The Sacraments 3: Ololuiqui

Vernal Equinox - 2003


I have been preparing for days
everything is so clean, so bright
the brew is in the silver goblet from which I first sipped freedom
Astaroth is the name I had engraved on it then.
I read it now, and wonder "Keeper of secrets, where have you gone?"

Ololiuqui and I are old friends
dancing together once a year for twenty-four years
He is the bludgeon of my sacrements,
without the guile of Ayahuasca,
or the spirograph visions of Salvia
Or the drunken revelling sociability of Wine and it's ilk.

Ololiuqui is the blackjack, the stone-headed mace,
the twelve-pound hammer with the word "clue" printed daintily on it's face
He is the oncoming train, the blunt-force trauma,
and the 800-pound gorilla knocking at the door.

Half this cup, and I am a happy, giggling idiot
All of it, and I get to confront Truth, and party with him. Wether I want to, or not.

The Thinking Half of my mind advises, wimp that he is, caution.
Mystic Half laughs, and compels me.
I have not danced the full dance for six years, and so much has happened.
A son, an injury, a disease, a slow death, all unresolved, unsettled.

Thinking Half thinks it is too much, the set and setting are aweful.
Trip when your mind is clean, he says, and be SAFE!
But the unsettled things are not settling, and Thinking Half can't settle them,
and, after all, he is a sacrement of exploration, divination and journeying.

I drink the full cup empty, and Thinking Half retreats, watching, concerned.

I am inside, in my temple, clothed in white, kneeling on a rich red satin pillow
surrounded by reds and golds
warm cinnamon aromas
immaculate, soft to the eye, the skin, and the spirit.

Ololuiqui walks a long road to get to me,
so I meditate for perhaps an hour, in repose
with Thinking Half murmering anxiety
Mystic Half waiting calmly

Sometimes he comes as vision, sending me pictures
And sometimes as an aural banquet
and sometimes as nightmare heart-palpitations
but he always comes with a point or a purpose or a message,
and he is always clear, which is why he is frequently unwelcome
for he dispells self deception with no lubricant, no foreplay, no banter.
He just rips the eyelids off and holds up the mirror.

I tried to welcome him without expectation
The respect due to any teacher, an open mind.
I must have failed, I must have expected something
Because I certainly didn't expect this.

No one expects the spanish inquisition! Thinking Half says, to distract me.

And he is there.

He has come as a knight, in chainmail,
with a broadsword the size of a fence post
and arms like tree trunks
and he shows up swinging.

I feel the blade bite deep into my neck, and through
and I see his mailed hand grab my head by the hair
and I watch my body drop away as the sword cleaves through
and I feel the pain of it.

I watch as he cleans the bloody sword on my pristine ritual garment
and I watch the red stain spread
as I, or what is left of me, drips.
As I look down on the newly headless me, I am consumed with anger

"HEY!" I shout at my illusory tormentor
"What the hell is this? I bring you here to -"
and as soon as I say it, I know.
Arrogance. Ololiqui is teaching me about arrogance.

He sheaths his sword and angles my bodiless head to look on his face,
and since arrogance is never far from me, I KNOW what I must see.
It has to be either Luke Skywalker, or myself,
and I am betting I will see my own face.

He laughs, and I look at his helmeted face, shaken,
for his voice is high and and light, unlike mine or Darth Vaders.
and i try to see his eyes through the visor with no luck,
and I am worried, now, because I have no idea.

The high, light voice cackles as it reads my mind and laughs.
The unknown, I think. It is showing me my fear of the unknown!
And again with the mind-reading and the cackling,
encouraging me to look past bad movies or sophomoric philosophy for answers.

I feel myself dying, and everything going white
and he throws open his visor
and I see the face of my 5 year old son
and I watch him watch me
and I feel a fear deeper than I have ever felt
as I wonder what he sees.

And the vision dissolves, having made it's point.

Ololiqui. Gotta love it.