TEOTEJUACAN

 
Teotejucan, Mexico
 

November 26th, 1973

As I traced the first pentagram of the "Banishing Ritual"
a shaft of rising dawnlight split the mountain peaks  rushing across the vast Mexican plateau 6 figures per second;  striking my invocation dagger with a blast of sungold.  "Before me stands Raphael!", I intone,  and the first of the six astral guardians cleared the eastern sky.   

I had begun the cleansing ritual on top of Teotejuacan, the Pyramid of the sun,  completing the Astral sequence that was set in motion 2 thousand years ago and reappeared as a  vision in Jamaica many months ago. 
 

Not I, but one of those strange, strange beings that walk this earth in a completely different reality had just come back from there. This particular astral surfer was not my first contact so I was already hip to the code language these "oracles" use.  His name was SunRay and  the tuning we did one night in Key West one night sent me on one of the most profound missions of my mystical life.  

"I was in the jail down in Jamaica for pot.   I spent most of my time in deep trance.  One night I had an unusual visitor."  

Sunray grabbed my attention full force.  Something in the way he spoke woke up my third ear.
"A person, animal or thing?" I said, having had my share of visual materialization's.

"An Indian,  a Mayan,  I think it was Quetzecotal.  He came into my cell time after time 'til my eyes got use to him.  Then he talked, always saying the same thing; 'Bring them to Teotejuacan!"

As Sunray told his story he was making mysterious hand movements, his open hands seeming to command invisible legions of light.  His Eyes were  glazed with a thick sheen hiding black pearly pupils.   I believed him.  I don't know why, but this idea sounded right and real to me.  I was trying to live in a magical world as much as possible and his story seemed solid and logical from  that point of view.

"What's Teotejuacan?"  I finally asked, knowing I had become hooked by this idea.

"It’s the Pyramid of the Sun near Mexico City.  The Mayans had a city there and they did ceremonies on top of this huge 1000 step pyramid.  One that could rival an Egyptian counterpart," said Sunray as he carved a pyramid out of the ether with his fingertips.

There was such certainty crackling in the air, I had no choice but to commit myself to this endeavor. "Instant knowing" told me I would be on top of Teotejuacan.   Once I realized this, a force began to work through me in a new way.  The principle of “meaning makes manifestation” began to work in full force.   

The first thing I needed to know is when to do the gathering.  In order to establish this I contacted my friend Elizabeth who was an esoteric astrologer.   Within a few days from giving 'Beth" the information she came back with an exquisitely artistic chart for the 26th day of November 1973.  At  noon Teotejuacan time,  the planets were near perfect alignment forming two opposite trines which formed the shape of a six pointed star!  This was definitely the right date!

Sunray, I and friends began researching the best ways to send out the call.  We found a little book called the “Spiritual Community Guide” that listed all the new age centers, health food stores, and communes around the world.  We sent posters all over the world.

We also sent personal invitations to many of the major stars in music and movies.  

And then a strange thing happened...I forgot all about the project and got completely absorbed in the Key West counter-culture. 

 It was electric in the early 70’s in the Keys.  The Spiritual Renaissance had hit full force and washed over a budding generation of seekers.  Individuals who had a glimpse of  what a better world could be were hangin' together.  The methods and the mysteries from the east and orient were just exotic enough to capture the attention of us ‘New Worlder's’.  God, soul, spirit and magic reentered society in a new way.

Instant “karma” became an acceptable way of life and was frequently brought on by psychedelic psyche tests (the mixing of 10 or 20 minds on the high of the moment. This high would sometimes be some new meditation from the satguru of the moment, like squatting like a frog with you fingers covering your eyes, ears and mouth in intricate interlocking patterns.  Or it could be a hot new tantric lover or it could be a plant or a pill.
 

There was a representative for every new cult, guru, yogi, and god.  Krishna, maharaji (boy), Maharaji (man), kundalini, sound and light, and even a baba or 2.  And everyone dug all of them.  We made the rounds of the different gatherings as a social spiritual event.

