A Dream Map to the Sixth Sun

Aurora - Passage* an Epic Dream La Curandera releases my hand, and fades slowly. Gracia fades away. I am left in the kitchen with only Ocelotl and the sound of rustling leaves of the fig tree outside the open window. The vacuum of their departure feels unbearable. The silence is so profound, thundering in my ears with each breath. After what seems an eternity, he begins: “Come with me and I will tell you a story that begins in a sacred place not too far away; a familiar place deep into Mother Earth where our ancestors gathered during the change of seasons to honor the Creator in ceremony to assure our continued existence. There, around a fire, I will tell you the story of how you, Malinalxochitl, as you were called then, and I, Ocelotl, your elder brother, committed with other dreamers to return to earth again and again to assist in carrying forward the consciousness vital to the continuation of life.” The sound of his voice is soothing and calming; effortlessly I make myself comfortable near a fire, close my eyes and begin another dream. “My relationship with you begins when our people experienced turbulence and radical change—a migration from our northern home, where we were surrounded by Seven Caves, to the Valley of Anahuac; a passage that lasted a full fifty-two year cycle, one thousand years ago. I was your elder brother then. “I remember the elders of our clan saying that the beautiful verdant trees and plants that once abounded throughout the land had withered. Where rivers had flowed, dry beds of cracked, scorched earth lay exposed. Even our food supply of beans, squash and corn had dwindled. I was told by the elders that many seasons before, there had been rich fields of corn that stretched through large areas of the land; that the corn stocks were tall and heavy with corn, and that the hair protecting the cob and kernels was thick, long and abundant. Gradually, the supply dwindled. No longer were the fields thick with harvest, and more often, there was a shortage at the end of the cold season. Families Gracia - The Story of Mayahuel: How Love Came to Earth* Grandmother was highly displeased when she learned I had run off with Questzalcoatl. Actually, I had never seen her in the fury I witnessed that day. I was just a wisp of a girl at the time, when he came to me one night as I slept in the girl’s sleeping quarters and he invited me to go with him to bring love to the newly forming Mother Earth. With his lips feathering my ear as he whispered his invitation, I jumped at the chance to spend eternity with him. Unfortunately, Grandmother had other plans for me, and when she discovered my folly, she flew looking to fix my star. There was no mistaking when I heard the thunder of her footsteps as she landed on Mother Earth with a thump, shaking mountains, and causing avalanches. In an attempt to foil her intent—Quetzalcoatl and I used magic and disguised ourselves as a tree, but She was no fool. She was as wiley as I was stupid, and immediately marched in our direction. When she found us, the henchmen who accompanied her went about the job of splitting the tree in half. And, thus, our plans came to a halt. Grancmother returned to Her Kingdom, I became the medicine for joy and celebration, the beautiful plant of the maguey. And, Quetzalcoatl? HE ABANDONED ME! Who deserts their lover like this? He disappeared to save his ass. He left me here with no one! This is a world of conflict: Good and bad; Obedience and loyalty; Devotion and betrayal. We shall see what Quetzalcoatl does next. He is a man now, and men in this world can display opposite traits or choose one side; to be forceful or kind and gentle; they can be just or unreasonable; considerate or capricious. A man’s word is his worth; honor is his name; he must have one to save the other. Men have privilege and priority; they can cast us aside with the wave of the hand. If he is a man of valor, one whose spirit remembers The Mother, and knows the true substance of Woman, then he can be relied on to be selfless and expansive; to be loyal, devoted and chaste just as women are expected to be. La Curandera - The Wounded Sea Raven I keep coming back to the fact that all Consciousness is One. And, we give it so many names: Forgiveness, Love, Power and other forms of the Divine. Another avenue I discovered that shows me these qualities, and causes me to think of Love or Power, is through nature. I go for a walk along the water near sundown as is customary for me. The water is agitated with white caps and short choppy, waves beating against the rocks, As I look up and take in the deep blue sky, there is a calm with light still reflected above with the last rays of the sun on the bay. At the tip of the peninsula where I live, there is a rock, a short distance, not more than fifty feet away from shore around which a platform was built and with a foot-bridge to connect it to land; this is Elephant Rock. I like to go there to let the wind clean my aura, and get a new perspective on things. The sky, and the setting sun behind Mt. Tamalpais create a stunning serene atmosphere at that time of day. As I approach the bridge, I am puzzled by a persistent worrisome chirp of a bird, and think perhaps a baby is waiting for its mother to return to the nest with food, though it doesn’t sound like a baby. When I get to the platform, I look for the source of concern. My own desperation and helplessness mounts as I see the waves furiously tossing about a poor little creature. I'm not sure what type of bird it is, but it could be a dark corcorant, birds I've seen in the area. He is out of his element under the deck of a three-story house that extends over the water, definitely not accessible if there could be any help. Twice he tries to lift himself out, and falls back. I dart my eyes around looking for a solution, and the thought comes to mind: Give it Reiki. I begin with the first symbol. My efforts seem so futile standing on that platform. So, I say to it, "Come on. Fly, you can do it." To my amazement, he begins to rise out of the water wobbly, looking surprised herself. With mouth agape, I observe as her feeble attempts to rise seem about to fail. Instead, she gets the wind under her wings, she rises, her wings begin to flap, flies toward me, tenuously at first, then rising higher, wavering, still squawking with alarm. She turns her direction and flies more assured above the house, and out of sight. Soon her desperate peep fades, and she is gone. I stand there for several minutes unable to take in what I have just witnessed. A part of me wants to deny this little wonder of nature has just occurred, but the memory of the sea raven’s cry for help is testament in itself to me that something extraordinary has just happened. I look in the direction of the setting sun, the blue is darker and deeper, the evening stars are slowly appearing, and the quiet of the area is marked by the absence of the sound of a dark corcorant.