Portals to the Vision Serpent
Chapter Four
Chan K’in. Chan K’in. Chan K’in. Preston could hear a repetitive chant going round and round in his head: Mama Luna’s voice from that time in the past. Its insistence compelled him to enter his closet. He dug through discarded clothing and other paraphernalia that littered the floor, and made a half-hearted mental note to straighten things out. There were almost more clothes on the floor than on hangers.
He almost got sidetracked with an old notebook he thought he had lost, containing earlier attempts at journaling his feelings. But Mama Luna’s voice got louder, drawing his attention back to purpose. Finally, under old books and lots of dust bunnies, he found what he sought: a battered, green tin box. On the outside lid, he’d long ago painted with his mother’s red fingernail polish: Stop! Do not enter! In each corner there was a skull and crossbones that signified the risk to anyone who thought to invade his privacy.
He left the messy closet and sat down on his bed with the box. Popping open the lid, Preston surveyed the contents. There were some old baseball cards, a couple of baby teeth he’d decided to withhold from the tooth fairy, a cork of forgotten origin, a matchbox. He picked up the matchbox. Inside there was a cicada. Only its husk remained. Preston grunted to himself, remembering how fascinated he’d been. There was an invasion of these creatures one year when they were on vacation in an Arizona mountain town. They sang in the trees everywhere. He thought they were magic. When he discovered one dead on the ground, he’d put it in the matchbox to contain its power.
Well, you never know, Preston thought to himself. He slid the box closed and put it back in the tin. Continuing to poke around, he found the two things he wanted. They were under everything else, as if he’d wanted to bury those most secret things, just as the tin box had been cached. He pulled out a small flat stone and blue feather. The brilliance of the feather still remained.
He pressed the stone into the palm of his hand, rubbing it for a while, savoring its perfection and cool smoothness. Placing the feather on top, he gazed down at the two until he felt mesmerized. The constant chant moved out of his head and swirled around him, ushering him back to that earlier time.
Once more he found himself under the moonlight, in the back of Mama Luna’s garden, seated in front of the god pot. As the copal smoke rose steadily, he was enveloped in some kind of timeless cocoon. Mama stood in front of the Tall One, whispering under her breath, almost swallowing the words. Preston couldn’t make out what she was saying.
It must be her secret language, he thought as he continued to inhale the pom vapors. Mama selected three leaves from the Tall One, waiting between each as though receiving instructions. She stood before the Tall One, arranging the leaves in a fan.
Carefully observing her ritual, Preston pondered. They’re big. Maybe that’s why she took only three. Glancing over at Smoky, Preston remembered a teaching. No. She took only three because that’s just enough. No need to take more than you can use, Preston concluded.
Mama held the leaves out to the Tall One in thanks, then offered them up to the moon. If he didn’t know better, Preston could swear that a single moonbeam extended and touched Mama’s hands. Indeed, when she finally lowered her arms and walked over to him, her hands had an uncharacteristic glow.
Mama Luna squatted on her haunches in front of the god pot. Again, she paused, listening. She murmured in that unusual swallowing way. Preston watched closely. Even as Mama Luna expelled soft words, something spoonfed sounds to her like so much nourishment — and the copal smoke began morphing into form. Then the impression was gone. Slowly, Mama Luna waved the leaf fan over the god pot. In a few moments she turned to him with an exalted expression on her face.
This must be what an angel looks like, Preston decided.
Mama motioned him to come closer. He uncrossed his small legs and moved the few feet to where she stood waiting, wilted foliage in her hands.
“We prepare you tonight to take your True Name,” she said firmly.
Preston nodded his assent. He’d been pop-eyed and open-mouthed most of the evening to make sure he took in everything he could. He made his eyes large and round to encompass all sights; his ears stood out slightly from his head to catch all sounds; and his mouth hung open to invite in the words Mama uttered. He wanted to be fed by the spirits, too.
Preston stood like the Tall One, imitating its stature and strength, while Mama captured smoke from the god pot, scooping vapor with the leaves, and transferring it to him. Wiping him down gently with the leaves, Mama repeated this process until she had moved from the very top of his head down to his toes. Then she disappeared into the garden with the leaves. When she returned, she was empty-handed.
“Now you are clean, my Chan K’in. Now you are ready.” Mama smiled broadly at him.
“I am ready!” He felt squeaky clean and new.
“Tomorrow night is the best time,” she continued and motioned up at the moon. “She says this.”
He nodded, eyelids heavy. As excited as he was by this promise, the long night and hard play during the day had finally caught up with him. Mama Luna took his hand. They made their way back to the house and his bed where she sat with him until he started drifting off to sleep.
“Ki’ wenen tech. Ki’i ba’ a wilik,” her voice was barely audible, “You sleep well. Be careful in your dreams.”
