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El Nahual the Faceless Night Rider

This was a long time ago. I had sat by the fire, thinking I was something, thinking I had something, I was someone, I had I am, and now I say, I am nothing, I am know one, I am unknown, I am drifter, to forever drift, to not have a home, shape, place, or thing--no-faced, el Nahual, lurking in and out of the jungle, appearing, like that mole in the whack-a-mole game.

There no longer sits an emotion in my heart, an attached emotion, to this no-body, to this nothingness--at least the motion is lesser, less thick than it once was. Once I though I was someone. I thought to have relations and walked as if defined, at least attempting to be defined, in search of a name. Today I walk, with scars in my eyes from the fire, that fire I bluntly started at, that I fearlessly dived into, dived into with an impulse coming from the center of my chest that pulled outward and almost came out of my throat, like when a bird eats a snake or a rat, that same process of watching, diving for the food, chewing, swallowing, and letting is slowly go through the process in this body.

I do not know what comes next. I do not know what will be. I do not know what will be of me, that one I can say close to me, that thing behind me that speaks, that comes through this body, that sound that makes. I hesitate to use the word "me," for this thing is not I; it is like air, like a note, a sound of a ping pong that makes when the key in the piano is hit.

There is a difference from here to there, from then to here, and when I say from here to there from then to here, I mean from when I believed to be, when I though I was, and when I believed to have a name, such a name that was planned, I thought. Those times defined as then when I lived, perhaps not lived but dreamed the dream in search of creating a form of living, and in that form believing I was, when I climbed. Attaching myself to the climb, minding this body as I climbed, pretending, believing something could happen, and I would be affected, I was in search of something, and now I sit faceless, with everything I once thought to be, stripped from me, some voluntary some involuntary, and in the in the end all involuntary because none was mine. I sit with silver-moon-like tears flowing down through this face, leaving a smoke cloud as they penetrate the black burned electric face.

These hands, they move, I see them move. Like shadows they become. I roam in the darkness, with hollow eyes, like the masked bandit, the faceless Night Rider. I surrender, all my relations, my face, my name, my history, and the history that made. I sit naked by the river, looking at the reflection of the moon in the river, in the river made by tears that as silver fluid rolled down from the burned face onto thee. With an electric body I dive in to the dark waters, this time not pushed in by the circumstances that seem to breathe and hone in on this body, but I push this bloody, blurry body, in a tap, a click. Clicking, tapping my way through, flickering as a light that flashes from the electrocutions. This will, I do not know if it is imaginary, if it is old, or if it is spontaneous. All I do acknowledge is that there is something behind the move that pushes it. In diving these waters, I surrender to the electrocutions, giving my self up. I become nothing, not a defined thing, so that the eagle may enjoy its chewing, with no particular cautions because of my size, shape, or name-- after all this eagle must be blind to eat a bubble of nothing, and even so, I give myself up. Fearless, unattached to the yellow string, I surrender and ascend. Surrendering this body I am stripped of it, I become one and none.

 Luciernaga, Spirit Radio

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