Talking shit with god
It was a holy site. . . once. Now,
even with the passages of time, jungle overgrowth, and erosion , the sanctity
of the place wasn’t diminished. I stood before the large stone statue of
Tonatiuh, Toltec god of sun and all of earth.
For my scholarly experience I was given the psychoactive Teonanácatl by a “journey
master,” ancestor of Aztec heritage. He was there only to assure my safety in my
journey. He was forbidden to speak or interact except to prevent me from
hurting myself as I entered a spiritual state induced by the powers of the hallucinogenic
mushroom that ancients called “God’s flesh.”
I drifted. Lights danced around
me though my eyes were closed. I sensed
an aura forming. It made the damp cool
chamber less intimidating. I addressed Tonatiuh, “What stories you must have.” My comment was rhetorical. I didn’t expect what happened next in the torch-lit
chamber.
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| Tonatiuh |
“Baby, way more sadness than memory. Only groovy feelings left,” came forth in
front of me. From an old stone statue? Could
this be real? An ancient Toltec beatnik?
“Did you actually speak, Tonatiuh,” I asked aloud with no concern for
embarrassment?
“It’s all cool, surfer; I have no mouth for gab, I only
touch your mind, dreamweaver.” His words blowing upon me as if on winds were
felt as real things that could touch my flesh. I was becoming focused within as
my surroundings became irrelevant.
“Why is it, after all these centuries, do you talk to me?”
I implored.
“Time is your restraint; just chill, daddy-o. I am heard
because you are ready to hear me, and you know these mushrooms are good shit ”
Tonatiuh echoed inside my head. I felt a warm breeze on my cheeks and my body
felt as though it was becoming weightless.
I was enthralled and, now, eyes open, burst forth, “Please
then, great one, give me some understanding.”
“Jack, there is no understand.
There is only is. Belief in
being. To know more you must be beyond
life; you dig?” he resonated within me.
Tonatiuh continued. “Tonight my sun illuminates you from inside.
I shine on in, baby. You become enlightened and you expand beyond your
physical. For a time, you are released from the corporal. And that’s super-groovy.”
“O.K., then, what about life after death?“ I dared
interject.
Quickly flowed the words, “Aww, man, answer yourself. Does
the wind have life? Does love live? Can stars
be?
You were born with this answer. Corporal life withers and transcends.
But there is being beyond. So go with the flow. I am apparent here. Does that comfort you in your quest? “
“But how am I comprehending you and what message do you
bring?” I thought I had formed words.
“Again, no understanding;
don’t question; just feel. The shit
is in you.” This weird beatnik god handles
me as if to an ignorant child, an
Indulgent and gentle god.
“Yes, ancient diety, I am feeling something. I just feel
so confused, so questioning.”
“Jive on this,” came into me as I seemed to notice the
statue no longer felt old or cold. This
was a manifestation, and it was so real. “You dig this poetry thing in your
life. And it comes from places I have tripped. It distills your essence and it
comes from good, man. Practice it and
you will embrace me and you will have a better space to be in. Yours can be so
much more hip, you know. ”
“But, Tonatiuh, I am a Christian and it requires that I
have one real God. How can I reconcile that with your being?” I implored.
Again came a rush within my brain. “Dig it, man; first, I
am not Tonatiuh. That is your attempt
at understanding. You may tag me as you wish but I am beyond worship. Better spend your allotted time in reflecting
good, in purity. It is.
Call it Christian, Jewish, Buddhist, mystic, or what you wish, but beyond you
is all and I am in the all, the eternal all. I Am. This representation
and even these thoughts I give you are
not profound. When you perform sacrifice,
that is your scene, not the beyond.
There is no possession, no rebirth, nor is there forgiveness. I say again, there just is. And there is no thing
you call blasphemy. What you think or
say does not change is. I am
beyond you. You are just caretakers in a small realm. Karma, man.”
I vexed, “I don’t know what to say; this is just washing over me. I am
experiencing things I never have before.”
“My within will
leave you. My jive jazz ends. You will ponder. Your journey will return you,
leaving you as if in a dream. I will be
but a question.” The rumbling in my ears
increased.
“Then, what can you leave me with? What will I have to remember?” I desperately
grasped.
“You’re a trip! O.K., remember me as the sound of
laughter. Bongo beat. A baby’s cry. A
rasping wheeze in death. I am there. I am eternal hope. I am love. Hug it, man;
can you dig? And, do not place me above any for I am part of you as you of
me. I do not represent. I just am. Finally, do not worry. It is
thankless and does not change what is. You got it?”
He was slipping away. I felt left behind. Alone.
I became aware of the torches and the gentle hands
cradling me and wrapping me in coarse blankets. I fell to sleep.
I awoke to a warming rain and a pounding head (from the
mushrooms?), remembering but snippets of the last night. But I felt something within me, as if a
flower had bloomed there. That feeling lasted only as long as the flight from
Mexico City to Chicago; but the memory, ah yes, the memory that stayed. I do
not understand what and why, but it is
and I dig it, daddy.
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| The Author |
