What paper could the family develop in the Revolution of Emptiness?… I found this path very lonely, centered in the “evolution” of the being, the individuality… I hope I’ve understood those writings in a good way. Miguel Serrano a writer from Chile, in an article I’ve found of him talks about this issue saying that we (referring to the “warriors” captured in this world) must live two lives, one profane and one according to the myth… this only creates more questions about parenthood and this internal war. I’m a father of a 6 months boy, according to our believes, he is a “reincarnation” of a uncle that used to be a shaman (I’m a descendant from a tribe related to the last Incas… the tases) my companion, (I’m not married yet, in any kind ritual of any religion or belief) she’s outside to any belief but I’ve been “guiding” her to new ways of thinking and living this world “of lights and shadows” the blood have memory, I hope that in his blood (my son’s blood) flows not only my experiences, learning’s and mistakes; but, flows the tides of a greater consciousness that could lead his steps in new paths that someday could lead mines!
Thank you for those words… I’ve found the light that I was searching for. It’s not an easy path (I’ve never looked for an easy path! only the tough one it’s worthy) again thank you, I’ll keep wandering like Dante in the woods until I find the entrance to Inferno…
What venturous becoming
It’s the one that ties me to this moment,
To grab me desperately
To the mean of my placid torture?
What kind of deep mystery
It’s the one that makes me lick repeatedly
The soot of an old inkwell?
That yore burnt in Luciferian rubies and scathing
In front of the hungry hordes of Hypnos…
A barbarian candidly tamed
By a careless owner that only believes in his reflection on the water
Or in any shiny polished metal.
What arcane keeps
That symbol so common
And so little known ―
The writer in front of the paper ―
That loud primates imitates
With rush and despair
Frustration and anger
When they can’t dive in the mystery’s well,
That with his dark depth seduces
Without need of a mermaid’s voice nor a nymph’s body?
What hands pulls of me
With no need of force
More than the needed for wrinkle my clothes
And wear down bit by bit a youth,
That’s the shell of a cicada
Out of his season?
I shout to you as Prometheus in flames!
I shout to you as a human blessed by your light!
Where are you God or demiurge?
That whips my mind with already written lines
By voices in the wind and hands of stone and earth!
Where are you God or demiurge?
That puts in my eyes reversed images
From an unknown and fantastic reality
Which only I see real trough me
And trough my slowly but willing hands!
Where are you god or demiurge?
Where are you, that ambrosia like this
I’ve never tasted and eagerly I’m willing more!
What venturous and black becoming
Awaits in front of your figure
If I can see trough narrowed eyes
a silhouette of your being?
Tell me god or demiurge,
Angel of quills.
Tell me which fate awaits me
When I lie in the blank of the in-created
I’m a human
And I feel fear and cold in my guts
¡Ah withered heart, aged temperance!
I summon the powers of the evening star
To shine in my shield and in my sword of
Sharpened steel through all these years.
I summon the powers that’s been given to me
For being the image and likeness of you
God and demon…
I’m a son of you that against you is in rebellion.
And proudly you look with disdain
As being the only among your herd.
I’m the only one that aware of his nudity and frailty
Jumps the fence and decides with his bare hands
Face the environment violent and disincarnated
That surrounds me and fascinates me.
I’m the only that weeping throws himself to the fire
Waiting for rip off his charred womb the vine,
The fruit of the eternal vanquisher…
I’m the only, father and brothers
That assumes the loss of his voice only to recover it
Accept me, father
As a rebelled son
Who wants to earn his name
Who wants to be a man for his own
Who wants to apprehend his life with mortal quietude
What deep and faithful mystery
Lies in the depth you black remoteness
Muddy afterlife that stands in front of me?
What labyrinth, spider
Weaves daily upon my eyes?
Don’t you see, mischievous spider, that I scratch my face
And rips off my skin shreds of your lie
And bleeding bit by bit I’m free?
To which mystery, dead flesh,
Guides me by my hand and totally blind?
To which Minotaur you’ll make fight
With no arms and no bait?
To which madness, blind and pitiless God you’re leading me
Because my nature walks backwards and my soul,
Smiling, from himself gets carried away?
Tell me god or demiurge
What venturous becoming ties me to your pristine existence
Gold from the heavens
Paper of the ages