She slipped silently out of the room. When Preston woke up the next morning he was well rested, having carried Mama Luna’s good wishes with him into the night. He took his time getting dressed and looked for Smoky. But he wasn’t there. Preston felt different than the day before, a little more grown up, but not too much like an adult. Most adults didn’t seem to be having much fun. It was more like he’d seen secret things that others hadn’t. When he thought about the night before, he realized how easy it was to step outside the everyday world around him.
“If this is what the ‘best time’ is all about,” he proclaimed out loud, “I want more!”
Preston wandered out to see what was for breakfast. Mama Luna puttered around the kitchen as usual, and by the smell of it, was making something tasty. She made no indication that anything unusual had passed.
“Oh, Solocito! Finally you are up! You are hungry?” She motioned for him to sit down and placed a plate in front of him.
“My favorite, Mama!” he exclaimed.
He devoured thick crisp griddlecakes made with whole pieces of corn, a sweet fruit compote on the side. Preston knew they were having a celebration. This wasn’t a meal that Mama made often.
“My Solocito, when you play today, you also get ready for this time tonight. This is good. And you rest later, too, before tonight.” She smiled and went about the business of cleaning up. Preston sat and looked expectantly, but no more instructions came. Even though Mama wasn’t saying much, there was a note of excitement on the air, and he caught it.
Outside, he made a beeline for Mama’s garden. Preston picked his way to the back where the Tall One loomed as usual. But when he peeked at the place they had been last night, there was no evidence that anything fantastic had happened there at all. It looked like an ordinary garden, and even the Tall One didn’t look like anything but a big weed. He was disappointed until he heard Smoky’s voice in the recesses of his mind.
There are worlds just beyond what most people can see, hear or feel. They are there constantly. The One who made the ways of the worlds understood the need to make them hidden most of the time. Not because there is anything wrong or bad. The worlds are different. The knowledge is for everyone, but only some are ready. And, also, there are worlds to live in at different times.
With Smoky’s words, he felt much better. It wasn’t a dream after all. And even though there was no sign of the god pot, or even any disturbance to the soil where they had been, Preston sat down in just that place. He faced the empty space where the god pot had rested and became very still. After a while, a slow smile stole over his lips. No, he wasn’t imagining anything. There was a slight vibration to the earth beneath him. He glanced up at the Tall One, and it had almost imperceptibly straightened. Preston was satisfied. He got up and walked silently until he was clear of the garden.
Then he whooped and ran in circles. And, as little boys do, sought out the diversions that would take him through the day.
The hours that day were interminably long to Preston; each minute seemed like an hour in itself. But he amused himself until mid-afternoon, when Mama Luna called him to a very early light dinner.
“It’s good to go into this night a little hungry. The spirits like it when you are hungry for them. They are hungry for us, too,” Mama explained.
He hadn’t eaten very much because his anticipation wouldn’t let him. Then Mama sent him to his bedroom for a nap, treating him like a little kid!
“You do this, Solocito,” she said.
Preston had swallowed his indignation. He laid on his bed and stared at the ceiling. All manner of fantasies ran through his head concerning what was shortly ahead. Finally, he tired of them and slept.
A dream came. But it was so real. He was walking in a place he didn’t know. It was green and dense with trees and vines, all heavy with humidity. He could feel wetness on his skin. The droning of flying insects and cries of big birds reached his ears. He knew for certain he wasn’t anywhere near his home. Then there was sudden movement in the green a little bit away. Not at all frightened, he waited. A long, narrow, brown face poked through the bushes and eyed him curiously. Preston remained motionless. The animal blinked slowly at him with big brown eyes. When he still didn’t budge, it walked gracefully toward him on long legs that ended in dainty hooves. As the animal got closer, the cries of the birds got louder. Were they warning or celebrating? At the very moment it seemed like the animal was going to touch its wet dark nose to his small pug one, Preston startled.
Confused, he didn’t know where he was. The sounds were gone. His skin was dry. Then he saw the late afternoon sun coming into his window. He was at home in his bedroom. And he was crestfallen. He got up and went looking for Mama Luna. He found her in the living room, sitting in an easy chair facing a picture window, a sight that he hadn’t seen often. She always seemed to be moving. She was looking intently out the window. But when she heard him, she turned her head.
“Solocito,” she motioned him over to join her in the chair.
“Mama, I had a dream!”
“Ah! And what is this dream?”
The pitch of his voice got higher as he told her of his experience. “I was there! I know it!”
“Ah, my little one. There is much that happened. It is very good,” she mused. “This is your onen, your family, welcoming you. Yes, the deer onen. This is good.”
Preston took great comfort from her words and was no longer disappointed. His family welcomed him, wanted him, claimed him. He sat with this new knowledge and turned his face to match Mama Luna’s repose. They sat in companionable silence, watching the shadows outside getting longer until they existed no more. The sun had set. The night was coming. Yet still they rested in that in-between time — motionless.
