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The Crossroads at Dusk

"Who sorroweth is not of us." Yet within my heart, emptiness. Emptiness only. Sorrow when I expected to find something. Essential emptiness that does not care.

When I was young, I peeled the onion. I took off the coverings of consensus like Inanna did her dresses. Descending, I had ideas, thrust my shovel down, searching, searching for the black earth and rock. Veil upon veil destroyed.

Oh Madness, carnival house of confusion and lies and forgetfulness, you were my only friend. With a cigarette hanging from your mouth, you always could pack up the universe in crates and head for the next town. I’d rather stand now on the empty lot you left behind--yellow grass, rainbow trash, stink of elephants and manure--and listen to the train flapping by in the distance like a movie reel left unattended. Looking at this ridiculous holocaust that I thought was my life, these remnants of a show where I bled my money for a while, just so long as I could impress a pretty girl by “winning” her a lion on the midway, or so long as I could be a pretty girl with boobs and get all the attention, or so long… So long! Now it’s all packed in crates and you’re smoking and boozing it up in the trailer with the money I spent. This used-up lot is the same place exactly as when I was high on my illusions and sex. I love you, Madness. I’m never gonna see you again.

The evening train still flies along the tracks. Omen. No me. Nemo.

Omen. No me. Nemo. Omen. No me. Nemo.

Omen.No me.Nemo. Omenomenemo- omenomenemo- omenomenemo…

Pregnant silence. Water. The wading ox. Death. She flies on.

Here I remain at the empty station, red lights within, blue lights evaporated into stars, waiting for the Great Mother to kiss and cover me, to swallow me up, take me back into her womb, and not like before. We will be the hermaphrodite, neither one nor two, but none. But not now! Now I must feel the bitter absence and grow ripe. Blood-stained berry on a low branch, I hone, keen, pine, savor. I grow long like a shadow toward infinite evening, long for her kiss and long for death, the growing blackness infinite calling for the Light so bright it cannot be seen or felt, even by a million angels. Total annihilation in the form of a kiss.

The Sun in the sky giggles knowing that even he is only a forerunner. Oh, friend-Sun, witness my longing. The length of my longing shall be the strength of its glory. Oh friend-Sun, how how long? Let me grow here for the length of my days and if only I reach you, you can send back a message to Her! Great glory to the mossless molasses blockhead wanderer of the featureless plain! Oh great pity for his featureless pain. And so on. Regard the noise like the creaking of the lonesome station sign on its chains in the wind. I have nothing to do with it. It is only a hollow feature of this message, a hologram reminding me, 3-D circus postcard that I bought in a three-penny shop.

This emptiness has a sound though. Or at least it has a Silence. There is a quaking within, Lord, a Word averse, a blackness grand, unknowable depth, awe-crush, monstrous-vast, seeping like crude oil through the pitiful cracks of the earthquaken mind and all matter whatsoever, riddling nothingness, infinite void of states no one may visit, pass-not, sideways cloisters, twisted-upon self, oceanic-trench threads, abstruse, the primary color land no one has ever seen, the never, the none, the shrieking, maddening laughter that cannot be heard, no-time, blood-blender, worlds sealed over and lost forever by the stupid words spluttered in orgasm.

"Who sorroweth is not of us," but let the sorrow remain. Let curious children point. The stone the builders rejected will become the cornerstone in the evening when the sun goes down.

 Eric N. Peterson is a Toltec priest and member of The Tequihua Foundation, a Riverside, Southern CA nonprofit whose mission is to continue the ancient consciousness-transforming arts of the Toltecs. The Aka Dua is an energy prepared by a particular Toltec line. The Aka Dua assists in the alchemical process of transformation by which an ordinary human becomes the shaman.

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