Trecena of Kej begins / language shapes reality
I welcomed in the new trecena with Eric, my cosmic sibling and brother from the queer ayahuasca retreat, in the Trans* Emergent Archetype (T*EA) way: on video chat, straddling timelines and dimensions, me in what we have collectively decided is 16 September 2024 in England, or 1 Kej, the start of the new trecena, in the Maya calendar system, and him in what was still 13 Kame, the death of the previous 13 day-cycle, the trecena of Ix, in Florida. The day of double ancestors, the 13 number and nahual of interdimensional communication, as we talked about all the ways the old and new are constantly cycling and recycling, old informing new and vice versa; past meets presence.
It was perfect.
I even had the thought that his might be an older soul than mine, and he’s representing tradition while I’m the new paradigm, but we’re both close enough together in revolutions that we understand and parallel each other’s journeys.
All of it, welcoming and even hastening the singularity, maybe.
We discussed the possibility of T*EA as the novelty McKenna described, but remixed: potentially creating the illusion of time accelerating in the act of dissolving the things we’ve collectively decided are called time and space, the artificial boundaries we’ve placed upon this limitless, circuitous, interconnected experience. Maybe the synchronicities proliferate because we’re getting closer to the eschaton, the point when we’ll realize the universe has already known and embodied itself through every possible configuration, or else we reach the point it has never been before where everything is at last fully experienced, and we unlock the hyperdimensional Rubix cube, the hyperobject, the infinitely faceted diamond of the Kabbalah, the crystal slow-rotating in the DMT waiting room, and we advance to the next level.
I started yesterday deep in the other realm, and by the end, I embodied my intention for 13 Kame, to dance between them, and Kit popped in, cheering from the sidelines. The day was experiencing that nothing is real the way we were taught it is, and that that can be terrifying, or fun and beautiful. Michael’s wise words to me on Friday came in to help tether me, as I rapped into the voice recorder about how maybe there’s only a reality to the degree that we can describe and agree upon it, and then I played a McKenna talk where he said exactly the same thing and I literally saw the boundaries of this world start dissolving into fractals and pixels, and I had to state to the ancestors and energies and everything that I still had work to do on Earth, and affirmed my right and decision to be here.
It is a choice we make. And I wondered, as he had, as Eric had, what would happen if I simply chose to let it keep happening; would I dissolve along with it?
Can we just decide to die, and leave our bodies? If the Tibetan Buddhists can turn into rainbows, I don’t see why not.
I don’t intend to find out just yet, though. There’s WAY too much interesting stuff to do in this world.
And opening to that, making the choice, sealing the portal but leaving the door cracked out, I went into dance and picked up trash and swept the floor and greeted people as they entered, because I realized that like Jung, I needed a tether, and it almost didn’t matter what it was, as long I picked something, somewhere, some group, to be accountable to, and showed up consistently, and made a difference for the collective through it in my own little way.
From there, it all blew open. I was dismantled by the healing vibration of sound and the touch of the hand of a person I’ve slowly, silently, been building trust with since we met a year and a half ago and started dancing near each other, occasionally meeting eyes and smiling, nothing more. Now, today, as I dissolved in a different way, in tears, into this body, right now and right here, and sank with her on the floor I had so diligently swept, and faced her with eyes closed and knees touching, cross-legged, and wept, as she held her palms up for receiving, supporting mine that pressed down and our thumbs caressed each others’ palms, and we finally had a conversation at the end that started with me thanking her for holding me.
“Thank you for your trust,” she says. “It isn’t easy.”
And from there, my magickal friend from Burning Nest, Dane, appeared and invited me to a picnic in the park, because it was his birthday. My body was so sore and tired, but I cleaned the space and collected the cacao cups in my compost bag for giving back to the earth in myriad ways, and I spent time with my little dance family, and then I floated to the park and followed the trail of circus misfits after Dane, like the Pied Piper, leading us to a clearing in the forest of ancient trees whose roots were whispering to the good witch next to me that they have always been here.