Mama finally set him on his feet. She arose from their shared reverie and went to her room. There she remained for some time while Preston amused himself with books, close by. When she opened her door and motioned to him, he quickly complied. As he got near, her clean sweet smell entered his nostrils. She handed him some folded cloths with candles piled on top.
“Please, you take this into the room. Then go clean yourself, my little one.”
For once, he didn’t go into his whining routine. This was the big one. He was sure. By the time he returned to the living room, Mama had readied the room. Some of the furniture was moved back. On the floor next to her loom, she’d spread one of the large woven cloths. Sitting in the middle of the cloth was, not one, but three god pots! The fat candles were placed to form a circle around the loom and cloth, as though protecting what was inside. No other lights were on in the room, creating a surreal, warming glow. Mama had changed into a beautifully embroidered tunic and skirt, the one she had made most recently. She held out a cloth to him with animals and unusual symbols woven into it.
“Here my Chan K’in. This is yours now,” she said and put the fabric around his shoulders. “You sit here.”
He lowered himself to the floor close to the god pots, making sure to hold the covering around his shoulders. It seemed important not to let it drop. Preston watched her much as he had the night before when she went through her ministrations. She placed little charcoal pieces in the god pots and lit them, then sat back on her haunches singing a soft haunting song. It was similar to others he’d heard her sing. When she deemed the charcoal smoldering enough, she took the cover from a small wooden box to one side of the pots. Inside was some yellowish quartz-like substance. Mama selected several pieces and placed one in each god pot. In a short time pungent smoke rose into the atmosphere in their small circle.
An afterthought, Mama suddenly got up. From the edge of the room she dragged a chair over a short distance, stood on it and disconnected the smoke alarm on the ceiling. Preston agreed with her. It wouldn’t do to have that kind of interruption, or any at all for that matter.
She went to her room, returning with a medium-sized brown glass jar with a pulpy liquid inside. Preston thought it contained flower petals. Unscrewing the lid, she poured some dark red fluid into a waiting clay crock, and set the glass jar aside. She turned to him.
“You ready, my Chan K’in, to meet with the gods who sing your name? Those who call for you to see them?”
“Yes, Mama,” he assented. He knew this was bigger than anything he could ever have imagined. Although he had no idea what it was, he knew it was special. There was a feeling like fear that jabbed at his stomach, but it could just as easily be excitement. He wasn’t sure but decided on the excitement. He sensed Smoky again watching from a distance, approving what transpired.
“Yes, Mama!” he said again for emphasis.
Mama Luna nodded slightly and turned toward the god pots. Raising her arms, she began a lilting chant, unintelligible to him, that vibrated his internal organs. After a while, she picked up the clay crock containing the red liquid in one hand. An artist’s brush with short, stout bristles appeared in the other hand.
“We show the gods the color of our k’ik’el, our blood,” she said. “When they see this they know we carry life in us. Through blood our life comes again. Through our blood the gods live, too.”
Taking the brush, she dipped it into the liquid and painted a stripe from the middle of his lower lip down his chin while she sang her song. She replenished the brush and put a large red dot on each ear lobe. She began to paint spots on the intricate cloth around his shoulders.
Preston looked at her in surprise, but she was already in another world. After she finished with him, she did the same for herself, ending with her beautiful tunic. Setting the dye aside, she stood and positioned him before her. The god pots were in front of him and Mama Luna directly behind him. He was sandwiched between the two. Preston felt her hand reassuringly on his shoulder. With the other hand, she gestured in a circular fashion toward the candles.
“Once there was only the dark. It is hard to see if there is just dark. We use the fire to bring seeing from the darkness. It is good to light this path.”
Motioning to the copal smoke, she continued, “We use the copal smoke to call the gods to our altar. The gods are always here. But this gets their attention. Just as the fire invites the seeing, the smoke lets the gods be with us.”
Preston nodded. As usual, what Mama taught made sense to him. She resumed the melodic toning. Every once in a while he heard the name Chan K’in. He thought he heard it not only from Mama but also coming faintly from the god pots themselves. He wondered why he wasn’t scared. Maybe Smoky had prepared him for some of this. Mama sang her song for what seemed like hours. The words were the same, but the nuances varied and took on the sounds of nature. Sometimes her voice sounded like the crackle of lightning, and then as light as rain splashing on moss. In the next moment, she sounded frog-like and transitioned to a lilting bird’s song. It reminded Preston of all the sounds ravens could make. Periodically, Preston closed his eyes and felt something vibrating around him. When he opened them, he didn’t sense it as much. But the room was taking on an indistinguishable quality to it, like things were losing their edges. Indeed, even though he was still standing there, he no longer had his skin; he was blending with the things surrounding him.
