Wednesday, June 24, 2009

The Shaman's Lonesome Vigil

By Mikel G Bruce

It starts with a drip, a single solitary drop, one
tear gliding effortlessly down a ruddy cheek to plunge from protruding
chin, taking that last leap as a diver from a cliff wall, heralding the
arrival of so many more tears. It begins with just one, which fragments
into the multitude like splinters of reflective glass made from the
fall of a single mirror from the vanity face. The Tequihua begins with
a single brick and then more are laid to keep this one company and he
calls it a temple. In the great wide world beyond this little forest,
dear children, it starts with a single entity, the primal mother that
laughs herself into hysterics, splitting her guts so that her children
spill forth into being. So it is that here, when we call the
primordial, many are present, but the effort starts with one, just one,
the only one that you have any sway over, the only one that you can
look out from, the one that you have come to call yourself.

invoke something from outside of the dream it takes just one character
within it, the one that you perceive as you, to notice itself within a
dream. Every nightmare, every pleasant slumber is filled with many a
sordid creation. It takes just one of these to come alive and call out:
"Beautiful dreamer, awake unto me!", then the others will follow.

one may be of any apparent form. It is this act of noticing the self
and remembering the dream that makes one a shaman. In any invocation,
it starts with an individual flaming heart that spills over so that it
breeds like wild fire among the participants. It starts with one, it
begins with you.

In the shaman's bag of tricks you will find
nothing at all, great heaping mounds of it. This is the bread that he
serves for his holy communion. He keeps nothing and consort endlessly
with no one, with the emptiness that envelops him, caressing him like
the cool palm of an elusive love. The shaman knows where the invocation
begins, in the hollow space within his cage of bone.

He keeps
himself in the company of many fragile splinters of nothingness and
calls these his family. To them he tells stories about Koyote the
Blind, who put out his own eyes by pushing them back into the soft
matter of his brain with his own thumbs, because it is always easier to
watch another do the necessary work than it is to do it one's self and
without eyes he would no longer be tempted to sit back and watch. In
his blindness he could see his family for what they were, nothing at
all, a hot breathed mass of emptiness which could yet do nothing. He
would have to do something for there was no one else to do it. He would
have to do the dances and tell the stories, build the fires, mix the
paints and cover the emptiness with his mark.

Alone, a solitary
star gleaming in an eternally black night, he danced the dances and
told the stories and burned brighter and brighter until the fabric of
creation caught fire and danced with him. Burning, burning, burning.
All the emptiness was filled with fire. Those many forgotten shards of
a broken mirror that he called family reflected back the flames that
roared before them joining in on the careening dance initiated by one
blind man of naual.

The shaman tells this story to the quiet,
obedient cast of characters sitting at his feet and does not dwell on
the notion that his story has fallen into the ears of emptiness about
him. He tells this and other stories with all the passion and finesse
that he would employ if he were certain that his one true love, the
mistress of the dream, were listening. If she was not alive in one of
those shards of nothingness before the telling, she may be there before
its end, flickering brightly.

It starts with a drip, a single
solitary drop, one tear gliding effortlessly down a ruddy cheek and
soon there is a downpour to moisten the black earth and call life up
from it's silent depths. This is the great work of the shaman, to make
one into many and many into one with a single beating heart.

The The Tequihua Foundation:
Manticore is a creature of legend. With the head of a man, the body of
a lion, and the tail of a dragon it is by nature an eater of humanity.
This being is and has ever been composed of three parts; the face of a
man, the most superficial aspect, the mortal component within this
trinity, the body of the lion, the regal and fierce protector, and the
dragon, most ancient and undying, These three beings work in
conjunction with each other part to bridge the gap between the
temporary and the eternal so that the blood of life may flow freely
from one dimension to the next. Manticore is three and Manticore is
one. Manticore may speak to you, may sing to you, may show you visions,
or do all three. These things it will do are done for the sake of
doing. It does not consider what effect it may cause. Manticore will
open a way for you if you are prepared to take the way it makes.

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