The remarkable memoirs of a young Mexican girl healer Esita and a woman initially called Grandmother Mockingbird were passed on to Margaret through a series of channeled writings where they spoke to her via the computer. The writers were present in Margaret’s life for a time before she was able to regard their presence as one that wished to deepen into a life story. In retrospect, the cravings for cooking many Mexican dishes, decorating her rooms with Mexican touches, attending Day of the Dead celebrations, and being drawn again and again to other writers of Mexican descent is quite amusing, as incessantly they “upped the volume” of their entrance into Margaret’s life. As the story lengthened, it became evident the writers were from old Mexico, and in a geographical area by the Pacific coast. Descriptions of life during these times lead Margaret to believe Esita lived in the 1800’s. As her abilities became known through her life story, it is Margaret’s belief she is channeling Saint Teresita of Cabora. The visitation of these beloved characters became like receiving old friends into her home, where they continue to visit at tantalizing intervals, letting more and more of the magic of Esita’s life into view. Sit back with a glass of horchata and let the rich tale unfold into your life!
I could feel the breath of draught horses. It was here they told me I could truly begin to see, how the horses spoke to me was a wonderment only a child could fathom. Voiceless nuttering, guzzling winter air and huffing out puffs of white, I would sit at their knees and breathe in their warmth-billowing off broad bellies like waves of sun. The dip and sway of the waves, the horses told me, this was the terrible mystery they had to endure o’er the passage which lasted for months upon deep waters, and then finally when the light of day swung upon them and their legs were given the freedom to walk, it was as if these gifts were too large to be taken by them, yet dreamt of and longed for with more and more fervor over passing nights aboard ship. The gleam of grass and feel of earth beneath them once more, this they soon accepted, and the pace which life burns from within all was accompanied by neighs and whinnies, and tossings of heads and the restless hearts set upon new land.
The worth of such tales upon uttering into my grandparents ears drew smiles, and warm hugs drawing close to their rough garments, with smells of roast chilies and speckled brown tortillas made over round grates handed to me with fresh butter and cinnamon sugar. We too had a cow and she told me of sandstorms, and wanderings far beyond where she wanted to go. She told of birthing and nursing her young ones who grew strong, then she heard the screams of them dying and wanting her, of wanting to be at her side, as I was, knobby kneed and hollow as a sieve of heaven, my grandmother told me, to hear such things and be so blessed. She said I was the wide sky and could not be contained. She said all the power the Holy Father sent us came through me too, unbidden and grand and terrifying in its strength. She told me these things and I believed, for they seemed true. I saw the place in the sky at night where the star would fall, and it then did, streaking through the black as I stood on the ground, moving beneath me. I felt the day the baby would be born and would hear her cries- messages sent by the angels for her parents to hear as she entered the world. I would tell the parents these things, and could see them glow with golden light as they heard them, and then went out, and changed their crops that year, and grew more corn than beans, and how the corn flourished and they sold some and bought more clothes, more pots and pans for their pueblo. I taught my brothers to see things too, and we became known as very lucky, the seers who gave great gifts to all our people.
It was not as it was later written. I did not weep and wail and scratch and scream as God spoke through me. I was as calm as water knowing which way it is to flow. The funnel opened on the top of my head and grew warm and I felt as if I would burn from the love running through me. He is love! I said, he does not cause harm and he wishes you only the best. You choose to suffer and it need not be this way, my children, is what He told me, and those who chose to believe, they grew lighter and more light passed through them as well. He speaks through fishes as well as the priests, I said, He loves you though you may be a poor old broken down man living in the smallest hut on earth.
But this is a long tale and to do it justice, my grandmother says, it is she who must talk awhile, tell what she knows, what she remembers from that time, as she lived beyond me in the end. I suffered not, and she says to me now, retelling her tale up in heaven as we float side by side, she neither suffered nor wept when I left, as filled with holy Light as I was and with the flight of my body that many were to witness how could she?
Now girl, don’t put the cart before the horse! I can tell a good story and I want to do this one right. It deserves to be remembered as it was, as it happened, what got told later, you know, put the truth wrong. You wasn’t no devil, and by God you were a saint if I ever could swear to it. This girl, this little girl, with her fine brown hair and big brown eyes all fringed around like a grand shawl with black eyelashes that could comb the anger out of any hombre, the fear out of any woman. Her skin so fine and soft you could feel the Lord workin through her. You wouldn’t a knowed she wasn’t no more than eleven when you sat with her, when she talked to you, after it happened, you know.
What size it was doesn’t matter, not a whit, because when it was held and blowed on it shrunk back to normal and that’s all there is to it. He breathed through her, see? comprendo? I know there were some who said, well whose breath is it, like it was a demon blowing that sweet air through my Esita. You could tell by what happened when she did! It’s God who causes miracles to happen, and this beautiful little flute he sung through was a gift for all our people. So be it.
I don’t know if you ever forget, first kiss, first baby, yes yes yes. Do you remember the first meal you fixed your lover, the way you wanted everything to be perfect, the chicken, piled high and golden and fragrant with chili and spice, the sauces filled to the brim in each bowl, rubbed hard to shine in the lantern light on the table. The fruit, picked with no bruise, no blemish to touch his beautiful lips or be chewed by his white teeth. The bread, just like your mother taught you, light and round and puffed like a cloud. This you want and more, when you found your self in her presence. Not in a way that made her seem inhuman, but in a way that you gave an extra cushion if she was to sit on the floor to administer to the people. You would bring her a basket of sweet fruit, her favorite raspberries if you could find them, or boiled eggs that were peeled and rolled in lime juice and chili salt. Or a pretty scarf, in hopes you would see her later with it tied around her head, something you touched so close to that holy child with the innocence of a lamb and the gaze of the All Seeing.
