It Was the Night and the Day of the Modern World

Once upon a time there was Quetzacoatl, the great feathered serpent, kundalini of the world and life force of the human being, the one who completes the cycles by biting its own tail.

On that occasion, the mighty fire dragon flew over the Earth, sowing the night.

Darkness fell over man, bringing sleep with it, the fog before consciousness that rocks it drowsily, dragging ruin behind it: the belief in being "someone" separate from the Universe.

Individual division expressed itself as world conflict. The tower of Babel grew up to the heavens, and grew confused, for two “someones” separate from each other will never manage to understand one another.

Wars raged, the leaders prisoners of personal interests, the soldiers prisoners of the blindness of idealism. Political manipulation began; countries drew their borders on an imaginary map that no one agreed with. The reptilian system took possession of the species, in order to squeeze it until it bursts.

Only select groups, few but steadfast, managed not to forget the origin of their existence, and kept vigil around the flame, the consciousness of Unity. Jungles, mountains and deserts were their esoteric refuge.

But the man who called himself modern kept on sleeping. Iron was forged, plastic was synthesized, toilets and asphalt cut the arrogant upright animal off from his forgotten mother Earth. The nuclear threat watered fear among those who surrendered to it.And the world catastrophes drew near, spurring the instinct that savagely seeks a desperate survival.

Then it came to pass that the impetuous serpent returned to the world, announcing the longed-for dawn. It came riding the first ray of sunlight that began to pierce the contracted depths of human consciousness.

First, a hope heard by few. Then, a dream shared by some. Man has begun to grow sensitive to violence and hatred, and has come to feel rage and slaughter as overwhelming. Then various groups were born that tried to rebel against the harshness of the established social order. Hippies, activists, pacifists, fraternities. Ideas, lights, plans, daydreams.

Those sparks of will did, certainly, fade. The New Age proposal, which began by heeding the warning of dawn, was warped into easy formulas, illusions of spirituality, and dreamy clouds of love. The momentum of Hoffman's LSD and Castaneda's Peyote dwindled into the immature liberalism of just going with the drift.

Some light kept arriving, however. Great news slowly made its way, offering the wanderer the chance to know the great Truth of his Freedom. A simple surrender to the contemplation of his Being is giving him back, little by little, his divine dignity.

In this order of things, the great dragon of the heavens allows the mother serpent of the Earth to touch the hearts of her children. The age-old guardians, led by the ancestral medicines, invade the world. They come out of the jungles, down from the mountains, across from the desert. The modern system of thought stumbles as man begins to realize that his precious world is a dream and that he is One with all that exists.

Indians and mestizos, they called them. The first, who come vibrating from that sacred oasis, are instead soaking up modernism, quickly forgetting where they come from. The others, lost in their personal mist, are at the same pace inheriting the torch of knowledge, joining in to live the mystical homage to their mother Earth.

But the mestizo is, for now, clumsy and hesitant. That rugged storm, felt as a pull toward comfort and submission to individualism, still stalks him, terrifying and stealthy. Those who rise up as guardians of knowledge forgot that to do so they first have to know. They dared to take on the handling of exorbitant forces without first looking at the humble power that dwells in their heart. Liberalism, New Age clichés and the social values of thoughtlessness weaken the steadiness of their gaze.

Hope is not lost

The world catastrophes and famines will come. The system of mass domination will squeeze its slaves until they burst, or until the urgency of their desperate survival pushes them, with no other choice, to wake up.

Modern man will take up the knowledge, and will receive with dignity the inexorable arrival of father Sun in his consciousness. The age-old medicines of mother Earth will quench the thirst of all who wish to be unconditionally happy and to live in peace the joy of their Universal Unity.

And Neo will sacrifice his life so that the war may end. Those who have already known Death are the ones who will go on sustaining the praise of Life. Those who abandon themselves to return to the knowledge of themselves will always be One with eternal selfhood. Those who throw themselves without hesitation into the Abyss will be filled with Emptiness. Emptiness never dies, and neither will they.

Quetzacoatl beats his wings in victory that day, bathing the world in light.