How could I ever doubt that we are never alone, that everything is supporting me and carrying me along, if I trust and surrender to the flow? How could I ever doubt that I am worthy, when the Universe puts things like this in my lap all the time: where a group of queer weirdos and misfits who I have never met look me in the eyes and understand me with one glance, where the thought i had while getting ready in the morning that I needed to reconnect with Amanita for physical and emotional healing through someone who really knew how to work with her medicine in the homeland was answered as soon as I followed Dane’s gay parade to the forest clearing and sat down next to someone who does exactly all those things, and pulled out her leather satchel, blue eyes blazing through centuries in her tiny delicately lined face, set ablaze by her magenta sweater pulled up against the encroaching autumn’s chill, and said: “I wondered why she asked to come along today.”
How could I ever doubt that the Universe wants me to be here, when Dane gathered us all around the birthday cake as I was about to leave and lit the candles, and declared in his fabulous misfit ringleader incantation: “IF YOU’RE BREATHING, IT’S YOUR BIRTHDAY. CELEBRATE. BLOW OUT THE CANDLES. AND FEAST UPON THIS ABUNDANCE.”
Every food I had spotted in a shop window earlier that week and declined for various reasons was arrayed upon the blanket, and we feasted as the synchronous connections set our whole corner of the glade ablaze, and I drifted home in a daze, dizzy with gratitude.
How could I ever want for anything when this is what is available to me?
The Universe is screaming at me that I am worthy.
I just have to trust.
That part isn’t easy. But I’m learning.
* * * *
So the rap was about how language creates reality, and everything Eric and I were discussing turns out to be a metaphor for what’s happening with this cacao zine I’ve been agonizing over for a year or more, and it all hinges on the realities shaped by the language. There is a big point of contention in the communities that work with cacao around whether or not it’s okay to call it “ceremonial cacao,” and the gatherings people host when they share the medicine “cacao ceremonies.” In ancient tradition, there was no such thing, but people are now making a lot of money hosting ceremonies that they sometimes claim are “traditional Maya practices.” Some of the people profiting off the ignorance of Western consumers are white people engaging, knowingly or not, in neocolonialism. But some of the people are themselves Indigneous—in the words of a source for a story I wrote about ayahuasca, “appropriating their own culture.”
Eric is the one who introduced me to cacao as a medicine, and to ecstatic dance. His eyes are the first thing mine caught when I stepped out of my hotel room and the rest of my life began that April afternoon in Iquitos.
I used to worry about whether someone would be there to hold my hand, witness me, midwife me, as I slipped into the afterlife. Now I realize that someone already has.
Twelve of them, in fact.
The disciples of the queer ayahuasca retreat, gathering again and again for the last Supper, the sip from the tree of knowledge, as we passed over, over and over. Alone together.
If reality is what we describe and tell each other, what enough of us collectively decide to say happened, then what we call things is everything. Indigenous people all over the world are resisting a collective gaslighting, white colonizers who tried to erase their records and write their own stories; telling them that what just happened didn’t really happen.
This is the play, the way we map history to trauma healing and individual stories. Showing scenes of me as a child being told that I didn’t just see or hear that; whole civilizations being told that all the previous millennia were some kind of hallucination, that their direct experience wasn’t valid because it couldn’t be counted and measured by their systems.
Reality in this dimension in some ways IS language, as McKenna says: it’s the stories we tell that get passed down and create memory palaces in the minds of the people, and if the only way reality manifests is through our senses, then what we hear and read and see on TV create the world we experience. And whether or not it’s what the bodies experienced, an alternate dimension has now branched off for whole generations where there are things like time and space and physics and ethnicities and classes.
