SM C1.4 09-23-2023 (3232) On the Huaytapallana Trail near Huancayo, Peru, D10 5:53a – Narrator
A frail man stopped on a hidden trail of Huaytapallana and reached out but did not touch. He was not tired, just old, taking slow and deliberate steps and a keen interest in the wall beside him. His hand, rough from years of hardship, hovered over the surface before caressing a stone embedded in this ancient wall. The wall stood for those with knowledge and signaled the end of the journey.
The sojourner’s face, marred by time and weather, revealed his determination as he summoned the spirit into his palms. After a short pause, the old traveler laughed a sinister laugh and began to hum a Huayno tune from his childhood. His hand moved from one stone to another. He had started his trek in the dark before dawn. This wanderer was known only as P’aco. This man was no ordinary carbonite. He felt no pain or cold despite the bone-chilling wind; he was among friends.
In earlier times, young P’aqo would have detested what had become of him. As a young man, he was among the best healers in the region. But one day, P’aqo witnessed a brutal event that caused him to snap. He was a mortal carbonite and believed that he was created by a loving God. Now P’aqo questioned the nature and motivation of his creator. Like something broken, he gathered where he fell. P’aqo fell into bitterness. In his brokenness, the master no longer restored. Today, P’aqo commanded spirits, the power that evolved him into an eternal.
However, the trees and mountains had always been his friends. P’aqo would say the ancient mantra, “If the mountain is angry with you, you will become sick. If the mountain is pleased with you, you will prosper.” But as fate would have it, today, the mountain pitied P’aqo. So the old man meandered up a steep mountain in the dark lit with a sky of sparkling stars and a bright moon, waiting. Several shadowy figures could be seen moving on the moon. P’aqo diverted his eyes to the dark path. Despite the heavy weight of judgment that soon would be passed, P’aqo maintained his calm demeanor without any fear.
The spirits spoke to Paco when he directed his hands and gaze towards its container, the sky, a mountain, or a stream. Some rocks would call out, but the old man made his passing in quiet. His subjects realized that the fate of their master was in jeopardy. Today, his fate would be determined by the Ancients. In P’aqo’s mind, this was a continuing evolution as he had done the works of a God. A powerful shaman, on P’aqo’s level, gets results by their own strength but a God has devoted followers who work on his behalf. Regardless of the judgment, P’aqo would remain a powerful shaman and the indicted God would remain a God. What the change would be was his reputation and how others addressed him. A God seemed less admirable than a mighty shaman. The change was a matter of faith just as Paco’s eyes were of no use to find his way.
The old man knew his steps before they were taken. When his frail body seemed to totter, he would rest on a walking stick. After some time, he came to a wall that stood near the end of his journey of no consequence. He leaned out to balance himself, his weathered arm and withered hand and knarled fingers reached out to touch the stones in the wall. With each touch, Paco’s body was healed and a spirit would speak prophecy, his ragged frock waved in the wind. He was determined to move on. But the old carbon had nowhere to be except to be at his appointed destiny at the appointed hour. He was a wanderer prepared to learn his fate. He was outside Huancayo. He felt the presence of his adversary. But he did not care if he was confronted, she was inexperienced and of no consequence to him.
Outside Huancayo, Peru, D10 5:53a – Victoria
I lay under my cozy wool blankets, pinned down by the cold. My toes tingled as I felt Commander’s gentle breath tickling my feet. I was snug and cozy in my bed; the smell of coffee stirred my senses and the familiar noises outside this abode made me happy. I also knew that it was nearly time to move again. I did not want to consider the future now, just savor this fragile present moment and reflect on those things for which I am grateful.
I am thankful and grateful for the people of Huancayo! I have many supporters here, some friends I have never met and may never meet. One couple gave me this home. I am so thankful. These people whom I have never met, protect me. I rely on their kindness. We change locations often and stay hidden. We only fight when we must. Sadly, we fight a lot. I am thankful for the lives we have saved.
I sat up and whispered to Commander, “One day, our Universe will have peace. Today, stability and luxury are not ours. But tomorrow we dance!” I smiled and then laid back down. I felt Commander gazing lovingly at me. Suddenly, I remembered a tune I sometimes hum. My grandfather whistled this song when I was a small child. It is a very catchy song. It reminded me of good times with my family.
I felt something odd in my spirit. I tried to be very still so I could settle my thinking and have clarity of the moment. Sometimes, when I had bad dreams or thoughts exploding in my head, the song relaxed me. If it really got bad, I had my grateful routine. But now I needed to be still. I sensed a nagging weight on my chest and my head ached from humming and trying NOT to think. I really wanted to rid of this feeling. My mind began to race, again. I thought about the big day ahead of me. I said aloud, “The meeting… It is important, Ugh, I don’t want to get up! But perhaps,…” I caught my brain continuing to race out of control, “if I stay still – if I cease to think, I will perish. I just want a day when I don’t have to do anything. Why can’t I have that?” I chuckled. I knew what my fucking brain was doing to me. “I’m dead and I am thinking.” I started laughing really hard. I am grateful for my sense of humor.
