26 July 2025 - Saturday “First Fire in the Mist” A Ceremonial Story of Suffering and the Emergence of Inner Light - Part 10a

26 July 2025 - Saturday

“First Fire in the Mist”

A Ceremonial Story of Suffering

and the Emergence of Inner Light - Part 10a

“I Carry the Mountain in My Breath”

A Ceremonial Introduction to Living Within Two Lands

from the Earth Remembers Series

This is my poetic oral ceremonial story, spoken from my voice walking through the fierce and sacred struggle of suffering, despair, and the reweaving of light through the Tz’utujiil Maya way of knowing — through Voice 1, the Heart Within Voice 1, and the unknown light of Voice 2 awakening through Kimoon K’uxlaal – the Weaving of Many into One Heart.

“First Fire in the Mist”

A Ceremonial Story of Suffering

and the Emergence of Inner Light - Part 10a

Suffering is.

Suffering is.

Suffering is.

I do not say this with poetry in my throat.

I say it with the heaviness of my chest.

With the dry stone of my tongue.

With the war-torn landscapes inside my mind.

I walk through a world

where the outer reality of political suffering

pounds against me like thunder on stone.

I turn to the news—

to the people in power—

to the laws written with no heart—

and Voice 1 howls through me:

“Nothing will ever change.

You are alone inside a dying world.”

I know this Voice.

It is not a visitor.

It is a resident.

It lives in the cracks of my ribs.

It repeats its songs in the walls of my skull.

And each morning,

I wake into its thunder again.

⸻

But—

There are moments—

not long,

not certain—

when a breeze brushes against my pain.

When something in me flickers

like the edge of a fire not yet lit.

This is not Voice 2 yet.

This is the Heart Within Voice 1.

The one who says,

“I want to believe. I want to feel hope.”

It speaks not with reason,

but with ache.

It is the part of me

that remembers

that something other

might be possible.

And so—

with the courage of a tired man

lifting one foot

in front of the other—

I go out into the land.

I walk through my suffering,

not to escape it,

but to rub it

against the body of the Earth,

like stick to stone,

hoping for the First Fire.

⸻

1. The Mountains – Holding the Weight of Grief

I go to the high ridges

above my village,

where the bones of the Earth stretch upward.

The mountains say nothing.

But they hold everything.

I sit on a stone,

and I let the rage inside me speak.

“Why must everything be so broken?”

The mountain does not answer.

It receives.

And in that silence,

I feel a thread of stillness

woven into my storm.

The mountain gives me the thread of endurance—

the willingness to remain.

This is the first thread in the weaving.

⸻

2. The Lake – Remembering the Heart Within Water

I walk to Lake Atitlán,

where the wind dances on the water

like a thousand invisible birds.

The water reflects the sky,

even on dark days.

It reminds me that

something vast

can hold something broken.

I place my hand in the water.

I breathe.

And I whisper,

“Let me remember the light beneath the surface.”

A spark moves in my chest.

The lake gives me the thread of deep reflection—

the quiet movement beneath the noise.

This is the second thread in the weaving.

⸻

3. The Forest of Trees – Listening to the Breath of Others

I go to the forest,

to the elders with bark for skin

and roots for memory.

They do not run from pain.

They stand with it.

They breathe with it.

I press my body to a tree

and cry without sound.

The tree gives me the thread of companionship—

the knowing that I am not alone.

That I am part of a forest

even when I cannot see it.

This is the third thread in the weaving.

⸻

4. The Cornfields – Belonging to a People

I walk into the corn.

The four colors of the husks surround me:

Red. Black. Yellow. White.

All the people.

All the ancestors.

All the skin tones of humanity.

The corn rustles in the wind,

and it whispers:

“You belong. You are part of the One Heart.”

I kneel in the rows

and let the light of the husks enter my eyes.

The corn gives me the thread of remembrance—

the memory of my place in the circle of life.

This is the fourth thread in the weaving.

⸻

5. The Cloud Forest – Holding the Mystery of the Unknown

I climb to the cloud forest.

Mist surrounds me.

I cannot see far.

But I feel everything.

Here, nothing is certain.

And strangely,

that brings peace.

I let go of needing to understand.

I let go of needing to know what will happen.

The cloud forest gives me the thread of mystery—

the light that emerges

only when I no longer demand it.

This is the fifth thread in the weaving.

⸻

6. The Three Volcanoes – San Pedro, Atitlán , Tolimán

The Core of Emergence

And at last,

I face the three volcanoes.

San Pedro, grandmother of rooted grace.

Atitlán, grandfather of the belly.

Tolimán, keeper of moonlight and mist.

They do not burn me.

They ignite something in me.

This is the place

where the rubbing of the two sticks begins.

The despair of Voice 1

pressing against the longing of the Heart Within Voice 1.

The friction.

The tension.

The smoke.

And in that smoke—

a spark.

The First Fire of Voice 2.

It does not speak yet.

But it shines.

It feels.

It says nothing,

but it says everything.

The volcanoes give me the thread of transformation—

the light that comes

only through fire.

This is the sixth thread in the weaving.

⸻

The Weaving of the Many into One Heart

These six threads

do not silence Voice 1.

They do not eliminate my suffering.

They do not solve the world.

But they create a fabric

that holds me

while I continue walking through it.

They awaken Voice 2—

not as an answer,

but as a body of light

that holds the questions.

This is the Weaving of Many into One Heart.

This is Kimoon K’uxlaal.

It is the foundation of inner kindness—

a kindness toward myself,

my pain,

my despair,

my eyes,

my hope.

And from this inner kindness,

comes a new way of

communicating,

of perceiving,

of walking.

A new fire of wholeness—

born in the smoke of suffering.

This is how I—Conrad—

walk through the storm

not with certainty,

but with light.

And this is enough.

This is the beginning.

©All of the material in this blog in all forms, written, audio, video, pictures, etc. are under the Copyright Conrad and Ilene Satala Seminars LLC,  Fort Wayne, Indiana USA. All rights Reserved. 2025