When she walked through the village you would know. Men who had been fighting, would stop when they saw her, shrugging at sworn enemies, smile, hands thrusting forward in truce, then laughing and clapping each other on the back as remembered comrades. It was beautiful to watch, I tell you, and watch I did, sitting on the step peeling yuccas, or stripping corn kernels from their cobs, or feeding the chickens. I saw plenty of time babies stop their crying when a cool small hand was placed on their mama’s hearts, so weary for lack of love and work and only the babies had strength to tell the world about it. But she knew. She knew and she loved, and the senoras could walk on, smiling, their shoulders straighter, more gump to their step. They would shift the gurgling baby to the other hip, push their hair back from their face with fingers like plows, lick and press their lips together to make them red, and breathe a deeper breath of remembered love, of love to come, and it gave them hope, this small hand of a child, flowing with the love of Jesu.
She wanted a garden, and we planted it together. Herbs and flowers, vegetables in rows that flowed and curved like a spring creek in the desert. Holy is round, she would say, and found turtles and brought them to live if they wanted in her garden. She fed them strawberries out of her hand and watched one lay eggs in the back in the sandy dirt. No one could walk there after that, until the little ones hatched and began strutting through the seedlings like they owned the place. They do own the place! she said, as much as you or I, and refused to kill any insects or mice or rabbits that came to enjoy the garden. At night, in the moon light, we could see the hopping and hear the rustle of stalks, and she said they loved it here, because no one would hurt them, that no living thing would harm another and it was as it is in heaven. This is what she said, and I believed her. What ever those animals ate, well, it seemed to grow in thicker. It was the darndest thing. There would be more bean flowers just days after we saw deer tracking all through the place, eating what they could eat, in the early morning with the dew sparkling all over like polished treasure.
But you know this little thing with the eyes of Methuseleh had no pride, and that was the dearest thing about her. You could bend down and pull her to you in a hug just like any little child, give her kisses on her cheeks and maybe thoroughly embarrass this Hand of God but you would never know it. She took to human loving in a way that just made you want to please her, but she could not be spoiled. No, she came into this world a working angel and she never tired of it, if it was only the prettiest beaming smile that melted the surface of the snow when she was a newborn baby. That would be work to any of us, I tell you, and nigh on impossible! Not to say we all don’t have our share of miracles in us. That is what she told me and I have seen it so.
One thing, she had a dislike of being dirty. Imagine! Five years old and minding dirt! She would sit and scrub her legs and feet until they satisfied her, then off she would go again. Not that I minded it, see, because it overflowed, this obsession of hers, so I had all the help I needed, sweeping the floor, washing the clothes, the dishes, keeping the farm right.
I’m getting ahead of myself. We need to back up a bit. I am just so excited you are finally listening. Huh! This story is as good as you get, only it’s not a tall tale. Back in those days milagros, they happened, child. And I was young! You know the man I had, he was fine, a beautiful caballero with shiny hair and straight back and sweet ways. Then he became an old man with weight around the middle and a limp. But his eyes still sparkled, and his dear, gentle hands kept busy. So good with horses, you know, a natural with horses. His blessing I always counted was that he saw fit to throw himself on a horse all those years back. Changed his life and all our lives. I met him on the street. I was walking with my mama, going to market. He was on the other side, walking alone, playing with a long rope he’d throw in circles over and over. I saw him and though I’d never a said it then, I liked the way he moved, you know? He tipped his head and smiled our way, and it seemed he stayed just a fraction longer, looking into my yes. I felt it! Oh yes, down into my chest, I commenced to flutter. The next thing I know, wasn’t more than a day, he showed up at our doorstep, with a package of the brown sugar candy I loved. I guess he talked to someone at the market, found out that way. But I don’t know! Maybe he’d had me figured out with just that one look. Our courtship was sweet. We would meet by a big rock right next to the stream outside of town. It was all green there, in the summer. Then we’d walk together. He wanted to know everything about me and I told him. I knew I could trust him. And papa had already found out he was a good man. We had a party for the wedding and danced outside in the sun. My cousins played the music and we kicked up a big cloud of dust you could see miles away. We turned to powder stones that were boulders. Yes we did!
Our daughter Emilia was born within the year, a great healthy baby who made herself known good and loud. She was the kind of soul that comes in fully knowing what she wants out of life. I admired her for it. Me, I was the sort that went along, with most things, if they sounded good after they present themselves, you know? But Emilia, she was different than me. Plugged in, they’d call it years later.
Now then, where was I? Yes this daughter of mine, what a girl. You could feel her heart inside like it was a big round oven, hot and bright. Her fire, though, burned out too soon, didn’t it? With the birth of the Holy Child, that light blew through her and kept shinin’ in her bitty daughter, whose glow on shootin’ through the birth canal nearly lit up the room, an’ took away most of our tears. Emilia, she left us then, took to the High side and keeps on remindin’ me of my recipes when I forget. A candle we burn for her, and I hold the image of her with her long black hair and beautiful face laughing in my heart. So proud of her I was, with her swift mind and knowledge of the old ways, her strength and bearing, like a queen, a queen who would pound herb poultice with one hand and stir smooth custard with the other.
