The Plumed Serpent – Phil Morimitsu

 

   The glass case housed a sandy-colored stone carving about four by seven feet, an intricate and handsomely detailed temple frieze from Pre-Columbian Mexico. As I read the description card, mixed thoughts of the days of the fierce warriors of the sun ran through my memory. A highly sophisticated society marred by a bloodthirsty streak of violence shrouded in mystery were my first impressions of those days. It was easy to imagine oneself back then, walking among the tall, well-lit glass display cases of the downtown museum of natural history. The darkened hallways enhanced the artifacts in the showcases even more, and on this particular day, there weren't too many other visitors in this part of the museum. I could wander undisturbed and imagine what life was like in the past.

 

   My footsteps cast lonely echoes across the highly polished floors. It was like walking in a tomb, with the relics of the ancient days coming to life as ghosts when a wayward visitor would feed them life in the form of interested attention on their inanimate forms, frozen and isolated in their stark, brightly lit glass coffins.

 

   I walked up and down among the cases and returned to the sandstone carving of the plumed serpent, in honor of the god Quetzalcoatl. Stationing myself in front of the case, I thought to myself, Quetzalcoatl…Quetzalcoatl…supposedly one of the Vairagi ECK Masters. And this is the evidence that remains of his being.

 

   I had heard no footsteps behind me and, at first, was slightly startled when I saw the reflection in the glass case. By the time i saw who it was, I didn't need to turn and look. I just looked at his reflection. It was Wah Z.

 

   "Quetzalcoatl was a flesh-and-blood man and a member of of the Vairagi ECK Masters. He still serves on the inner planes. But wait, there is a better way of explaining this."

 

   As Wah Z was finishing his sentence, the reflection of another figure started to appear in the glass case. It was of a tall, lean man, perhaps about six foot two. He had long blonde hair with a sandy tinge to it, which he wore pulled back of his ears flowing down to his shoulders. He had a milk-white complexion, wide face, high cheek-bones, and wore a slight beard, darker than the rest of the hair on his head. He was wearing a tan shirt which i guessed was made of flax or cotton, loosely cut so it hung on him like a smock. His trousers were of the same material and were likewise loosely fitted.

 

   "I am Quetzalcoatl," he said in a deep, but not dominating voice. He spoke and carried himself like a warrior-king, erect and keen, as well as wise from knowing the ways of men.

 

   I continued to face the glass case and watched his reflection. I also looked to see if there was anyone else in this part of the museum, but we were alone.

 

   He began again, "There are many mysteries surrounding the truth of the deity called Quetzalcoatl. I shall try to present them in a clearer light to you. Many centuries ago, in the ancient land known today as Central America, lived a race from the continent of Mu. I served as the Living ECK Master of the times for these people. The government, ethical systems, arts, and agriculture reached a high level, as they were all based on the principles of the Light and Sound of ECK. For many years, this culture flourished, until an invading race drove us to the sea, to the east. This race of conquerors instilled fear and savagery amongst the people who remained. One manner used to control society was the use of human sacrifice propagated by the priests of the new race's religion. It was a cult of the blackest arts that haunted this land for thousands of years until the coming of Cortez and the Spaniards.

 

   "The memory of Quetzalcoatl, the god of the wind, remained, however, as the plumed serpent. This was representative of the Light and Sound of ECK. The undulations of the serpent represented the Sound Current, and the wings, the ascension to the sun, to the Light of God. Throughout the centuries, the ideals of Quetzalcoatl would surface and fight the death cults. One of the myths that was propagated by the priests was that the sun needed the blood of human hearts in order to rise each morning. To fulfill this terrible need, wars were raged on neighboring provinces for the sole purpose of gaining live prisoners to be sacrificed on the temple stones. When there were no more prisoners, local villagers were sacrificed. It should be pointed out that the men of these times were not as ignorant and primitive as one might suspect, but it is an indication of the stranglehold the priests had on the people through fear. The citizens may not have fully believed in the idea that the sun wouldn't rise without human blood — in fact, they probably didn't believe it at all — but the fear was so strongly instilled that it was the sacrifices they were afraid of. Whether the sun would rise or not mattered little compared to the prospect of having your heart torn out. Fear makes believers of men when it becomes overwhelming."

 

   I listened with fascination to this tall stranger, still looking at his reflection in the glass case. I didn't want to turn around, lest I break the mood of the story he was weaving.

