The serpentine binary in the pre–Hispanic Mexico is certainly something that invites us to reflect.
The two igneous serpents or Xiuhcoatles that gracefully encircle the Sun in the Aztec calendar also encircle the major temple of the great Tenochtitlan and form the famous Coatepantli or “wall of serpents.”
The Aztec serpent constantly appears in extraordinary situations that integrally disarrange its organic design: the tail, represented by a second head in unusual poses, leads us by simple logical deduction to the serpentine binary.
The double head, which quite clearly recalls the shape of a serpent in a circle in that Gnostic trance of devouring its own tail, appears on the sacred walls of the Temple of Quetzalcoatl in the ruins of Xochicalco.
The serpentine binary, now dancing exotically, properly twisted into the mystical figure of the holy eight, now chained in a circle forming a circle at the Mayan style, etc., indicate something mysterious, extraordinary, and magical.
It is not irrelevant to emphatically cite in this treatise the double esoteric character of the serpent. Let us distinguish between the tempting serpent of Eden and the bronze serpent that healed the Israelites in the wilderness, between the horrifying Python that writhes in the mud of the earth and the irritated Apollo wounded with his darts and the other one entwined, ascending around the rod of Aesculapius, the god of medicine.
When the igneous serpent of our magical powers ascends along the spinal medullar canal of the human body, it is our Divine Mother Kundalini. When the igneous serpent descends downwardly projected from the coccygeal bone towards the atomic infernos of humans, it is the abominable Kundabuffer organ.
The venerable master "G" falls into the very grave mistake of attributing to the ascending serpent (Kundalini) the hypnotic and horrible powers of the descending serpent (the abominable Kundabuffer organ).
Kundalini is a compound word: kunda reminds us of the abominable Kundabuffer organ; lini is an Atlantean term that means “ceasing.” Thus in high grammar Kundalini can and must be translated as “the ceasing of the abominable Kundabuffer organ.”
The victorious ascent of the Kundalini along the spinal medullar canal marks the ceasing of the abominable Kundabuffer Organ.
Undoubtedly, Dr. Maurice Nicoll and the great initiate Ouspensky accepted this error from Master “G.”
The cited master considered that his Cosmic Mother was the sacred prana. If the Master "G" had studied the serpentine binary in the “hallowed walls” of Mexican temples, Toltec, Mayan, etc., undoubtedly he would have never fallen into this confusion.
Hindustani yoga exhaustively analyzes the annular serpentine fire (Kundalini) that ascendantly unfolds up the body of the ascetic, nonetheless it says too little about the descending serpent or “demonic tail” whose electrical force maintains all of suffering humanity in an hypnotic trance.
If these wretched intellectual mammals who populate the face of the Earth could see with complete, dazzling clarity the lamentable state in which they are, they would desperately seek a way to escape.
As soon as the wretched intellectual animal awakens, even if it is only for a fleeting moment, and opens his eyes before the harsh reality of life, immediately the formidable hypnotic power of the terrible serpent of the abyss returns to the charge with multiplied strength and the unfortunate victim falls asleep again, dreaming that he is awake or about to awaken.
Only the sincere Gnostic who integrally comprehends the difficulty of awakening consciousness knows it is only possible based on conscious works and voluntary sufferings.
The great infernal viper knows all the “modus operandi” of the mechanical imagination. We will never pronounce ourselves against the transparent or translucent, which is known as cognizant, objective imagination.
Through mechanical imagination, which is its primary agent, the abysmal snake works in accordance with the interests of nature and keeps us immersed into a state of profound, hypnotic trance.
By means of the mechanisms of fantasy we always justify our worst infamies, we avoid responsibilities, we seek evasions, we consider only ourselves, we qualify ourselves in the best manner, we believe ourselves to be fair and perfect.
It is reasonable to think that there are forces for which it is useful and advantageous to maintain the rational mammal in a sleepy hypnotic state, and to prevent him from seeing the truth and to comprehend his position in life.
Obviously, most of us find such excuses, and therefore, under the stubborn and subtle activity of the justification of the “myself” with the complicity of the mechanical imagination, indeed we will never suspect the intimate existence of our very unnatural psychological errors...
For example, if we are cruel with our wife, children, relatives, etc., we ignore it… The worst thing is that we allow this situation to continue, especially because we like it, and because it is so easy; and if someone accuses us of cruelty, we will probably smile, thinking they do not comprehend our righteousness, mercy, and infinite love...
We are caught in the horrifying coils of the great serpent, yet we believe ourselves to be free.
The legend of the centuries states that when Krishna, the great avatar of Hindustan, became fifteen years old…
“…Krishna went to look for the patriarch Nanda and asked him, ‘Where is my mother?’ (The ascending serpent Kundalini.)
“Nanda answered, bowing his head, ‘My child, do not question me. Your mother has gone on a long journey. She has returned to the country from which she came, and I do not know when she will return.’
“Krishna said nothing at all, but he lapsed into such a deep reverie that all the children kept away from him as if gripped by a superstitious fear. Krishna deserted his friends, left their games, and, lost in his reflections, went alone to Mount Meru. He wandered for several weeks. One morning he came to a high, wooded peak where his view reached over the chain of the Himavat Mountains. Suddenly near him he saw a tall old man in the white robe of an anchorite, standing under the giant cedars in the morning light. He seemed one hundred years old. His snow-white beard and his bare head shone with majesty. The lively child and the centenarian gazed at each other for a long time. The eyes of the old man rested benignly upon Krishna, but Krishna was so startled at seeing him that he remained silent in admiration. Although Krishna saw him for the first time, it seemed as if he knew this aged man.