(me)-who are you? We are your future. Simple as that talking to you, telling you the story. Listen and you will know. **** The waves shown translucent; pink, gold and with an irresistible calling to plunge into their depths. I glanced around the bank, a shallow cliff covered with grass, the sandy earth and rock crumbling before my eyes to give me a way to the water. And so it began. My toes entering the innocent, lapping waves on the shoreline, my feet small and already beginning to talk to the water as if it were an old friend and we were sitting down for a cup of horchata. So, how have you been, the water asked my toes, and I could hear its’ voice rising through me as purposeful steam. Has the earth been like driving el brigada? Yes, I replied, drinking in the salt spray and realizing I was in up to my head, the glorious elixir surrounding me as liquid sun, as wine of dreams, as sunlight shining through the break of day. The blessing of the water enveloped me like a song that has no end but flows unencumbered through time oblivious to the passage of suffering and entrapments of youth and old age. There I was, floating now at least a hundred lengths out with no thought of my safety as the water cradled me in a presence I would remember throughout incarnations. The life force of the universe serenely surrounded me in waves of communication so immense and encompassing my spirit lifted and floated now above the ocean, looking down into a splendor, a light that dazzled and filled me with His blessed Love. The translucent patterns carried my ability to hear far below the continuing movement of the waves of the surface, and the depths began speaking to me with a voice which resonated like a thundering choir in my soul. The history of the world was spelled out to me, backwards and forwards in languages strange and beautiful and shimmering in dimension. The languages began far from earth, in the vast out reaches of stars and light and infinite grace. I saw them drawn with greater and greater speed toward the small planet and choosing their destination as programmed from above, picked tall mountains and crystal filled passageways and paths twisting into pyramids being created with their thoughts as they descended into time. These places were all beneath the waters which moved in choruses of light around the globe. The light filled beings glowed as beautiful lanterns through the water as they moved with purpose to create a light filled order which rose higher and higher into the space above the waves. With their thoughts they touched the places to strengthen this brilliant sphere of light patterned perfectly surrounding the earth. I realized I was witnessing the creation of the history of this planet and saw myself floating out one of the passageways that had a brilliant light source emitting from it. I knew it was God and my heart confirmed my longing to feel this, feel this as words do not describe. A thousand candles held within a dot of space multiplied by the impossible grace of birthing a million children consecutively with the love of a mother increasing with each birth, each recognition of holy light related as a shining drop of sun to the same light in the salt tears of joy which surrounded me now, held me, holy mother of life, the salt of God.
You cannot fathom how much I love you, the water told me, yet you at the same time are feeling it now. Do you understand? And it was true. I could perfectly gather the meaning for one being of light is a drop of that love, though comprehension seemed limited to a vision unable to hold the entire truth within its grasp. But yes, my body floated in it, and my spirit swayed suspended above yet within its glorious cycle of weather as a smile. I found myself rushing back to the miniscule grandeur of the life the creator had given me in the land of the sun, and my grandparents, and wondered how I would ever be able to describe this holy experience to them without alienating them from me in their simple life of waking, and cooking, and tending the horses, and making love in snatched blossoms of time when their old bones yearned through stiffness and density while no one was present but stars shining through open windows. They will know, the water replied to my thoughts. At the moment of joined ecstasy they too realize the wonder of God. At the moment of plunging the boiled snap peas into cold water to capture their brightness they feel it. At the time the chocolate reaches the tongue and the delight of the senses crinkles their eyes they know it beyond a shadow of doubt. Be not afraid, precious being. They open like hibiscus when you share your visions. You know this. Do not let the entrapments of earth time cloud your knowing. Keep it with you always, like an open locket, like a frog leaping in your chest unbidden in its’ joy of movement, keeping you aware of it always. Do not be afraid to let your light shine, sweet child, infinite light, simultaneously legend and insignificant in the masses of people surrounding you with their own movements in their own perception, pushing for greatness. Be the Light which illuminates the connected paths between all, the glowing of golden light matting earth in the weft and expanding vessels of the hearts of every person. Relieve them of their pronouncements of unworthiness and hate. You can do it. The painful shattering flames of anger and fear dissolve with a touch of generous recognition of existence. Touch all that you meet with your eyes. Give them the love of the heavens through your sight and touch. You move in waves, in waves rippling from a single source generating patterns of gold upon awakening the love within all people. Go to them now, your life, your family, your home. You are like a deer, touching down and alighting in motion and grace over the land. Be the deer, Esita. Be the deer.
And so the water spoke to me, that sparkling day towards the end of the year when the insects shown like fleeting sparks as their wings caught the sunset’s light while I wound through the sand paths back towards the village. I was within this form of my girlish body, walking freely and stepping lightly over the rises and hollows. Yet I was aware of myself stretching out miles ahead of me, into the next village, and the next, over the mountain, where the sky was already dark and the fires twinkled at me. It was a curious feeling that was disorienting and reassuring. I knew the water still spoke to me in these reaches of myself, and that I would feel the cradling arms of it in my nightly dreams. This became so.