   He continued, "So as the years wore on, the fear of sacrifice and heavily imposed guilt added upon itself. No matter how cold the priests made their hearts to the suffering they caused others, the unpaid karmic debt trailed them as does a shadow. But, as lords of power over others, their lives were of a consuming nature. Therefore, they couldn't show compassion or mercy, for to do so would signify the end of their reign since it was based on fear and terror. So in order to perpetuate their positions, they created more fear, more guilt, and the demands for blood sacrifices increased. The vicious cycle of power, guilt for having abused this power, and exercising more power over others in order to retain power became a relentless pursuer until the power holders were eventually destroyed by the beast of their own making.

 

   "Guilt is fear. It is an external device of the lower worlds. When an action is done that you know is wrong for yourself and others, the inner voice tells you so. Guilt occurs when you open yourself to the willing critics of the outer world and you let the outer make you feel the wrong done. This is unnecessary, for the inner knows what payment is to be extracted. There is no shame or guilt involved, just compensation without emotion or ridicule. The opinions of the outer world have no place or importance here. But the guilt of the outer world will try to make you pay for the debt as long as it can. There is no logic to it, as it is a form of negative indulgence. Until the individual has his eyes and ears opened by the Mahanta, the Living ECK Master via the ECK, he will be a slave.

 

   "There is but one way to live and rectify life's wrongful situations and to escape the net of karma. That is to live and do all things in the name of the Mahanta, the Living ECK Master. By this, I do not mean that one heaps his dirty actions and attitudes upon the Master to clean up, so one can go skipping away free from responsibility!

 

   "It means that the Mahanta, the Living ECK Master is the inner and outer guide. When you come to a decision and you are not sure how to handle it, ask the Mahanta on the inner, What is the course i should pursue in this situation? If you cannot decipher the answer, you can ask yourself, What would the Living ECK Master do in a similar situation?

 

   "The Mahanta is always giving directions — provided you ask and have the attunement to listen. The Inner Master resides within your heart, always giving direction, never wrong. It is our interpretation to these directions that causes misunderstandings. Life itself will confirm or reveal the correct answer.

 

   "Each time life in ancient Mexico entered a cycle of sacrifices, there would be an eventual breakup of that society by invading forces and a return to a diluted form of the worship of the teachings of the plumed serpent, Quetzalcoatl. With each return, more of the original meaning was lost, until it too became just one more dogmatic religion shrouded in superstition. Meanwhile, the sacrifices grew more numerous and vile, until the final breakdown of this culture came thousands of years after the original settlers from Mu, by the Conquistadores of Spain."

 

   At this point, Quetzalcoatl paused, and his reflection withdrew from me for a moment, as if he were receding into the ethers of the museum and back  into the time from which he had come.

 

   Shortly, he began again. "This play of life, thousands of years distant, is not foreign to present-day man, for you see the exploitation of guilt through fear occurs today in more numerous ways than before, and all for the benefit of those in power.

 

   "You alone have the power to free yourself of guilt by placing your life in the hands of the Mahanta. But ah, I detect some resistance to this statement? Then think on this: by placing your life in  the hands of the teacher, the Mahanta, the Living ECK Master, you place your welfare in the hands of the highest consciousness in existence — higher than you could imagine — for this is the direct representative of the true creator, the SUGMAD."

 

   Quetzalcoatl began to fade into the darkness, but this time I knew he was going for good. As his image merged with the murky halls of the museum, Wah Z came into prominence. "Hello," he said cheerfully. There was such lightness and joy about this being, it was impossible not to love him. No more words were spoken, he seemed to know what I was thinking. We walked down the empty corridors of the museum and headed for the exit. As we entered the great lobby and opened the tall glass doors that led into the street, I took one more parting glance at the exhibits. So like tombs, they seemed to me. Dead images of the past that would only come to life when men give them the light of their attention. I turned from them and walked away, and as we walked through the doors, I felt a little more of my past being left behind with those solemn glass cases.

 

   Outside of the museum, it was bright and sunny. I paused at the top of the long stairway and took a deep breath of the invigorating air. I glanced at Wah Z who was smiling at me. Together, we walked in silence along the bustling sidewalks with the clear blue skies above us. 

 

From the book, In the Company of ECK Masters © 1987 Phil Morimitsu