Everything Eric and I talk about is reflected and refracted in the stories I’m writing and other timelines I’m experiencing. We’ve been talking about the concepts of spells and incantations, manipulations of energies and humans, narcissists and sorcerers and shamxn and magicians, wisdom and truth and illusions. Reflecting and refracting, reflexively shaping reality tunnels, discursively recursing what’s always never been done before. And all of this, I realize, maps onto the practice/praxis Kit started developing and I’m building on, xim and I enacting and actively collaborating on bringing it into various forms of being from different sides of this dimensional timeline, one that Michael seems to have been documenting in parallel, or that maps onto something he was already doing, and there’s something here I can’t quite put my finger on yet, but it revolves around the framework xe established, or noticed, because it’s really part of all sorts of magickal traditions:
Spell, charm, trance.
The spell is the story, the vessel or container constructed around the Word, the truth of vibration etched upon the bone, the quartz crystal, hummed by the diamond needle.
Describing something in language creates a reality tunnel, a show, an illusion that can be conjured by the brujos or the shamxn. The warring magicians. Trying to construct a Platonic solid out of something inherently flexible and fluid. Reality isn’t anything material, it’s a hyperdimensional infinitely faceted crystal. Or something.
There is a reality of language created by the way we tell our histories, but is it a vibrational truth, or an illusion put on by a shamxn/showman/brujx/magician?
When I first started the cacao project, I was entranced by the charm of cacao, and I called it ceremonial. I’ve done so many rotations around this issue of whether it matters what we call it, how we can be in alignment with the plant and in justice with the people; who’s putting whom in what kind of trance.
In the end, I think that words matter, but only to the point that they connect us to the truth that vibrates our matter and reminds our bones what they know. All of these things are symbols, and if we lose sight of what they stand for, we end up arguing about what color the gate is painted rather than entering the temple behind it.
Yes, we must honor the people who have always kept the medicine; yes, we should dismantle false reality tunnels and tell the real stories. But we should also remain open to the new things that can be created when we let the language go and focus on the connection. In the end, if someone is sitting in a ceremony that isn’t historically accurate, but they come away with an understanding of what it means to have a direct relationship with a plant, if they come away having met their ancestors and felt their heart awaken and sensed a connection to Spirit for maybe the first time ever… does it matter what we call it?
Even Jesus can ego trip. The elders don’t know everything, and just because the dead are speaking doesn’t mean they’re spitting truth.
They’re creating reality tunnels, too.
So what is this practice we’re documenting, praxis we’re capturing, prenda we’re offering, container we’re shaping? I don’t know exactly, but it feels really important. (Ayahuasca echoes in my memory: “It’s very important / and not very important.”) We’re building a tunnel of language between dimensions and realms of existence, a hyperdimensional bridge that transcends and includes the senses. We’re casting a spell, creating charms that are containers of experience and putting everyone in a trance so we can do a dance and enact the performance.
Whenever the ayahuasca would start to take hold in the ceremony, the first thing I would lose was always language, and it terrified me. The nonsense realm was narrated by a sing-song voice in a made-up accent babbling nonsense words. I interpreted it as me re-entering my own preverbal childhood realm where there was only sensation and light and color and confusing emotions. But maybe it was also, or instead of, this other thing we’re making, a bridge to a place where no language will be needed; a process that sets us free from the tyranny of words and allows us to directly experience the singularity where all dissolves, and there is peace.
The AI identified FOUR speakers today, including two new ones. I wonder who they are? Speakers 3 and 4, talking about language and reality tunnels and the cacao ethnography. Maybe one’s Terence. Maybe one’s the Anthropologist. I don’t know if I quite understand channeling yet, but it’s wild. Am I actually taking the soul of Terence into my body? Am I tuning into whatever archetype he was also picking up on? Is it some new thing created out of all of us, uniquely experienced through my physical vessel? To be explored…
Summary: Does it matter what we call the ceremony?