And then the depths of the heavens began speaking to me as well, and I knew every plant, every stone, every being of grace that brought the soul back into balance from the jolting and jarring of existence on earth. I realized the spirit of light moving constantly to reassure us on our nightly forays into the darkness of loneliness and doubt. **** “Give it to me!” he shouted, tugging Emmanuel’s arms like a dog for a bone. “It is mine!” I sighed and looked their way wearily, for my night had been filled with spirit travel and bandaging the wounded in far off places, and I wished to just sit in the sun of the morning with my bowl of corn and eggs, the plate of washed apricots on the wood stump next to me, patiently waiting to be eaten. At these times the ordinary desires of the table and the sensuous feel of powdery warm dust beneath the bare feet gave me such pleasure it was all I wanted. To sit and exist in unawareness and the illusion of vacuum that created. “How do you wish for me to serve?” I asked the creator silently, and received a warmth filled with gentle humor in reply. “Give them the blessing of breakfast,” and I smiled, rising, thanking God for letting me simply stand and go to the fire, break eggs and spoon corn and gather plates and call to the men, “Will you give me your company over breakfast?” This halted them in mid swing. They puffed and straightened, with a bit of a laugh escaping and slight reel of self consciousness, they smiled and raised their eyebrows at each other and set forth into the more gentle competition for my smile, a second mug of coffee, more chili sauce, and the wave of peace which overtook them left with them and led them all the way to the fields for which their paths had been intended that morning. I watched them go, seated by the half eaten pile of apricots, as they walked together down the middle of the dirt road, thanking God for his divine wisdom. He could See that they hadn’t yet drunk their morning coffees. **** Unbeholden to me that child had gone out and found a den of foxes. The mama had been killed and so there were two little ones in her arms, mewling, gray coated and blue eyed, held just under the front legs, their bodies sagging towards the ground as she walked in her dress and bare feet. This was when she wasn’t no more than a wee one, and out roaming to boot! She had a stride to her walk that day as she neared the pueblo, and I smiled, watching her from under the open awning, holding my broom. “Nana!” she cried out in a commanding voice. “Look who has come to join us today!” She stooped and gently dumped the foxes into a basket sitting on the ground, where chilies had been jostling together the day before. They were strung up now to dry, hanging from the ceiling. “Nana!” she breathed excitedly, “Look!” “Bien, bien, bien, child,” I said. “They are beautiful! And you are now their mama?” “As God giveth,” she said, and looked up from the babies with wide deep eyes. I swear, the words that come outa that little girl’s mouth were as profound as the preacher on Sunday, but with a clean clear interpretation of the Holy Father not all done up in tradition and a man’s clothes. She placed a branch of hyssop from the garden over the foxes little bodies and stroked them silently, then strode off to the fence to coax an afternoon milk bowl from one of the cows. I shook my head. Of course hyssop was perfect for these new little ones with no four legged mother; it calms, sedates and eases colic. They would be fine.
As the foxes grew they became slim gray darts skimming the ground behind Esita. She wanted to teach them to hunt, so the meadow became a place I knew I would find her, conversing with the young ones as they stood before her. **** So, the penuche. Child, now this candy is divine. Pay no mind a few flies here, they want some candy, too, no? But it is alright, we will tease, but not let them have. Over the burner, over the flame, we stir, we heat- the sugar, the milk. If it is too hot it will scorch, just like a love affair. You must be firm with the flame, like it just so. Then the result will be wonderful, be perfect. This is my favorite candy, now I made it for my old man, my Augusta, my beautiful bull. Ah, but I still teased him like this, up until the day he left me. With Esita by his side, and I sitting beside him on the bed, the cool sheets pulled over him like a cloud. And like a cloud he arose from our midst, with a smile and a sigh, still holding my hand. He liked to take me with him, but he knew it weren’t yet my time. We all saw that. The angels around us, they showed us the way of it. I would stay to help raise her, be an anchor for her in this wide world where the heaven always felt to her stronger than the ways here. Without that, at times the Light would have pulled too strong and Esita would leave wit out her accomplishments done. You know, she set the world afire in so many people’s hearts, child. Made ‘em believe, believe in the Holy design that created us and still worked through all the pain, Lord, all the sufferin’ present in our lives. So the angels put it to us, you know, in words and pictures and we all saw it, no exceptions. Made it easier, you know, to let the love of my life slip out from underneath the sheets, god’s magic trick, happens every day. Bless his heart. I miss him so, and the joy we had. But there was joy to come, and plenty excitement for one old lady to take with her and still be thrilled rememberin’ to you all these years later! The path is possible through you, child. Know you are a tunnel for us to speak, and realize in that heart of yours, that precious heart, the story wants to be told. It is a great one, and the more miracles you can hear, the better. Lighten your world. Yes ma’ am.
I wouldn’t say crime was an everyday matter, but it happened then, you know, with less right and wrong than you have these days. Why the whole world felt like children ran it, with their minds, you know. Mine, mine, mine. Maybe simpler times, but not as kind as now. You know the spiral is happening. You are all on it. We see you going up and up, around and around, getting closer to the Light as more and more of you is able. Ain’t no crime worse than not tryin’ to do better. In your heart I mean. And back when my Esita- MY Esita? No, grandmother, she was never mine, slip of the tongue. When God’s child spoke in these lands and I was privy to it, the heart knew a kingdom rich in possibility, rich in dream. Everything hadn’t already been done back then, and there weren’t so many restrictions on belief. When you believe anything can happen, you know you are more ready. It’s like standing on the edge of a door frame, the edge of a rock, and gettin’ a little shove from behind. But when you are mid air, you don’t fall, ‘cause there is still, in the mind of Mexico, the belief you can float, with the right conditions! The conditions are: you don’t usually attempt after a big meal. Maybe not when you are pregnant! Maybe at daybreak, maybe when it’s cool outside and the sky is soft and the doves are cooing in the trees. And Esita, she was the light in times of darkness for the people, and it rang true. She brought the blessing of the Holy Father among us and brought a hope and joy in the truth to God’s love, God’s saving grace, the creator working without limits, the healing and the miracles, child. She meant so much to me and sent fear packing, you know? Our hearts were lighter, knowing the audacity it took to be so young and be so wise and bring such gifts without questioning them away and hiding what she was meant to share. Let it be a lesson for you all, I would tell the people. Esita said it different. “Through God,” she said, “let your heart shine. Love every man. Let peace be the touch of your hand, on the bread, on the beast, let song and the words of your heart be all that the world receives. Rejoice in your gifts as given by the maker. Know you are pure and let not the world trouble you. Love resides within and it is God.”