I detest the cold, and my brain is taking advantage of the downtime. My brain is inviting these distracting and very stressful thoughts. As a young girl, I had no shoes or warm clothes, and I lived in the cold upper altitudes of the Sierra. I had my sight and I was carefree despite my dreadful father. I loved him and I feared him. Yes, I am grateful for my father, but I don’t really like him. I am more grateful for the warm dark places in my life. Warm and dark is a place of comfort for me but the cold and dark make me crazy. The dark can be a place of comfort and sanctuary if I remember that living in solitude within myself and darkness is my path. However, the connection to others provides purpose and relevance to the path I walk. I can’t understand why I repeat these stupid ridiculous weird thoughts all day long!
“Noooooo! Shut it down, Vicky.” I talk to myself a lot when my brain starts acting up. Not all my thoughts are destructive or untrue, but most don’t make sense. And, I repeat the same thoughts over and over. I laughed for a moment at how pathetic I was right now.
Then, I settled my head. I began my morning ritual. I lay there thinking of how I felt. I felt some regret. “I feel most connected to my lover and partner. Oh! Juan, I still feel your kiss, But when you parted, I drifted back to sleep. Damn!”
Victoria’s arms spontaneously flung out as she sat upright.
The blankets peeled off me as I rose up, my bare body exposed. I grunted and stretched my body. Ever vigilant Commander got up and licked my face. After giving him a strong hug and moving his head to the side, I took a deep breath of air. I felt a tinge of warmth on my face. The sunrise was coming soon, and with it, a respite from the bitter cold. But that moment of relief was not to be realized. I was struck by an overwhelming resurgent blast of cold pushing against me.
Victoria fell back in surrender onto a thin but forgiving mattress, while quickly pulling a convenient blanket close to her.
I clutched a blanket that lay over my ankles and I waited for the courage to brave the cold, again. My mind continued to race uncontrollably, doing the things that unbridled undisciplined minds do, remembering blow-by-blow, mistakes, and cruel painful memories. If I continued on, I would hear voices from my past cursing me, screaming hateful things into existence. There was no way to obstruct the waves of these mental assaults. Demonic wretched curses would punctuate my ears and my heart. “I am grateful for today. I am grateful for today.” I repeated because I just had nothing else to conjure up to rescue me from my thoughts.
The hateful words would linger like a slow-acting acid. I tried to will the vision of a manufactured memory of my mother to diminish the attack. This often worked to delay the punishment of my thoughts when I was younger. I don’t remember my mother; I never spent much time with her. But when I was about 7 years old, I created a version of her in my head and I have kept it ever since. My imagined smile from my mother helped me through my most fearful times. I often willed her presence and radiance into existence to combat the curse of the dark. But today, her angelic smile was plastic, quickly fading. I was left with ugliness in the dark.
“Your pathetic life will be meaningless, with no vibrancy, no color. You will be cursed with blindness. And blind you shall remain.” I rang like a loud bell… then the boom of a cannon combined with a strong punch to the gut. Random memories flooded in. I could smell the insidious smell of vomit and alcohol wreaking from my father’s body as he lay on me.
“Get out of my head!” I heard the curse now, over and over. I played it often in my head. This curse … “I am grateful for you, you fucking thought!” Keep in mind, the curse did not and has not changed me. But these words affect me every day. They serve as a reminder of the blessings I have. And I know the best way to fight it is to recognize the power it has and to be thankful for it. Gratitude is prana and prana is color and power for me. These thoughts give me color and power. “Yes, I am blind, but you give me color! Not everyone knows color. Most people with sight cannot see color. You fucking thought, you give me power!”
I’m not talking about color blindness. I mean prana blindness. “I can see the natural radiance in the prana that surrounds us. it is overflowing in the Pueblo. But there are those People of the Pueblo who pity me and consider me to be nothing. They recoil in my presence and mutter contemptible thoughts. Some view me as a beggar and see my deformities. They don’t know me yet despise me. They cannot see my color until, in secrecy, I reveal my power to them. Then they fear me. They gossip often saying that I did something to bring evil to my family. I am hated because I am different from them, and that difference makes them uncomfortable. If that were not enough, many want to hurt me. They want to assault me, rape me, disfigure me, and use me as their slave.”
But blindness is my badge. They don’t need to understand it, just respect it. I wear it proudly; it is my best attribute. My badge is bright and shiny gold! I am glad that my adversaries don’t know me or see my blazing golden badge. Those who loathe me don’t realize that I have great riches and power because of the colors I see with my eyes. I receive power from the very things that others see as my weakness. My blindness has exercised my mind to do extraordinary things. Of course, my powers are ordinary for me now. But my condition gives me the power to enter and exit anything with spirit, at will. And I am growing in wisdom and knowledge.
“Leave me you contemptuous thought. I will tell you when you have permission to be before me! Go!”
