I don’t believe in chance, and if we are sensitive enough to the energy of destiny, and the subtle relationship of karma with power, it allows for life to be ruled by a movement natural order, one that exists outside of the I and I ego mind that seeks to control every situation. Instead, letting one be in total surrender to each presence of the now, and always, the illusions to all confusions work around in the forever of the heart beating in one truth, and one reality. For reasons foreknown, eye could see this Mexican wayfaring on the road ahead, before getting here. It was in the Osoyoos badlands that I heard the name Zapatista, and the vibrations sent forth from this word sent me on a quest to find the indigenous resistors of rural Mexico so I may call them as Brother, Sister, Family. Three months down the line, attempting to cross by land first through the states of America, eye was sent back on the boat. The time had not come, no, still there would be testing.
Then, this man went off to finish a deed for ATWA, and voyage through Scandinavia, cracking open this consciousness of the way. For love, to know the others. Mexico called once more from Christiania. On a blood moon eye traveled and reaped what was left behind. Eye knew the time would come before it would happen, that broken down cowboy has a mere 500 pesos to his name. But all the same, this is only the reality of NOW as it always was before. A new prospect comes up, as the nexus of the energetic signals attracts me like a magnet, tramping across the southlands, to find and enter into this play of event and circumstance. Thee very same that called me here, and brought me alas to the Zapatistas EZLN, and the Lacandon Indians. Through the spiritual pueblo of Palenque and the Curanderos of Chiapas, journeying with mushroom into dream pyramids outside of our first attention. Out of jungles deep and the malt of the three waters. Now, the scorpion, the coyote, the humming bird and the black widow have spoken what they needed to say. I am sitting with what I got awaiting the full moon, and the coffee harvest in the cloud forest. Looking at 500 pesos, and wondering where it will take me until I hold none, wondering how long it will last, and after that.
The lurking of a return to Canada hangs over my soul like a night without warmth. For I do not want to face another winter alone. Again, returning to the power of manifestation, contra doubt and dis-ease. Allowing for the 6 of Swords to deal out new cards. The feminine body of the divine offers in an abstraction of art, speech, community and altered state. Don Juan speaks to me from beyond the grave. The Day of the Ancestors (los muertes) soon congregates their mass, and the song of mi corazon will hum through the distractions of lack, and on to light and Love of where I find my home.