This is Esita now and I wish to tell you more. I know you are tiring but a little bit longer, please, my dear. Your gift to us is your patience and your Light and your food you prepare and we enjoy this so.
Yes, you know you are a very good cook, this is grandmother speaking. I just wish you’d fix us a chicken, with herbs, green sauce. It is delicious! You will have to try it sometime. We will help you!
Yes yes, Nana, thank you, sweet woman. Now I wish to tell this friend, so she can share with the world, the day God’s sword of light passed through me, and pierced me. She has been pierced and so many more, I can see, flames of heaven walking the world today. The more joy you ask to pass through the body, the power of the Holy Spirit sings through your touch. One day it will be all, one day the purity of Light will be present in such tumultuous throng that we will no longer see division in any form. Blessed be the day for you! For many of you who read this will see, will see. God’s Light.
The day that the word of God passed through me as the soar of a cathedral of song, well, I happened to be walking on the dirt road through the center of the village. But where we lived, the dirt was wide, very wide. The dwellings were small, and it was the great land that was significant. It was a spring day, and the dust was warm under my feet. The sun shone on me, and my head was hot with it. It felt delicious and good, and I was a young girl, ten years old. I wasn’t very big, and I didn’t weigh very much, so when it happened I flew sideways, and I hovered in midair and vibrated like a bird’s wings, like leaves fluttering in a strong wind, and the light passed through me and swept me so clean inside I felt nothing. I floated within myself and felt I was no one and everything all at once. I received a rush of pictures and fuerza in my head which happened so suddenly and went so quickly I believe my ability to breathe was swept from me and my existence depended on something so strong and assured and huge there were no thoughts, no fear and especially no awareness that I was defying all the physical laws here to fore in bold belief. I held no belief that of the most exquisite Love. and when I became aware again, of the surroundings with out me, I found I had been led to the stream and that men with sheep were standing in a ring around me, and their eyes were wide, and when I opened my eyes they went down on their knees, almost in unison. They bowed their heads, then one older hombre, with the kindest of shine in his eyes, bent and picked the pink flowers blooming aside him, and raised himself slowly to stand and walk towards me, and present me with the blooms. Surely you are a child of God, miracle on earth, miracle of my life, he said quietly, gently, and the rest of the men agreed-ah, si, si, yes. I did not know what I had done to have them say this, but I felt profoundly changed, altered so I did not speak for days that I recall.
[We walked over the barren countryside for days, for weeks, the men in the front, bless them, I can still picture in my mind’s eye how they must have looked. Four abreast, wide shouldered and strong, the image of boldness and bravado. Ah, but inside, inside it was different- sweet Ferenza, he cowered inside, he felt like a monkey, on display for all the danger of the world to come and surround, descend like a maelstrom, and he would be standing there on his foot of ground as helpless as an innocent chimp. But he would fight, when it came to that, and those first steps forward would propel the man into his destiny, leaving his old ways behind.
Where were we going? I wondered that myself at the time. It seemed decisions made for us could only be right, so we followed--the length of the river as far as it’d take us, we followed the sun, Dios, we hoped, the stars, the moon, the stretch of mountains, but always, we followed the white man. It was a choice. We were forced into nothing. The exchange was that of a little comfort for a lot of work, a place to be, place to be part of. Los familia, for generations, until time went back far enough that there was no white man, when gods and men lived side by side, and the ways of the world swung mightily at ease.] **** Yes senorita we are here to talk. Angel of mercy flight of grace--taken in at every corner, pull the sheet up tight. She now lay tucked in the bed with soft sheets up around her chin, her dark hair fanned across the pillow. They had brought her, Arlando running as gently as he could with Esita in his arms. She was limp and she was breathing. Thank God for that. She trembled like leaves in the wind, shuddering and sighing and a great smile on her face. Her eyes were closed. What to do? She seemed alive on the inside, yet her body was so weak. The air around her felt charged like after lightning strikes. Clean and pure, like thoughts could move faster through it, what used to take a minute, done just like that. We felt it and the hair on our arms stood on end. Huila ran ahead of us to fix the bed. As soon as we laid her in it, her head started tossing from side to side, her mouth opened and it seemed she wanted to gag out something, something wretched from her insides. We didn’t see nothing come out, but the air changed and a glow took up in the corner of the room and felt like something was lifted. We felt our minds clear. We felt the answers to our questions come, each of us any questions we had. It was like life was suddenly laid out clear, like clothes on a bed. The old woman moved quick, gathered up all manner of things and brought them where Esita lay. A bottle of brandy, a lace handkerchief, some broken up chocolate, ice chunks and mint leaves. She raised the bottle once, as if saluting that sweet girl. She poured a small glass and drank it down. She poured another and took the handkerchief and dipped it in the brandy, then wet Esita’s lips again and again until somehow their minds leveled off at the same place and Esita licked her lips. She had touched back down. We felt it. There was a huge presence in the room and we all wished to be filled with it, then we were. We felt as if there were lions and tigers walking by our sides. We felt like we were surrounded with gold and there was nothing we needed. We felt this way just looking at her, at that little girl with her hands opened on the pillow, arms turned upward as if in surrender to the holiest of angels. Then she opened her eyes. “My amigos,” she said. “Worship thee a higher god than that of gold. See the truth that you are created equal. See the One from whom you sprang. See the Light source with which you were made? It is here, it is there, it is life, and limb and frankincense and the Holy Grail. She lives, she lives! The hand of God came down and anointed her forever with Life. She has never