The conversation explores the significance of language and naming in shaping reality and identity. Speakers discuss how language constructs our perception of the world, emphasizing that the meaning of words and the labels we apply are not fixed but evolve with collective experience and cultural context. They highlight the impact of colonialism on indigenous peoples, noting how their reality was defined by external forces. The discussion underscores the fluidity of reality, the importance of respecting lived experiences, and the role of language in perpetuating or challenging dominant narratives.
Outline
Language and Reality Construction
Speaker 4 discusses the importance of language in constructing reality, emphasizing that the world is always changing and that no one has all the answers.
Speaker 3 humorously agrees, stating that language is central to how we perceive and create our reality.
Speaker 4 elaborates on the power of words, noting that language can be both exciting and terrifying because it shapes our collective reality.
Unknown Speaker mentions the subjective nature of language, suggesting that it is experienced in various ways and can be both liberating and constraining.
The Role of Language in Indigenous Cultures
Speaker 4 highlights the impact of language on indigenous people, explaining that their collective reality has been defined by white men with unique perspectives and privileges.
Unknown Speaker points out that reality is a construct decided by individuals, with some people filtering their experiences through certain paradigms.
Speaker 4 emphasizes that reality is fluid and constantly evolving, influenced by collective experiences and vibrations.
Unknown Speaker discusses the collective subjective experience, where people agree on a shared description of reality, even if it is not universally true.
The Importance of Naming and Describing Reality
Speaker 1 and Unknown Speaker discuss the significance of naming and describing reality, noting that people hold on to these descriptions for control and understanding.
Speaker 4 explains that false stories can perpetuate trauma, especially when they are imposed on people who have no prior experience with the described reality.
Unknown Speaker mentions the importance of respecting people's lived experiences and ensuring that descriptions do not gaslight or disrespect others.
Speaker 3 and Speaker 4 agree that symbols and direct communication are crucial for understanding and respecting different perspectives.
LISTEN:
Language is reality maybe
The conversation explores the idea that processes in nature, such as falling in love or the formation of continents, follow a universal arc. Human consciousness is described as a unique tool for observing these processes. The speakers discuss the subjective nature of reality, suggesting that language shapes our perception of the world. They also touch on the concept of time blindness, where time is seen as an artificial construct, and the idea that time blindness can be a superpower to see through these artificial constraints. The discussion emphasizes the importance of individual perspectives and the role of language in creating truth and reality.
Action Items
[ ] Reframe "time blindness" as a superpower to see through the artificiality of time into how the future has already happened.
Outline
Human Consciousness and Processes in Nature
Speaker 1 discusses a Terence McKenna lecture about the universality of processes in nature, emphasizing that whether it's falling in love or the formation of a continent, the processes follow the same arc.
The unique aspect of human consciousness is highlighted as a tool for observing these natural processes more closely, not as a special entity but as a vessel for observation.
Speaker 1 mentions the difficulty of maintaining consciousness and the need for allies to help those who walk between worlds, metaphorically representing different realms.
The idea that everything is the same process but never observed through the same lens is reiterated, emphasizing the uniqueness of individual perspectives.
Language and Reality
Speaker 1 questions whether reality is made of language or just how we describe it, suggesting that language constitutes our reality.
The concept of creating truth through collective gathering and observation is discussed, with Speaker 1 comparing it to casting a spell and shamanic practices.
Speaker 1 reflects on the idea that time and space are not real, sharing a personal experience of arriving at a destination faster than expected.
The discussion touches on the artificiality of time and the concept of time blindness, where reality is seen more clearly without the constraints of artificial measurements.
Reframing Time Blindness
Speaker 1 explores the idea that time blindness is a superpower, allowing one to see through the artificiality of time, into the present moment, and the future as already having happened.
The conversation shifts to the struggle of living in a reality constrained by artificial time measurements, with Speaker 1 expressing a desire to find side doors and use strengths and weaknesses to navigate this reality.
The discussion concludes with a reflection on the importance of finding ways to live in the present and navigate the artificial constraints of time.