Caballo De Los Dioses

The old man turned his weather grizzled face toward Juan as he sat with attentiveness in the open-air bamboo cafe. The diner had been a local gathering spot for well over fifty years in the little border town of El Obregon. People came here to talk, gossip, eat, drink, and to play friendly gambling games of cards.

The local specialty was tres Tostitose con queso y guacomole, all served up nicely with the best in local ice cold Pulque’ Cerveza. The dust covered handmade alpaca hair, Navaho styled sombrero, appeared as if it wilted in the sweltering heat. and sweat that rolled down the old gent’s face from underneath the wide brimmed hat as he spoke..

“Si mi joven amigo, many great men have tried to seize him down through the ages, but no one has accomplished this feat, as of yet. The wind is in his mane, my gentle son, and El Diablo flows with great power in his blood.”

“What motivates him, mi Senor? What force serves to propel his determination in direction?,” gently and humbly asked the youth.

“ The spirit of freedom, my dear son. That fierce determination to prevail in one’s own choice of direction. That motivation into action precipitating one’s rise into glittering prosperity.; or the determination to posses that enlightened spirit propels one to choose destruction, when the precious breath is callously denied and the choices to be taken are only one, made in eternal service to a greed laden secular lord,” spoke the old man in a low pitched, mysterious voice, transporting a feeling of great experience and a life soon to end that was lived out to the fullest.

“So then, good sir, why do men bother to even pursue? Why can’t they just not leave him alone, allowing him to drift along upon the high plains, taking his abode in the sheltered cave scattered valleys of the Sierra Madre?”

“Oh., my dear son,” rumbled the elder, as he leaned closer to the astonished face of the youth . “There is another spirit that posses the soul of men, and that is the spirit of possession, the spirit of absolute control, and repressive authority. This evil phantom is the sworn enemy of all freedom and positive pursuit, conjured up by the specter of creative industrious endeavor; and by its horrible basic nature the free may only choose to submit, or self-destruct by doing battle in the name of liberating determination.”

As the elder sat beside the boy, speaking his words of mellowed aged wisdom, the boy gazed outward from the seat of the cafe, into the distance abroad. He could see across the borderline of the small town, far out into the shimmering desert horizon beyond. In the yon distance he heard the wind sweep the standing cacti and mesquite scrub with fine sand, soon to pat his browning cheeks, tossing his unkempt hair across his forehead. With each puff of the wind, he thought he perceived the sound of a proud stallion from somewhere in the desert distance, racing abroad into the wind, bearing the strength of youth and in full possession of freedoms delightful breath, determined to live according to his own will at all costs..

“Yes my dear one,” spoke the grizzled elder. “Thine ears hath not deceived you, for his voice has now whispered it’s sweet enrapturing song into your ear, and that same spirit shall infect your own heart along the way. It is presently infecting., possessing your heart, your impressionable mind, your inexperienced body..; and very soon., even your innermost soul! Once you lay your eyes upon him, then you shall never again be free from his spell. You shall be his, and him, your own obsession, until the very end.”

“Oh good Sir., have there been others before me?,” inquired the youth in a voice respectful of the elder, with years of life experience.

“Aye, many good men have fallen into his spell, motivated by that spirit of control, that often times is enjoined hand-in-hand, with the spirit of lust and greed, the most base of man-kinds’ motivating spectral possessions.”

“Did any man succeed?,” inquired the youth, with eyes blinking rapidly in excitement.

“They only succeeded in the fact that they managed to locate and pursue; but my dear son, do please understand, his spirit shall remain free forever. Only the wind and the distant desert horizon shall own him. Only they, and no other, until the day comes that all time shall end as we know it.

“That day when the radiating sun shall be absorbed by the prevailing deity who proudly reigns supreme in all the universe, as he simultaneously manifests himself on earth among mortal men. On that glorious day, my dear son, then and only then shall all evil be cast asunder, and the sheep and the oxen shall lie with the jaguar, as the fawn does with the wild howling wolf pack. Then and only then will he choose to walk on earth among men, my dear son., only then, and never in no time before.”

“What became of those who tried, sir?,” asked the gentle, but perplexed youth.

“Indeed all pursuers had fallen deeply underneath his coaxing spell, with the devil horse possessing their very souls through their obsession with his form. None of them could never cease in their vain pursuit, and the horse could ne’er forgo the spirit of total freedom and the destiny of uninhibited totally liberated choice, as he raced forward on the very wind surrounding him.

“In each and every case the race only continued on., until his pursuers were completely absorbed., only to be discovered one dismal dreary day far out on the wind and sand swept high plains. Their stiff, dust encased bodies were discovered laying somewhere in a mangled heap, appearing as though they all were nearly ripped into sad, blood soaked shreds, by razor sharp hooves. On the far distance the wind always carried the voice of his song to the ears of his newly encouraged pursuers, only to vanish with the onset of the next pursuit.”