“'Whom do you seek?’ the old man asked at last.
“'She is no longer here.’
“'Where shall I find her?’
“'With Him who never changes.’ (The Father who is in secret.)
“'But how shall I find Him?’
“‘Seek (within thyself).'
“'And shall I see you again?’
“'Yes, when the daughter of the serpent incites the son of the bull to crime, then you will see me again in a purple light. Then you will kill the bull (the animal ego), and you will crush the head of the serpent (of the abyss). Son of Mahadeva, know that you and I are but one in Him. Seek, always seek.’
“And the old man extended his hand in a gesture of benediction. Then he turned and took a few steps under the high cedars in the direction of the Himavat. Suddenly it seemed to Krishna that the old man's form became transparent and disappeared with a luminous vibration in the shimmering glow of the fine-needled branches.
“When Krishna came down from Mount Meru, he appeared to be transformed. A new energy emanated from his being. He gathered his companions together and told them, ‘Let us fight the (abysmal) bulls and snakes; let us defend the good and subdue the wicked!’ With bow in hand and sword at his side, Krishna and his companions, sons of the shepherds, now transformed into warriors, began to beat the forests, fighting the wild beasts. In the depths of the woods one could hear the roaring of hyenas, jackals and tigers, and the young men's cries of triumph over the defeated animals. Krishna killed and tamed lions; he made war on kings and freed oppressed peoples. But sadness remained in the depths of his heart. This heart had but one deep, mysterious desire; he longed to find his mother (Divine Mother Kundalini) and to see the strange, august old man (his master) again. He asked himself, "Did he not promise me that I would see him again when I crushed the head of the snake? Did he not tell me that I would find my mother again with Him who never changes?" But it was useless for him to fight, conquer, kill -- he had not seen the majestic old man nor his own glorious mother.
“One day he heard people speak about Kalayeni, king of the serpents, and he asked to fight with his most terrible serpent in the presence of the black magician. It was said that this creature, trained by Kalayeni, had already eaten hundreds of men, and that its glance could paralyze the most courageous with fear. Krishna saw a long, greenish-blue reptile (the abominable Kundabuffer Organ) come from the depths of Kali's dark temple (Coatlicue, Proserpine, Hecate, the queen of the infernos and death) at Kalayeni's call. The serpent slowly raised its thick body, distended its red crest, and its piercing eyes lit up in its monstrous head, covered with shiny scales. ‘This serpent,’ said Kalayeni, ‘knows many things. It is a powerful demon. It will tell them only to the one who kills it, but it kills those who fail. It has seen you; it is looking at you; you are in its power. All that is left for you to do is worship it or die in a senseless struggle.’ Krishna was indignant at these words, for he felt that his heart was like the tip of a lightning bolt. He looked at the snake, then threw himself upon it, seizing it beneath the head. Man and serpent rolled on the steps of the temple. But before the serpent could encircle him in its coils, Krishna cut off its head with his sword.
“Disentangling himself from the still writhing body, the young conqueror triumphantly raised the head of the serpent in his left hand. But this head was still alive. It kept looking at Krishna, and said, ‘Why did you kill me, son of Mahadeva? Do you think you will find truth by killing the living? Foolish one, you will only find it in dying yourself. Death is in life, life is in death. Beware the daughter of the serpent and spilt blood. Be careful! Be careful!’ With these words, the serpent died. Krishna let the head fall and went away, filled with horror. But Kalayeni said, 'I have no power over this man; Kali alone (the horrible goddess of desire and death) can subdue him with a spell.’
“After a month of ablutions and prayers on the banks of the Ganges, having purified himself in the light of the sun and in the thought of Mahadeva, Krishna returned to his native country, among the shepherds of Mount Meru.” —The Great Initiates by Eduard Schuré
The horrifying, infernal viper would never accept the Sahaja Maithuna, scientific chastity, because it goes against the interests of Nature.
Those who do not achieve to be devoured by the Divine Serpent Kundalini will be swallowed by the dreaded serpent Python.
The warrior who achieves the killing of the infernal snake will enter the palace of the kings, will be anointed as king or queen and priest or priestess of nature according to the Order of Melchizedek.
But certainly it is never an easy enterprise to rebel against the atoms of inheritance, against the lust that we have inherited from our ancestors, against the terrifying infernal viper that brought us to the world and that will bring our children and the children of our children.
That which one carries in the flesh, in the blood and in the bones, is definitive, and to rebel against that is frightening.
The doctrine of Buddhist annihilation is fundamental. We need to die from moment to moment; only death brings forth the new.
His name is Hebrew סמאל און ואור, and is pronounced “sam-ayel on vay-or.” You may not have heard of him, but Samael Aun Weor changed the world. In 1950, in his first two books, he was the first person to reveal the esoteric secret about sex that was hidden in all the world’s great religions, and for that, accused of “healing the ill,” he was put in prison. Nevertheless, he did not stop. Between 1950 and 1977 he wrote sixty books, and inspired millions of people across the entire span of Latin America. A true example of compassion and selflessness, he dedicated his life to helping others.