died. Do you know the substance with which you were made? Black as night and pure as light. You are filled with it, filled with it, Light of Christ. Huila took the ice which was melting in all this heat, and dabbed it on Esita’s mouth, then the girl reached up and took Huila’s hand, and said “yes, yes.” There was a tear I watched slowly building up speed out of the old one’s eye then, it curved and followed out lines like creek beds down her cheek. She had a smile of yearning but great tenderness and I believed she would like to be traveling with Esita, where that girl had gone. She sat with Esita long after the men what had witnessed it had left to tend the flocks and wash up and go to their fires and homes to eat supper and bed down for the night. And though Esita was never diminished, each of them took a little bit of that golden light of the Holy girl with them, and their wives and girlfriends and children all got it, like a bag had been opened just when they needed to breathe and big glowing puffs filled their lungs then seeped into their hearts. Around the village it looked like countless more little fires burned, you know. She healed us all. And Huila sat and fed her bits of chocolate, and mint leaves she rubbed on her face, her temples, long into the night she worked to keep her here, keep her here, if this earth was where she was meant to be.
The story of what had happened the day before to Esita ran through the paths in between homes like the Fire of which she was made. The men told everyone they met, over and over the story of the girl flying sideways through the grove of trees by the meadow, with the cloud of butterflies trailing behind her. They spoke in hushed tones, as if their bodies were great and unwieldy around the likes of someone so pure, so light, and they wished to be as light as they could, themselves, with their calloused hands, and dirty fingernails, and ropey short arms, and weathered stubbly faces. It was as if a wind set loose through the stand of little pueblos, a wind that made everything get washed twice, and swept, with hair combed back, and old clothes mended, with pans of food and baskets of wrapped tortillas and jars of jam being shared right and left, neighbor to neighbor. A bowl of shucked corn went there, stewed rabbit with tomatoes and chilies here. Smiles rose and sheep got shorn twice as fast and the trade gleaned at market was greater than anyone could remember. And still Esita was in bed, but the walls around her had begun to glow. She drifted in and out of the world, seemingly at peace with each place. Her favorite treats were piled around the front door, every morning, gifts from earth, prayers of thanks.
**** During this time, this time of drifting to and fro, between this world and that grand kingdom of heaven, I was not resting comfortably. No, I was directed to be of assistance in any way I could. So began my role in helping the departed ones gain access into their life beyond. From the earth, I would be guided by a bright light to rise from my body and go meet the dying one. The moment we saw each other, a clear force emanated upward in a kind of tunnel, and their soul and mine shot upward through it at great speed. Frequently the dead would have great burdens still attached to them, not the least was fear and anger and hatred. God instructed me to embrace them, and so I did, hugging that dear soul on the rapid journey upward, fear and blackness billowing around me like tattered cloth. As we grew close to the Holy summit, the Light which welcomed us was so fiercely full of love yet it was a command of the gentlest kind, and the dead would show awareness through their shock of the beauty they were beholding. The rays of Light, iridescent and true, beamed constantly brighter, it seemed, the nearer we came and the more reluctance some carried. Most rushed onward with great abandon and assuredness at this point, with full awareness of whom they were meeting. Often my work finished then, and I disconnected, floating to watch the joy of one meeting again, True Love in the highest realm. But for those unwilling to complete their journey of death into Life, the great One gave me more Light inside and the brightness surrounded, and penetrated, souls filled with blackness, who had felt they were wronged, or were wrongly judged, the murderers and rapists and those bent to do harm, these souls I loved with wider heart, with deeper compassion. And for them it may have been the first time, or not for ages and ages since they were babies on their mothers’ breasts, where love was given with no thought of who was receiving it. And this is how it was. This is what it was meant to be on earth, my child, is what God said to me through my heart. I told the souls whatever passed through me, knowing the blackness would begin to gray, that shards of light would pass through like holes burned through stone, that sooner or later God’s joyful song would clear all fear, and the heavenly choir could be felt moving through our beings as one note. It was the journey skyward that I thrilled to. Each time, as I was asked to behold the coming of another child unto heaven, my heart leapt and the rush of the thinning atmosphere cleared me of all earthly strife. I was taught then, in quick snips of time so fast they passed instantly but contained the wealth of knowledge God gave me, that the passing of life was intended to be the most joyous chapter in the life of a man, not the solemn ritual and dismally feared arraignment. The most joyful. The playing of life on earth to enumerate God’s laws into three dimensional splendor was the game plan of ancient design. What greater cause than this, to come into desire, to cause seed to ripen and be fertilized, to come forth a squalling babe with grand ideas and great gifts to bestow upon the world, with the pleasures of sustenance given to earth—especially with good cooks and those whose communications with the plants brought forth the best recipes, for health and love and greater growth! How else to relate, the life he gaveth, than to rejoice in its’ coming, and more in leaving—to know you were headed home once again, your special place in the skies above, the star that twinkled all through your life, reminding you, my darling, my dear, this is home! Do not forget! Come back! Come back and be glad, for family awaits and the party is in preparation for your return! These words God wished for me to tell my people, and so tell them I did, some quickly then, as they sat around my bedside, eyes wide as they ate their tamales, their chicken wrapped in tortillas, sauce splashing, lips and fingers being licked as they watched me, not taking their gaze, their paths to the depths of their souls from me—and His Light shown through my eyes into theirs and they felt the truth. I