It didn’t matter how you got there just that you showed up.

Showed up where?  There was one outstanding the memory that even sometimes defies belief.  The nightly potluck dinner.  We discovered  You get what you give.   It was a phenomenon.  We all made an inner agreement that pooling our resources made a feast,  while separating ourselves made us hungry.  So we would gather 30-50 people together sometimes 7 night a week.  Always with a similar pattern.

Everyone prepare their favorite dish and bring it.  It was a gathering of the best foods of the time.  Tofu  pizza,  aduki/riceballs in mushroom gravy, carob honey fudge brownies, etc.  There was always a pyramid stack of  green jelly coconuts next to a flat stump skewered with a couple of machetes.   It was a Zen art between the gatherers to slice and prepare the ‘nut’ in a civilized way with the fewest cuts.  

What was the civilized way?  I remember the night a fellow gatherer we called Professor (that’s what he was; a dropped out tuned in professor on sabbatical) laid down the rules for  excellence in coconut skinning.  The basic idea can from the Japanese Zen Flute (shakuahachi) makers.  After cutting the bamboo root the regulation length (appx. 16 inches) he would spend sometimes weeks holding and contemplating the flute ready at any moment, when he feels one with the instrument, to come down decisively with the razor sharp blade, just at the right angle, to make the perfect mouthpiece.

That is how an excellent rating is given in coconut carving.  An  outstanding performance would be three diagonal cuts 1/4 down the thin point of the nut deftly baring the white furry nutshell beneath the lime colored husk. Then one swift horizontal  flick to finesse a silver dollar size piece of the shell away; leaving the thinnest possible membrane between waiting lips and the glycerinated water.

Part of the art was picking the perfect nut.  It had to be sweet, full of water, and the jelly meat just the right consistency to be given a ‘perfect’ rating.  Certain people had the the knack and they swear a perfect nut just has the “glow”. 

The real high magic part of these gatherings was the pre-eating chant.  it would inevitable start out a moment of “om” and then the chant would get more involved like “Om ah shivaya”.  Next, clapping, stomping clinking, tambourines drumming and dance would go on till everyone sweated a thousand calories.   One three story House literally swayed on its foundations.  There was always some sort of agreed upon aural orgasm where voices, gestures, volume rushed up to our fingertips and out to heaven.   The food was supercharged and a satisfied luminescence rested on our heads. 

I was immersed in this pleasant pattern for quite a while until strange and unusual forces began guiding me to Teotejuacan.  Looking back now I can plainly see the unseen power pulling that spring day on the beach near Louey’s Backyard.  I was playing my bamboo flute.

“Nice sound man,” a voice bounced me out of my sonic meditation.

I opened my eyes to a dark italian looking guy with a 6 inch mohawk.  I laughed and he laughed and another instant “friendship” was formed; a combination of wariness and acceptance. He noticed a string of mother of pearl beads cut in the indian fashion of bears and birds I was wearing and said,  “You want to trade that?”

Knowing that I had a big box of these “fetishes” back in my tropical bungalow left over from my last trading trip to the New Mexico pueblos, I replied.  “Well this necklace is important to me but I am willing to let it go for the right item.  What you have in mind?” 

He nodded to a dusty white duffle bag, his mohawk pointing like an arrow quill, “Peyote.”

“Definitely the right item”  I intoned devotionally.  
“What's your name?”

“You can call me Peyote Paul.” 

***

Peyote Paul became a direct catalyst that kept me moving towards Teotejuacan.  If fact he helped me get to mexico.  One day we decided to hitchhike up the keys to Homestead and pick a couple of loads of avocados.  I remember one 'cado we filleted that day was as big as a football.  Sitting in a Coconut Grove restaurant having a carrot juice, the unseen forces reached out and gripped me again. 
 

(to be continued)