“How long has his song been riding on the wind, oh dear sir?,” asked the youth in a somewhat pleading voice.

“His song has been carried in the wind for just as long as the eyes of men have gazed across the desert distance, toward the Sierra Madrea, my dear son. They call him Caballo De Los Dioses, .and his song rides for just as long as the ears of men have listened, and shall continue to listen for ever more. His soul is the thrilling spirit of newly acquired fortune, and his guiding sanctimony., the direction of unrestrained destiny. His name shall ride forward into eternity, for his shinning destiny is not of the pallid, shivering mortal, my dear son, but only of the glowing iridescent immortal. For, my dear amigo, he is not one of this world, but one of the divine celestial world without.”

Deep down as the elder spoke those words into the gently puffing wind, the youth silently felt he could somehow relate to the spirit of the wind stallion. He, himself, had been cast into the unforgiving world surrounding, only to drift about in his own unguided direction, determined to find his own way. His parents both perished in a terrible automobile accident. His aunts, uncles, and all of his relations overwhelmed by their own burdens, simply could not afford to take him in, or offer any supporting subsistence.

Like the stallion, he took his own support from the desert surrounding him. The lifestyle was not all that bad in the beginning, since he dwelt still in the home of his parents. The day arrived with a haunting surprise, however, when his siblings simply vanished from the home, following his return from the foraging fields. People around him informed him they all had been abducted, destined to dwell a forlorn life of drudgery and ruthless exploitation, in service to Los Senores, or to the ever dominating Zetas.

The labors of his siblings were always top quality, consequently held in high esteem deep inside numerous raw product processing facilities owned by these ruling authorities, and sold at ten times the value in the northern worlds beyond. Once his siblings were gone, sadly they were never again to return home, because the demand was total dedication in productive service, through their labor and life’s direction in the name of the prevailing cartel.

Their eternal destiny from that moment forward was only to exist as chattel within a merciless grinding wheel, serving only to extort the fruits of their oppressing labor, born in bitter painful exchange for the most meager in daily subsistence accommodation. In future years, maybe they would find their true restitution as fully developed soldiers serving the cartel, but the most common price paid for such service was a destiny walk down a dead end road, into bloody destruction.

Within the gate of this repressive chattel, in truth there existed no path to true restitution, only a bloody forlorn end. There existed no redeeming force or mortal being delivering their salvation, other than the immortal apparition of death, himself. In their own end, they shall all find freedom in death. As young Juan gazed into a sultry quivering desert horizon, he took an unsettling comfort in knowing his siblings all shall find freedom and comfort in mortal life; or in their own death, destined to die forever free.

Not only were they bound in physical body to the cartel, but even in their immortal soul; for right along with their unfortunate situation, they were all compelled into paying homage to a strange alien, deity in effigy called Mictlantecuhtli; an erratic, mysterious deity, totally unknown to them by tradition or practice. In this manner, not only had they been robbed of their present life, but also their eternal future, and of all their brilliant potential in either world. What amounted to a grossly deteriorating situation did not end at this point, however.

So as he only recently discovered, his father once taken out a loan with the local extortionist, employed by the Zetas. He worked at an office called Place’ De Tu Fortuna, where dirty money was transformed into fortune redeemed. All of the provincial people people needing loans, could come inside, no questions asked, and discover a blessed gift of credit they were so sorely in need of.

The entire town was mortgaged out to the cartel commandos; all of the farms, the houses, the automobiles, the tools and farm equipment, seeds, and every aspect. If due payment was withheld for any reason, first the extortionist sought even trade, be it land already payed off, or family jewels ; but it may also be the father’s very attractive wife possibly demanded for a few months, or his brother’s elementary aged virgin sister.

He often heard horrible tales where even young physically attractive boys were not spared this same grotesque fate, but had no way of knowing the truth thereof. Most of the time, however, the intent was only for free labor, and such was it, thanks be to buen Jesu’s Cristos in el cielo!

When his parents passed, the house payments were forfeited. It was not that they did not want to pay, but no way existed to pay the total amount demanded. The young family exited out into the surrounding town, laboring in the shops, restaurants, and local gardens; but even their combined salaries were far to small to sustain them with food, utilities, taxes, extortion fees, and the merciless high interest mortgage payments.

Unfortunately all of the companies providing these goods and services were owned by the same extortionist groups. There was no way to win, the price system was designed to hold the people into perpetual lifelong bondage. As the people all around here say, the only way out is con los pies apuntando al cielo.

His siblings were now held into perpetual bondage..When the first payment was forfeited and the utilities cut, the youth were rounded up to be delivered into some distant labor containment facility. According to the locals, the place of their containment was called abandonar toda esperanza, porque aqui si encuentra solo destitude y vuestra desgracia enteral, a colossal imposing electrified fence pen somewhere way out into the empty dismal, far south-west of Mexico. The house was then abruptly seized, and soon resold at a whopping discount to some out-of-town strangers, so he was told. In this manner, the total loan principle was soon extorted.

