axsaraña not, when in jawari


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.


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