Not everyone who is blind is a master. I am a master of spirits. Only Masters create color. Becoming a Master is not about lineage or ability. I earned my mastery of spirits through the shedding of blood and tears! I was not born blind. My power came from my father who sodomized me and beat me until the nerves in my eyes were broken. My protection came from my mother who prayed for me and gave me spiritual armor until she succumbed to his hand. I am grateful for my experiences. And I have received a reward for my faithfulness and gratitude; I can transform my pain and suffering into color.
I can choose to destroy my enemies; however, I prefer to use my enemies’ blessings. I can use their eyes, wear their skin, command every cell, and direct every synapse in their body. I experience and control their sorrows and fears, resentments and disappointments, and their silliness and joy. I can shapeshift to appear in almost any form and adapt to any opposing force. I can duplicate all the associated emotional and behavior profiles. For a moment, it can be debilitating.
However, I am amazed that when I enter another lifeform or change into another object, color is often added to my life. My experiences bring me color and increase my power. I like to say that color is my power, but it provides more control over perspective than reality. I am grounded by my color. How? Many mornings, I walk to the markets in someone else’s body. Often, I must exit, and body hop because I am so saddened by my host’s emotions. I constantly weep as I explore and often destroy. I now understand why Jehovah’s son wept. But this morning, unlike most mornings, I sat on a cold wooden stool and waited in the dark.
“The truth is, I can see through the eyes of others, but I cannot clothe myself or prepare my meal. People call me a Great Shaman but I cannot do such simple tasks. Physician. heal thyself!”
I sat in the cold, my blanket draped about me. Commander began nestling her nose between my legs. My good friend Commander was reminding me that I needed to begin my gratitude exercise. Gratitude is a simple way for me to channel my racing mind. Her cold wet prickly nose used to startle me, but I made this sensation a trigger to begin a mental power-building process. Now, I welcome this form of snuggling to settle my mind and help me focus. I began my process: focus on breathing. Slowly, I checked in with my senses around my body. I was in the present and I was connected with my spirit. Then, I heard the men working outside preparing Nativido for our short journey. I relinquished control to my sweet spirit, today I was purposed, and I was learning my present.
Juan, a stocky quiet well-mannered man, my shared partner, and delicious lover was loading the goods we would sell higher up in the Sierra. Julia and I are so blessed to have a lover like Juan. He is known throughout the region as Matador. However, Matador is more than a great lover. He is genuine; he speaks kind truthful words. He is strong and courageous. He is gentle. He carries himself confidently without a trace of arrogance. He is a friend, I trust.
“I am so grateful for Commander, Nati, and Matador. I am grateful for Julia. Even though I repeat my gratitude for them each day, I don’t say it enough. The praises are always new to my lips and satisfy my soul with orange and forest green.”
As I felt the rise of color and warmth in me, my sweet Spirit spoke to me and revealed a problem that needed my attention. Juan and our daughter were ready to move, but Nati was thinking differently. I started to feel anxious and other voices were appearing. I quieted my mind again to attempt to discover what was going on. My senses quickly heightened. The others were outside doing their part to ensure a timely departure, I needed to step in. We needed to leave early and on time.
My mind wandered, again as my inner visions began. Last night was quiet but the several preceding days were filled with revelry and gentle shameless debauchery. All of us needed time to release our emotions and relax. The last few months have been trying. These thoughts reminded me of the importance of addressing and encouraging my friends and followers before we started moving,
“Go! You are under my command!” And I ordered my thoughts away again.
Victoria rolled off her mattress and wrapped the blanket around her before tucking in her knees and going into a prostrate position.
I collected my thoughts and said a private prayer to Jehovah and the Sierra.
“Prepare the way my friend, Spirit of Jehovah. And Julia, share your beautiful eyes with me. And most generous Nuna, great Spirits of Pacha and Mayu, be with me and my friends.”
A light in my eyes became brighter and as my eyes focused, I could see everyone.
“Good morning my friends. I will be leaving for the meeting soon. I will go through the Portal Door and meet face-to-face with the Ancients. You all know that I decided a long time ago to put aside my fears and dedicate my life to building a world where our predator will submit to the power of its foe. We fight for peace; but for now, we are only the great disruptor. Our work will be completed soon.
The People of the Pueblo below us don’t always remember their life before because they trust their father is loving despite the reality that their father has enslaved them, removed their clothing, beaten them, and sold them into despair. The People of the Pueblo praise us and support us, they are not grateful. They fear us as they fear their father. Once we finish, we will remain their benefactor, their protector, and their voice. But we will rule with a soft hand that guides and does not break.
So, stand fast and remain vigilant. When we are attacked, be prepared, and do not scatter with your hearts pounding. You are brave warriors, prepare to deliver justice. The People of the Pueblo are helpless deer sipping on the water. We are here fighting for them though they fear us. We will have vengeance soon. I have evaded detection, waiting for all of you to be in place and to be ready. I thank you my friends for your diligence, your hard work, and your courage. We are one in the Spirit. Now my dear Nati, I truly need you today. Oh, my sweet Nativido!”