laughed as I too rejoined the party here on earth, and drank the juices of tangerines, and ate mangoes, and wiped my chin in joy with the gratefulness that those know, whom have been gone and have then returned. I wanted figs, and apples, and the trees shook as villagers swayed them back and forth to coax almonds for me, the bogs so few inland gathered for currants, and grapes in great glowing clusters, showered with cool water, arrived on platters and bowls of brown sugar, crushed into powder alongside them. I rolled the grapes in the sugar, and young children rushed forward to help me eat! We giggled and tossed the grapes into each others’ mouths, open wide as baby birds, nestling in the great hands of God. These were the times of my reentering life on this planet, and flashes of my days ahead were given to me as well. As clear as a bell, that sieve of heaven, the dear woman called me, and it is true, God’s song played through me and I was to touch people and they would be healed. The Light shook out pieces of blackness from them and they walked on as glowing rays of sun. Do you know I felt I died and in God’s glory, I was filled to bursting with Him. But there was no weight to that song. It was the burdens of those who shed them that sometimes stayed with me, and beautiful lights came to me and dissolved that away. It was when I felt the callings of ego and possession that their weight would sag within me. Only a reluctance to let it go gave me dimness and doubt. I grew to give all and with abandon, limpias right and left, knowing my hope lay with that burning passageway upward to God, that all flow and giving is returned by the Maker with joy, the gifts of one heart have cause to shift the world. I grew tired, then I rested, then full and I gave. This flow of Light through me sustained me, for months, for years, until my time was up for dancing in these shoes. As I look back on it now, the men who tried to force me greatest cause to give up, these times pale now, as dim hurdles or splinters, of anthills to jump in the waves of Light which spread as His work was accomplished, best I could do, with the greatest teacher ever known as my guide.
Fiendo here. Being the brother of the holiest girl Mexico had ever known was a charm. It was like having a huge cake with golden decorations in ribbons and banners all over it that was magic, that could keep re-creating itself even when it was eaten. The sweetest cake, with almonds, and lemon and egg white sugar frosting as light as a cloud. There was nothing ever burnt about my sister, my sister of roses, of vaccine,* of the rainbow. (*Margaret’s note: I wondered at the term “vaccine” used by Fiendo, if I had heard correctly what he said. I looked up “vaccine” and found the origin of the smallpox or cowpox vaccine- as the disease I believe is referred to later in this excerpt from him-is from the lymph or vesicle of a cow containing the causative virus. I felt a great excitement and pride as I read this, and saw an image of Fiendo with his large mustache smiling at me and nodding. “Yes, she knew,” he said in answer to my question. “She worked with the animals, too.”) We used to tease her, Bercata and I, that she rolled out of the sky off the edge of a rainbow and didn’t come out of her mother at all. We did this to cheer her, you know, we didn’t have a mama, after Esita was born, she left, an’ all, with the glory of it, some said. But we took care of Esita, she didn’t grow up with out lovin’, no, no. Don’t worry about the particulars, it’s her story that’s importante. How she knew the flowers, how she kept people from dyin’, what got the spots. One thing she did for them, and they ended up lovin’ her for it, though at the time of description, of what they was to do, you know, they say What? She had them go to a mud-hole she had made, shallow and all the stones brushed out of it. She had mixed the dirt with great vats of tea, of tea made from all manner of plants that was strong medicine. When the mud was hot, she had them go, and cover themselves with it, and stay there awhile as she prayed, holding their feet. Out of their feet, she said, and into their skin, came out the bad and into the good, all God’s design, all God’s wishes. Then she had more plant tea made, another kind, romero and thyme, lemon and aukbuk. And washed them off with this, then told them to go home, drink a tea of menthe, yerba santo. **** The blessings about working with the Light, is that you have to learn to accept the dark. This at the beginning I feared, but God kept nudging me, gently pulling me, until the darkness was no more than a puff of smoke, that could be blown away, and He showed me how to do it. It was like coaxing a fire to start, to blow on the tangled branches, to set forth the Holy flame underneath, beyond, below, from all sides. Then all manner of things would occur, and people would walk again, and lungs would clear, and babies not die, and women be saved. The bleeding would stop, the eyes uncross, the perfection of Heaven would shine through them and they would be healed. I never did more than see where the fire needed to be. I never did more than He asked me to do. Their problems, that they wanted things not yet ready to be had, that they were not willing to wait or work for in the time it was best, these were still left up to them. He chose, in talking to them in their souls, in their sleep, and then the plans for their lives were decided. Not by me, not by me. And when I could see the glow of the flame begin, when I looked at the people, this is where the healing took place. Sometimes they whispered to me, great rings or balls or halos of Light, and the messages would pass on which plants to pick, and how they should be prepared, and I listened. With trust as my guide, the decisions were weightless, and moved easily and flowed through the opening of Time to the day at hand, and I was surrounded with love. When the work is done, the rewards will follow. This He wished me to understand, to tell the people, that the weavings of life are part of the grand design and the design is limitless. Time knows but one thing, and that is forward ho, out of the dawn into the beauty of weather and light and listening. What was it He told me? To never be sad, for sadness is sitting right next to discouragement, next to despair, and that makes no movement at all. To have life is to move, to rest and be ready. The next step is clearing, just wait, just wait. The dense fog will lift, the patterns devise, the logs will be split, the new life arise. All life is a song, He sang to me, seek your words, seek the melody, know you are the instrument, the flute, the guitar. And I felt myself floating, as I listened, as I hummed, as I cooked the food, fed the chickens, the ducks, the horses and I grew strong.