“Chan K’in. The gods give you this name. Call this name from you. This is the name you are born with and you carry it with you now. Chan K’in has been waiting. Has been waiting these years until now.”
Mama took on a towering stature, like a large tree. Come to think of it, Preston himself was larger as well. The ceiling had dropped a few feet, or maybe they had grown. Either way, he felt like Alice in Wonderland when she ate the magic pill. Even this didn’t scare him.
Mama Luna began moving her hand back and forth, back and forth in the airspace between him and the god pots, like she was clearing something out.
“My Chan K’in, you sing with me.” She sang a simple lyric and melody, and continued to clean away with her hand what didn’t belong in the space.
Preston’s voice cracked from the dryness of his throat, but he was able to follow the song. Presently Mama’s voice got softer and softer until she fell silent. His voice followed her own.
“Ah, Chan K’in. It is time for k’inyah, the seeing of what is,” she whispered, “Look here where your eyes see close. And let your eyes travel to where they see far. Move them from here to there and there to here and make your eyes soft. Just let them move easy on their own power. Yes. That’s it.”
In a trance, Preston allowed his eyes to range from near-sight to far-sight, over and over again. The more he did it, the more relaxed he became.
“Ah yes, Chan K’in. My Chan K’in. This is it. Now as your eyes travel you can see there is a space between the near place and the far place. Yes. That’s it. Where the vision gets very soft,” Mama instructed him, “When you come to that place that is very soft, let your eyes be even more soft, and leave them there.”
He did so, but nothing changed.
“Is okay, my Chan K’in. It comes.”
He let his eyes travel back and forth, back and forth. Then they came to rest on the fuzzy place between the two, and he de-focused his eyes further.
“Oh, Mama!” The place where he gazed seemed to be swirling. His body felt electrified, but he wasn’t afraid. He kept his eyes aimed steadily at the space, while de-focusing them as much as he knew how. Strangely, his peripheral vision was sharper than when he looked directly. There it continued to fuzz and morph like clouds, until finally a shape began to take form. It was a dark shape, long and narrow.
“Oh, Mama! Oh, Mama!” he exclaimed over and over as the deer’s head moved from the middle space until it came so close that he could feel its breath on his face. Then it touched its wet nose to his, completing what had been interrupted earlier — and was gone.
“Oh, Mama!” Preston cried. Huge tears sprang from his eyes, coursed down his cheeks and onto his initiation cloth. He seemed to lose consciousness, but when he opened his eyes he was still standing in front of Mama Luna. The copal smoke was now merely wisping and the candles nearly out.
“Chan K’in. You call this name when you need to see. You look in the middle place and you will see what is so. This is the way of those who know.”
Mama sat him down in front of the now smoldering god-pots. She kneeled facing him. Pulling a cloth from her pocket, she unwrapped its contents. She uncovered two items — a smooth, round flat stone and a feather, the brightest blue he’d ever seen.
“This stone lived in a place near my home. A sacred place where my ancestors, the ancient ones, bathed themselves. They washed to be ready for the gods. This stone lived under a waterfall for all times. It has the power of the water. When I left my home I asked this stone to come with me.” She moved her fingers over the silky smooth rock.
“This feather is of the birds who sing the rain onto our milpas, our cornfields. This bird is of such power that the ancient ones put their feathers on their own heads. They wear these feathers in their god houses.”
“Chan K’in. I give these to you that you may have the power of the water to wash clean, and the power of this feather to bring rain on the fields. You keep them with you always. You are opened and you must be guarded.” Mama pressed the stone into his small hand and put the feather on top, bringing his thumb to meet it.
Early the next morning, Preston attempted to open his eyes but it seemed to require too much effort. He turned on his side, snuggling even deeper under the covers. Bringing one hand under his pillow, his hand closed over something warm, something that just fit in the palm of his hand. It was comforting. Then the events of the previous night came flooding back, or what he could remember. Much of it seemed like a bizarre fancy. He opened one eye and spied a brilliant blue feather laying on his nightstand. He put his other hand up to his face and felt the crusty remnants of the blood-paint. Clutching the stone tightly to him, he drifted back to sleep.
©2013 Carla Woody. All rights reserved worldwide. No portion of this book, except for brief review, may be reproduced in any form without written permission of the publisher. Inquiries may be directed to: Kenosis Press, P.O. Box 10441, Prescott, Arizona 86304. Email: info@kenosis.net.
Find links to all chapters as they are published in the Table of Contents below.
Table of Contents
Preston
Sybilla
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Preston
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Also by Carla Woody:
Standing Stark: The Willingness to Engage. Read in Illumination Book Chapters.
Calling Our Spirits Home: Gateways to Full Consciousness. Read in Illumination Book Chapters.
Navigating Your Lifepath: Reclaiming Your Self, Recapturing Your Vision. A Program to Revolutionize Your Life. Find in Illumination Book Chapters.
