Conrad SatalaAugust 21, 2025

21 August 2025 - Thursday The Fire That Remembers the Land - Part 7 A Ceremony of Perception, Memory, and Renewal within Kimoon K’uxlaal

Conrad SatalaAugust 21, 2025

21 August 2025 - Thursday

The Fire That Remembers the Land - Part 7

A Ceremony of Perception, Memory,

and Renewal within Kimoon K’uxlaal

“I Carry the Mountain in My Breath”

A Ceremonial Introduction to Living Within Two Lands

from the Earth Remembers Series

Enter Nawal Mosbel Joloom

And so she comes —

not with fire,

but with silence.

She does not silence you.

She sits beside your Voice 1.

She places one hand

on the back of your skull.

A wind enters.

Not a storm —

but a soft flowing breath

through the inner corridors of your mind.

“Let your breath enter the back of your skull,”

she whispers.

“Let it soften the stone of despair.

You do not need to believe in hope.

You only need to open.”

And as the skull breathes,

the light behind your eyes begins to pulse.

Not with belief —

but with remembering.

A memory of who you are

beyond politics,

beyond anguish,

beyond the illusion of powerlessness.

She carries with her the Bundle of the Martin

and walks in the lineage of the Rilaj Maam,

their threads woven into her own,

so that the sweep of her hand

is not only your memory returning —

but the land’s memory as well.

You feel something awaken —

not a solution,

but a center.

It is The Heart Within Voice 1.

⸻

The Heart Within Voice 1 Speaks

“Even as I feel broken,

even as I ache,

even as I see what should never be done to another human being,

or to the land,

there is something inside me

that is still whole.

There is a light behind my eyes

that has never dimmed.

I don’t have the answers —

but I am willing

to receive the light of the land,

to remember fire as it once was,

to feel again the way the forest knew

how and when to burn,

and how to rest.

I will remember fire’s many voices,

and not only its scream.”

⸻

We begin with remembering that their is a larger story available for us “The Heart Within Voice 1.” For this story to emerge, we open to our inner willingness to receive from our inner cellular light beneath our inner heart. This allows us to experience the emergence and the awakening of the Nine Sacred Threads of Sensing as Nawal Mosbel Joloom guides us through the land’s memory of fire.

These are my experiences over these years as a shaman, who eventually was weaved into the presence of the light within the heart of emerging as the Nab’eysiil for the Tz’utujiil Maya community and its landscape as the keeper of the Bundle of the Martin. Weaved fully within the Tz’utujiil Maya ceremonial flow of Kimoon K’uxlaal — The Weaving of Many into One Heart.

⸻

The Fire That Remembers the Land

(Closing Section – The Nine Senses in the Memory of Fire)

The Heart Within Voice 1 Speaks Again

“I am willing now.

Willing to remember not only the flames,

but the patterns.

Not only the heat,

but the intervals of rest.

Not only the burning,

but the birth that comes after.

I will walk with the fire

as the land once did —

not as an enemy,

but as a partner.”

⸻

Nawal Mosbel Joloom Stands

And so she rises beside you,

her hand still at the back of your skull.

Her eyes hold the long memory,

not of destruction,

but of tending.

The Bundle of the Martin rests across her arm,

its threads smelling faintly of cedar smoke and morning dew.

The Rilaj Maam is present in her stance —

the unbroken elder who remembers

when people and fire worked together.

She speaks in the silence between words:

“Let us walk through the land.

Let the fire’s memory awaken your nine senses.

Let each one weave into the One Heart,

until you know again that you are part of the tending.”

⸻

1. Sight – Seeing the Mosaic

You see how the land once held many fires —

small, precise, in patterns.

Not the great walls of flame we fear today,

but patches of gold and black

woven into the green.

Like beadwork across a blanket,

each piece feeding the next.

⸻

2. Hearing – Listening for Permission

You hear the forest listening to itself:

the pine cones whispering that they are ready to open,

the meadow grasses asking for light,

the oaks murmuring that their roots

are thirsty for ash.

You hear the match strike —

and you hear the answer “yes.”

⸻

3. Taste – The Harvest After

Your tongue remembers the sweetness of acorns

that dropped clean and unspoiled,

the protein-rich seeds of chia

brought back by flame,

the tender shoots of rye

emerging where the smoke had been.

Fire fed the soil,

and the soil fed you.

⸻

4. Smell – The Language of Smoke

You breathe in the scent of a cool burn,

the kind that creeps low and steady.

Smoke that carries away parasites from the acorns.

Smoke that smells of renewal,

not ruin.

⸻

5. Touch – The Ground’s Warm Breath

Your palms press to the earth still warm from yesterday’s fire.

It is not hostile.

It exhales into your skin,

as if to say:

“This is what makes me well.

This is how I stay alive.”

⸻

6. Thermoception – The Right Heat

The warmth of a tending fire is not the same

as the searing of a runaway blaze.

This heat is measured,

shaped by human hands,

known by the land’s own timing.

It rises and falls like the rhythm of breath.

⸻

7. Nociception – The Honest Ache

There is an ache in remembering

how much has been lost.

But it is not the ache of harm.

It is the soreness that comes after planting,

the strain of carrying water,

the reminder that work has been done for love.

⸻

8. Proprioception – Moving with the Land

You walk the fire lines of old,

feet placing themselves with care.

You know where to step,

where to pause,

where to light.

Your body moves with the land’s contours,

as if you have always known the way.

⸻

9. Balance – The Weaving into Wholeness

And at last,

you stand in the center of the burn mosaic.

The untouched patches and the new growth

surround you like a living quilt.

You feel yourself balanced —

between past and future,

between loss and renewal,

between human and land.

⸻

Nawal Mosbel Joloom’s Closing Words

“You have remembered.

Not just in the mind,

but in the body.

Your senses are threads —

each one needed.

The land’s fire,

your fire,

are not separate.

This is Kimoon K’uxlaal —

The Weaving of Many into One Heart.”

⸻

Closing Light

All nine senses now burn gently within you,

each lit by the hand of Nawal Mosbel Joloom,

each holding the guidance of the Bundle of the Martin,

each carrying the elder strength of the Rilaj Maam.

Not to make you forget the harm,

but to give you the memory

of how to live differently.

You know now that fire can be

a healer, a harvester, a restorer.

And you carry this knowing

as both ember and seed.

Even if no one else sees it yet,

you are already living the alternative.

You are the weaving.

You are the breath behind the skull.

The light behind the eyes.

The Love that does not forget.

⸻

Closing Summary

We began with the voice of weariness — Voice 1 — speaking from the place that feels powerless before destruction.

We let Nawal Mosbel Joloom sit beside that voice, her hand at the back of the skull, sweeping away the fog of despair, awakening the light behind the eyes.

From there, we stepped into the Heart Within Voice 1, willing to receive the land’s light, willing to remember the old ways of fire.

We called to the heart within the land, soil, animals, buildings, humans, crops, and forests, offering them the light of unknown possibilities, asking that they guide the present fires toward restoring wholeness.

We walked through the Nine Sacred Threads of Sensing, each one awakened in the body as part of the land’s memory of fire —

sight, hearing, taste, smell, touch, thermoception, nociception, proprioception, and balance.

Each sense became a thread in the weaving, a reminder that the inner and outer are not separate.