momma always says not to take paths of darkness. you know it is dark when you can’t see the light.
he deprives me of light, but despite momma’s warning, i do follow him. because he is my jayp’u. it is in certain times these things come across my instinct, and i just know.
he takes me carefully by the hands. you must follow me, jarawi, he whispers, as if a boy taking care of a precious glass piece. my breath is still in the moment- his word, his promise of jarawi. could i be his poetry?
it is urgent he murmurs, and bond by the beauty of his essence, i feel wanted, loved. i trail behind him, picking up the remains of a bread crumb trail. i have visited him before, back when memories were foggy like a fast moving car. he has said to eat the dirty bread crumbs. i shall eat, my master.
softly, through the meadow, he pushes towards me a black metal khariña and ushers me towards a small shack.
you must listen to me, jarawi. i am your jayp’u. you must follow what i say before i sink. please.
i nod, and sigh toward him. what beauty… i shall listen, jayp’u, to whatever you shall say.
he leans towards me and kisses me, then pushes me back, slightly, into a hole where i fall. his image grows less, like a mirror, but that’s fine, because i know he’s in here, in chuyma.
i land, softly, on a pillowed grass. “thank you for keeping me alive,” i say to the hole at the top.
i hear his voice penetrating into my mind.
“you must learn to live with discomfort. follow my tracings.” something urges me to hold my knife. he continues. “draw a triangle… then one upside down…” listening to his lead, i slowly trace the blade against my arm. triangle, mujina , upside down.
i cry out, gasping. i did not know he would let me feel pain. blood seeps out, like a black snake.
“discomfort is art. say.”
i force out, “discomfort is art.” my stomach feels queasy. when was the last time i ate? i hardly remember.
“isn’t it beautiful? it is the marking of illuminati. you are, jarawi!”
and then, silence. i no longer feel the presence of him, my all. something leaps from my soul- i slump down. for days i am without water, without food, without him. i can’t feel myself, but all i can see is that triangle. upside down. reflected off of a light beam. i think maybe the ground is feeding me water. but my lips are chapped.
triangle. opposite. is… muyu.
something crosses my conciseness. jakaña
my awareness is complete. i stand up, the first movement in so long. i see the muyu of light above.
an understanding of god has flown past me. illuminati, not i.
suddenly, an aching pain grabs at my wrist. in my mind, i can see the burnt markings of the mujina pulsing in anger, before fading away. a cry escapes my chapped, chapped lips and i claw at the triangle, twisting in emotion.
god lets me wither away, back into the hole.
in my dream, samka, i know the future. i know that i will walk into reality and mortals will fear me. but that is fine, because i have endured the axsaraña myself, and i know.
i will always be in jawari.