1 August 2025 - Friday “A Weaving for the Renewal of Democracy” A Story of Political Suffering and Light - Part 1b A Story of Inner Kindness and the Rebirth of Relationship in a Time of Fracture

1 August 2025 - Friday

“A Weaving for the Renewal of Democracy”

A Story of Political Suffering and Light - Part 1b

A Story of Inner Kindness

and the Rebirth of Relationship in a Time of Fracture

“I Carry the Mountain in My Breath”

A Ceremonial Introduction to Living Within Two Lands

from the Earth Remembers Series

The First Weaving of Light - A Receiving of Kimoon K’uxlaal

This image above, of the inner cellular light

is a sacred reflection of Kimoon K’uxlaal —

the great weaving of many into the One Heart.

It is the weaving of the Heart Within your body,

with the Heart Within the Seven Sacred Landscapes

of the Tz’utujiil Maya world:

• The Three Volcanoes

• The Lake

• The Forest of Trees

• The Cornfields

• The Spirit of the Moonflower

• The Cloud Forest

• The Mountains

And it is the weaving of both of these

into the Heart Within Voice 1 —

the quiet place beneath the pain, the ache, the suffering.

The part of Voice 1 that is still willing to receive light.

This is the first wave of weaving:

It begins not with thought, but with a simple act of asking to receive. Where we can begins to feel within our cellular light can be weaved within the Light within the Heart of the Land that holds our inner light for the Renewal of Democracy.

Place your hand gently over your heart.

Let the skin feel the warmth of your own presence.

Breathe.

And whisper this from the inside:

“Heart Within me,

I am ready to receive

the cellular light

of these sacred landscapes.

Let your weaving come into me.

Let your light be known in my bones.

I welcome the light of the land

into the heart of my body.”

Speak it once.

Then rest.

Rest in the quiet knowing

that the weaving has already begun.

That the light from the Lake,

the breath from the Cloud Forest,

the deep stillness of the Mountains,

the gentle root of the Cornfields,

the heat of the Volcanoes,

the bloom of the Moonflower,

the standing wisdom of the Trees —

—is already entering and awakening your cells.

This is Kimoon K’uxlaal:

Not an idea, but a living act of being woven.

Of letting the many forms of Heart

gather into one sacred body of light —

Yours.

⸻

“A Weaving for the Renewal of Democracy”

A Story of Political Suffering and Light - Part 1b

A Story of Inner Kindness

and the Rebirth of Relationship in a Time of Fracture

It begins not with the law.

Not with the ballot.

Not with the shouting of sides across broken screens.

It begins with the quiet heart,

the one behind all names, all titles, all arguments —

the heart that remembers

how to weave.

Long before systems and structures,

there was breath.

And from breath,

a thread.

And from the thread,

a weaving —

a relationship.

This is the way of our people,

the Tz’utujiil Maya,

who do not live life as a single voice

but as a sacred loom of many voices

woven into one living Heart of Earth.

And so now, in these days of great forgetting,

we begin again at the beginning.

⸻

There was once a grandmother.

She sat near the lake,

watching the mist rise like stories not yet told.

Her hands moved slowly,

threading cotton dyed by the fire of red bark and indigo sky.

She whispered to the thread:

“Remember who you are.”

“Remember that democracy is not just a system.

It is a relationship.

A weaving of many hearts —

with all their flaws, their fears, their fire —

into one cloth of shared life.”

⸻

In the North, they are forgetting.

Forgetting that to live in democracy

is to live in relationship.

Not only with the ones we agree with,

but with the ones who break our hearts with their silence,

or pierce it with their rage.

But the grandmother does not raise her voice in anger.

She says:

“You cannot weave a future with threads of hate.

The thread will tear.

And the cloth will bleed.”

So she teaches us again.

To weave is not to win.

To weave is to remember that every word

is a relationship.

Every idea

is a seed.

Every conversation

a sacred fire

that can either burn down

or warm the house of the people.

⸻

And so we must begin where all sacred weaving begins:

within.

Within the hidden chamber of the inner body,

where rage and hope and confusion tangle like knots.

Where Voice 1 says:

“They are the enemy.”

And Voice 2 asks:

“Can I love the one who has forgotten how to love?”

There, in that sacred center,

we breathe.

We breathe the brokenness into the fire of the heart.

And we exhale the light of Kimoon K’uxlaal —

the remembering that we are never separate,

only tangled.

And every knot can be unwoven

by kindness.

Not the kindness that pleases.

But the kindness that dares to see the human behind the mask.

⸻

This is the sacred manual.

Not made of rules,

but of relationships.

Not printed in books,

but carved in the soft clay of how we speak,

how we listen,

how we stand up and protect the thread

even when the cloth is fraying.

This is what it means to be a citizen.

Not of a nation,

but of a living heart.

To know that we are part of the weaving.

To remember that no thread is unworthy.

That even the frayed, the forgotten, the frightened

carry the seed of return.

This is the ancient teaching:

Redemption belongs to all.

Change belongs to all.

Even to those who do not yet believe it is possible.

⸻

So walk forward,

citizens of the woven cloth.

Walk not to battle,

but to gather.

Name what you love,

not just what you fear.

Protect the storykeepers,

the truth-tellers,

the gentle weavers

whose hands steady the loom.

Do not wait for a perfect thread.

Do not wait for a magic answer.

Begin with the thread you hold —

the word in your mouth,

the gesture of care,

the defense of the vulnerable.

⸻

And if you forget —

if the fear returns,

if the cloth tears again —

return to the fire.

Return to the grandmother by the lake.

Watch her hands move with the rhythm of centuries.

And hear her voice say:

“You are the weaving.

You are the weaver.

And you are the thread.”

“Weave with love.

Weave with courage.

And the light of unknown possibilities

will rise again

from the center of this trembling cloth

called democracy.”

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