The real looming problem for him in all of this negative experience, was that the Zetas knew of his existence, and already placed a compelling price for his abduction on his head. He knew how to feed himself from the surrounding desert, and how to find natural shelter. Before he was ever informed, he also come to realize the prevailing fact of his own persecution. His eyes often beheld the tracks of the cartel’s pursuing agents. All of them walked completely passed his shelter underneath the rock overhang, in the direction of the great Montana Fantasma.

These pursuing agents could never find him, in-spite of them possessing the latest thermal imaging devices, and packs of snarling blood hounds. It was all only a matter of how one chose to move around, being very careful to walk on hard surfaced ground, and to cover the inside structure of dwellings with easily obtained polyethylene plastic, when possible. It really was astounding as to how simple it all was for a determined person to slip passed these callous, greed obsessed pursuers, with wicked intentions.

On many occasion, he would go hunting for goat high up in the Sierra Madre, knowing by virtual instinct not to take the same trail out he used to come in on. He knew by virtual instinct not to allow himself to be silhouetted, by walking in the mountain shadows. Deep down inside his gut he always held a nauseating feeling he was being pursued, so he would instinctively trap set his uphill trail.

His favorite set up was to create a debit in the dirt or stone, place a tied stick crafted V over an elevating stone. The small end of the V would lie underneath a larger, heavier stone, which was well wrapped with old three thirty seconds, black rubber coated, copper electrical wire. This wire ran to a hair trigger roller support on a concealed platform, high overhead holding dozens, if not hundreds, of multi-sized but heavy stones. The entire set up was perfectly camouflaged by the angle of pitch in the topography itself; laying in wait like coiled sidewinder, until the pursuer dared to tread.

On many occasions, from a far safe distance, he would stand and observe the resulting corpse of a pursuing man, who consequently blundered into his set. On one occasion he managed to slay an entire pursuing platoon! This act placed his arrest at the very top of Los Zetas’ dreaded errand list. Even so, not one of these organizations pursuing him had any idea as to specifically what his physical appearance was.

This ignorance of his appearance was how he managed to drop into town from time to time, to work, buy food, and to take shelter underneath overlooked porch structures, or inside abandoned shacks on the outskirts of town. There was a price on his head, dead but preferably alive, so he was informed by hints floating about on the wind.

Still he took the unsettling chance presented to him by fate. The simple thrill of potential danger, and the prospective joy found in a future bonfire revel in his escape, was much more than he could withhold from; for he was well aware the odds for his success were decidedly with him.

“Does the spirit stallion have a price ?,” asked the youth to the elder, who knew nothing of the youth’s name.

The elder raised a dark brown bottle of beer covered in ice melt, to his crusty lips, tilted his head backward, then relaxed the bottle down before giving reply to the youth.

“Oh yes, according to word on the street. Some thirty doubloons in solid gold, my dear son. The stallion has been labeled a criminal in need of containment., or even worse. The local top gangster and most feared extortionist, El Hombrey Malo, has publicly declared it so, only recently.”

“Thirty golden doubloons?,” gleefully shouted the youth. “Why that much would purchase a simple house, for sure!”

“Aye, mi dear amigo, and many more simple houses, with much more left to spare.”

The youth hesitated in deep thought..

“What would it take to accomplish such a feat..,”

The youth continued to hesitate in further questioning, as he glared hard at the old man.

“ to ransom an enslaved laborer?,” he finally concluded.

The old man chuckled as he raised the brown bottle to his sun parched lips again.

“I dare say,” replied the grizzled elder, “that indeed, one could still have enough funds remaining to ransom an entire family of enslaved laborers!”

The youth spoke not, but only gazed outward again into the empty wind-swept desert beyond, trying hard not to betray his emotion; but yet still sensing the old man’s gifted intuition, gasping as he stared through wide eyes toward the distant Sierra Madrea. The force within provoking him, was that of necessity, but unknown to him, soon that force would transform into powerful compulsion. Only he, and the power of his conscious mind, could refrain this internal power from transforming into the driving might of wrought obsession and degenerate greed.

“What does he look like?,” inquired the youth, with renewed attentiveness.

The old man laughed gently, taking another hearty drink from the dark brown bottle he held in his labor scared, sun grizzled right hand.

“They say he is shinny black, as the bleakest midnight, my dear lad..His eyes. so they say., red as hearth side coals glowing within the enveloping twelfth striking darkness. So it is said, he never appears in the light of day, only while enshrouded within the thickest midnight blanket of darkness.

