorns,
and why not, since I was made of juicy pulp, full of sap and chlorophyll. If
you want to feel like something really, really beautiful, pretend you are a
prickly pear.
Monday, April 21, 2014
Wednesday, April 9, 2014
Monday, April 7, 2014
Tuesday, April 1, 2014
Tony Shearer, "The Vision of Salavi," from Lord of the Dawn (1971)
Salavi left the Temple of Quetzacoatl
And
went into the barracks
of
the Nonoalca
And
chose twenty of them
To
go forth into all parts
Of
the land,
To
the extent of all directions
And
to tell
Everyone
they encountered
That
He
would soon be on Earth.
He reminded them that
No
one will believe you.
"That
Is
exactly as it is meant to be."
Salavi
laughed.
"But
Tell
them anyway,
Tell
them once more,
Then
Tell
them they have been told---
And
Leave---"
Salavi then returned to
The
Temple of the Dawn
And
prepared for
A
vision.
Four
days he fasted in the Temple,
No
food
No
water
No
words from his lips
No
sleep.
Then
He
rested
Slept
for a full night
Arose
in the morning before the sunlight
Ate
raw fruit
Drank
of the cactus tea
Drank
of Water.
He
cried for the vision.
His
song was heard throughout the city.
And
all who heard
Knew
why.
No
one understood the words
To
the Ancient Chant.
Those
words, and
That
song
Were
said to
Have
come from another world.
A
world now buried beneath
The
rolling tides of salt water
In
the
Great
Eastern Sea,
And
now known only by
The
elders of the
Council
of Quetzalcoatl.
"Evoke the nether world,
Evoke the spirit of the Earth Mother,
The voice of the Clouds,
Evoke the Heart of Heaven
And
The Heart of the Earth,
And quest for the hidden words."
Salavi's vision came from
An
ancient tree.
A
tree
He
had never seen
But
Had
often heard about.
The
vision came
Through
the branches
Of
the tree
And
He
wondered
If
this could be
The
"Tree of Life."
The
answer came back
"Yes."
He
questioned
Of
Mixcoatl
And
the Chichimeca.
The
answer
Came
from the roots of the Great Tree,
Came
to him
In
this way.
"The Chichimeca
are as much a part of this story
As
is
The
Feathered Serpent.
Without
them
The
Manifestation
Would
not be true,
Would
not be complete,
The
Chichimeca are
From
a faraway land
On
the other side of your Earth-land,
On
the other side of your Earth-mother,
And
they,
Like
you
Are
very important
To
the Creation of All Things.
Chichimeca
means
People
of Dog Lineage,
Descendant
of a man called Dog.
This
man
Was
a most important
servant
of the Creation
In
another time,
And
they,
The
Chichimeca
Are
his descendants.
Mixcoatl
was
Their
Gifted One,
The
last
Of
their seed.
He
Is
the Burning Bush
Of
This Land.
Mixcoatl,
Cloud
Serpent,
Milky
Way,
The
Tree
of the Sky,
You
can be sure that
He
was faithful
To
his very death."
The vision became bright now, and continued
"Tezcatlepoca is not a Chichimeca idea,
He
belongs to your people.
If
He
is blood thirsty
That
is because
The
people want blood,
He
is a God
An
idol
A
creation of man.
He
comes
From
Your
choise of
The
first two heavens.
Know him well,
Learn his habits,
Learn his power,
Because
Man
Has created him
And
He
Will be here
Until
The end of the Ninth Hell.
Then
He
will remove his mask
And
You
will be surprised
Who
He
really is."
The vision had passed.
The Little People,
The
Pockwatchies
And
the Tlaloques
Danced
From
hill to hill,
Down
Every
moon-bathed path they went,
Singing
a new song,
One
never heard before,
Not
even by them.
On
and on they went
Through
woods
And
over desert,
Singing
as they danced.
The
Pockwatchies,
The
Little People
Were
thrilled with the news of
Fulfillment.
They
carried the news
From
hill to hill
From
wood to wood.
In their tiny hearts they knew what was coming.
These
Little
guardians of the Earth
Knew
That
one day
They
Would
have to face
The
brunt of man's ignorance,
Yet
They
danced on
Regardless,
Laughing
And
singing
Of
the wonders of the Creator,
For
they knew that
All things that must be
Must
be in balance
And
That
takes practice.
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