I wish to show you of making the tortillas of my youth. On a board, a pile of the corn flour, cup your hands, fill them thrice. A big pinch of salt, yes that’s right. Now a dab of fat, can you see? More more, a little more, the size of your eye, maybe a little more. Mix it, between your fingers, work in the fat. Now make a well, make a hole in the middle. Get some warm water, a pinch of soda, pour it in slow, like you fill up an orange skin, cut in half. Makes a good scoop. Let your hands do the work, feels good, fills them with love, can you feel it? Love of the corn, love of the Father. How is the dough? Just right? Too sticky? You know what to do. Now take a pinch of it, yes, yes, make it round. Roll it out, thinner, thinner. Get your skillet hot. Toss it in. Smells so good! Let it cook. Check it, good, good. Now flip it! Expreso! Let it go, let it go, it’s ready! That one’s yours. The next is mine! **** The gains in altitude from constantly soaring created a momentum in my body that reached all of the nervous system, every cell, and I felt the swooping change as swallows suddenly able to twirl like winged seeds continuously in the air. The arcing movements in my body followed the lines of shape, of inner dimension, of grandeur on the highest levels of creation, He told me. My design shifted to encompass the full abilities of our form, and awareness reached out farther and farther to seek and discover understanding on subjects which had no meaning to me previously. I saw how grand and imposing bridges were created, curving and sailing over space and waterways to land on the opposite shores, with scores of people in constricting dress flowing back and forth over them in carts which moved on their own, steered by the passengers which smoked and drank and veered their way over roads crisscrossing through cities and countryside with the abandon of a child, the power to kill with such devices a sad and wrenching part of their design. I wept at the scenes which were given to me, and felt my heart inwardly cheer as one of these carts would issue a blast of smoke and abruptly halt, their drivers jumping out and cursing and kicking the sides of the wheels. The rush to create speed in travel seemed to accompany desires for speed in every function of life, and hard machines were tinkered with and perfected and my soul wished to turn away from these results of progress and open my eyes once more to the dew sparkling on the sage brush and thatched roofs at dawn in my own part of the world. At times, my body would need to retch to rid itself of the blackness which followed me home from these forays into the outer reaches of humankind, and the sadness which filled it. I couldn’t help but feel the sadness also of the Creator at these times, and wondered if the populations and minds of people were being steered in directions unintended by God. It is so, said He, and I could sense an immense head shaking back and forth as a huge wave of the most gentle Love was the energy behind that movement. He loved all despite these lapses and frail decisions of the mind bent on power and control, and I could fairly feel the deep intake of breath and resignation that for now, for now, the angels could be sent, the guardians watch over, that love could still be present, in every choice we made. We never have to die in sadness, wishing for adventures we had not been able to enjoy. No, it is meant to die in joy for all we had been able to do with each breath and with each gift of creation we had seen, and as the belief in life unfettered by regret failed us, we began to march in clouded purpose and our desires grew into large ungainly animals of unrestrained passion perverted by fear. A simple life was given a cloak of embarrassment that the liver possessed weak ambition and constitution to not see he wasn’t living up to the potential of progress, where in fact, in many instances I saw with my own gift of Sight, the interior worlds of such persons filled with glorious expansion and colorful breadth. The Light and understanding of such persons was recognized by some, who would seek out company with them in hopes of gaining such beauty themselves. These people often lived in caves in high far off places, and during the night I would often join them, and we would bask in the bright Light together, their eyes twinkling and filled with full understanding of creation and each motion within it, content to remain silent and grow in brilliance like a star seated on the rocky ground of Earth, for that to be their purpose, and of that purpose the waves of Love could be felt to uplift the hearts of those who made the journey to reach them in their caves and hermitage within the mountains of the highest ranges. Their age grew legendary, and they were said to live on the Breath of life itself, with no need for other nourishment save the presence of the Lord repeatedly filling their lungs. I was drawn to this existence, and longed to live in such ways, but it was not my purpose, Esita, I was told. I needed to draw my strength from life both as ordinary man and woman, and as a server of God, in order to serve the greatest number in my space and time. And I loved this quality of the enjoyment of the gifts of food, the tastes and pleasures of the fruits and honey, the lustrous herbs, and rich vegetables, but more I loved the connection with All, the gifts of the angels and spirit within this beauty of earth seemed so precious at times I felt I would burst with the most complete gratefulness in the process of my life. To be allowed the humor and laughter and joys of the birth, the planting and tending and observation of growth of God within every seed created ripples and ribbons of Light racing through me and I would dance with this reception of gift as well. Filled with Grace, they would say, as the days flowed into swells of people thronging to see me, and the dichotomy of existence among human ways and ways of spirit would swell and then shrink as I felt the soul of each and their progress towards Light. And I would reply, if not for the Grace of God would each of us walk this earth. Praise Him!
Sunlight Shining in the Break of Day Copyright 2006 Margaret Gilfoyle