Wisdom

 A common Gmc. compound (cf. O.S., O.Fris. wisdom, O.N. visdomr, O.H.G. wistuom "wisdom," Ger. Weistum"judicial sentence serving as a precedent"

La Ultima Palabra

Because I am sick with words.  

I am sick of the truth.

I am sick of concepts and designations,

Status and jurisdictions,

Sick of economics and psycho spiritual jargon.

I am tired of numerology, revolutions, the Zodiac, the Bible,

The English week, the constitution, the Gregorian year, the Cross and the Rose, the sacrificial goat…

I am sick and tired of the program; of killing to eat, to shop, to invest, to survive, to forget.

I am running out of words and I am running out of time,

And at the same time

I feel so paranoid about mass destruction, you know?

I feel the urge to run

It’s hard for me to look up when I daily see the streak of metal

The man made cloud

I suspect poison in everything.

How can one take a deep breath after fumigation?

Why do we keep shiting in clean water?

Where is the end of this occupation?

What kind of world will there be for my daughter?

While a cabal of incestuous predators

Rotting in historical plunder

Gamble with total impunity

The destiny of human kind

We’re down here

Standing in line for the newest vaccine

In total passivity swallowing the mortal lie

Sacrificing our sons

Dropping bombs in the name of a flag

We are down here

The highly educated cultural creature

Subject to the royal book

All we can do is repeat since

We can’t understand the sounds we emit

We can’t figure out the source of our pain

 We are perfectly incapable to see

This prison is made

Out of language

Out of words like LOVE and LIGHT

Master terms crafted to convert us

 Into FAITH, into FUEL, into FILES.

This prison is made of angular mirrors

Out of angels and lords,

Electrical shocks, the bugles of war,

Democracy heroine for the soul

This prison is made of gold.

And we are in here

Bewildered in perpetuity

Betraying our own descendants

Worshiping the executioners

The dazzlers, the wizards,

With their Adams and Eves,

Their pyramids,

Their 360 degrees,

Their little piece of the sky,

Their color, their crown,

Their mining civilization,

Their parasitic nature,

Their plans of extermination,

This prison is made out Roman-tic Law and language

And like romantic love the end is always tragic.

How does your mouth sing when you got nothing left to prove, nothing left to gain?

Where can our steps take us on this civilized race to self destruction?

How high can we get?  How far? What is really the end? The promise to ascend?

To be saved by the same king, by the same thing? 

We are nothing but steam for their engines, you know?

 But we are sold on the idea of becoming what they want us to be,

Citizens, patriots, entrepreneurs, intellectuals

In the pursuit of profit we believe

 Therefore we can’t help but to continue to weave

The veil that blinds us.

And we celebrate it as a holiday

As identity,

We sincerely pretend

We hide our real names, we evolve to the level

Of predator, polluter, population

And we never question the basic assumption.

Ay de mi mis hijos  llorona!

Why don’t we question the basic assumption?

Why don’t we examine the root of despair?

Why don’t we break the mirrors, face the demons,

Claim our lives again and again?

Have we not had enough

Deception, oblivion, damnation?

                 

Let us awake then! 

Let us unwind, let us unbind!

Let us un-become all the way to the 20 moments of creation

The four winds and all the directions.

Let us then, call our mind back from the dungeons of imperial thought!

Let us be here now!

Firmly planted in the body of the ONLY ONE

Let’s be ONE down deep under

Beyond idiolect

Beyond the world of the dead,

Let us feel, let us know that we feel,

The heart beat

Of the only one who truly exists!

Because we in here

Are nothing but a handful of dirt

And a piece of time, you know?

A whisper in the empty space

Of the only one, of the all that is.

Despues del amor la tierra, despues de la tierra nadie

Our Mother already cured us yesterday and the day before

Our Mother already gave birth to us

Our Mother, our source, our sustenance

That from which we are made

Is the ONE we’ve been looking for

In spells and numbers,

In reflection, in theory…

Let us collapse this edifice

Let us begin sweeping the path

Let us walk back until we become

Medicine

In the open mouth

Of the Living Water.

                                                                                                                               MamaCoAtl ©