“On the distance one can hear the rumble of his hooves, and literally feel the frightening enrapture of his thunder song. Then his piercing demon eyes shall give him away from all of the others.; I say again, what reveals him to the invested seeker are his piercing eyes, and the melody of his proud freedom song. When pursued, he only rides away on the midnight wind, taunting his pursuers with the enrapturing magic of his spirit song.”

The youth spent a bit more time sitting and speaking with the elder regarding current events throughout town, desert jack rabbits and the best method of catching one, and the road runners who tend to be attracted by the dazzling menagerie of cacti coo coo. Then it was time to amble on, he reluctantly determined in silence, as he noticed the brilliant orb of the sun easing downward toward distant mountains on the horizon.

He shoved his right hand into this pocket, feeling a hand full of lose change and nine larger, round pesos. As he arose, ambling westward toward the sinking sun, he paused before an elderly lady at a nearby fruit stand, carefully purchasing nine green apples. He clearly knew specifically what was the needed task to fetch his heart’s greatest desire, almost as certain as the sun would rise tomorrow from the direction of the distant sea. The lady placed the apples into a grease saturated brown paper bag, and the boy ambled onward from the town, toward the mountains on the horizon, and the quickly sinking sun.

Tonight would be as many another night. He would only amble out of town, on passed the ragged, shattered hard surfaced road meandering through the town, and far out into the forbidding sand swept, cactus splattered desert, to the north and the south. East and west was where the scorching sun rose and set from, coming to rest somewhere comfortably behind the Sierra Madre.

Halfway between this road and the Sierra Madre in the distance, was a huge hollow stone, bulging outward from beneath the surface of the earth. Here he would make his bed and temporary abode for the evening, and the following remainder of the week. Normally morning would find him still resting snugly inside his bedroll; but not this coming morning, for he was to be up and out, ambling with a strong gait toward the Sierra Madre. He had an obligating task to full-fill.

He awoke, arising to stand outside in the fresh morning air. According to the position of the little dipper in relation to the north star, he estimated where the time was approximately 0330 in the morning. The gentle coolness of the desert wind in dawn air, blew in steady puffs, causing his body to chill as he walked. He did not want to leave the toasty comfort of his bedroll, but he was compelled to by this newly discovered desire deep within.

He scanned the air with his ears as he walked cautiously along, nearing the Sierra mountains still laying in the sand swept desert distance. He thought he detected a low rumble of hooves on the distant desert wind, but he could never be absolutely sure. According to what he was told, if morning found him first, before he discovered the magic spirit stallion, the singing horse would vanish from all mortal eyes until the enveloping darkness of the following night.

He continued searching the air with his ears and the landscape surrounding him with his eye, but with the dim light of the dawning day enlightening the broad area, he knew already failed in the endeavor on this first early morning out.

Ahead of him at the base of the rising landscape and the natural entrance way leading directly into the rising mountains, he beheld a large area of clover , splattered with happy nourishing calcimine and violet blossoms gracing the foot of a gradual upward rising slope. He strained his eyes to the point his head throbbed. He thought he had finally found what he was in search of., an area within a surrounding mountain gateway, apparently stomped out by the hooves of wild horses. He was well aware of his particular herd of horses being one of a number, completely void of the midnight spirit stallion; but t no way of knowing existed unless he could entice the herd to remain stationary. This individual stallion then could potentially be selected.

He reached into the lard grease saturated paper bag, gingerly retrieving three of the nine apples he thought to carry along. Carefully he placed the three into the center of this large clover patch, where fresh horse sign was most noticeable. Surly if spirit stallion was ever here, he will return; and he will certainly return again once he discovered and tasted of these lush, crunchy apples.

“My gift to you, spirit stallion” spoke Juan, as he placed the three green apples into their proper position at the center of the clover patch. “Come now, and freely take,” the boy spoke into the whispering wind as it puffed hard into his face.

Behind a large boulder jutting from the earth he took his position, opening his eyes only to be greeted by the glowing bright light of a dawning day. He ambled over toward the center of the clover patch, only to discover the three apples laying exactly as they were placed. .Juan inhaled a deep breath, gazing ahead toward the distant horizon, glancing above toward an empty clear blue sky, then back down toward the apples.

“Another day shall come, spirit stallion, another day...”

He turned from the entrance way, back toward the desert and the town in which he walked away from earlier on. On his way back, he paused at the hollow stone, carefully laying the brown bag filled with the remaining apples, back inside the stone hollow .

He would eventually make his way back into town. He may purchase an enchilada or a fresh tamale with a couple of his remaining pesos. A good fruit soda would serve to faithfully wash the food down.

Here in town there would be shade from the sweltering sun and plenty of half interesting company. Maybe he could find the same elder as he did earlier, who would tell him more stories of the spirit stallion; or maybe he would run into another, who would tell him new stories about the horse, stories unlike any he heard thus far. Better yet, maybe there was a secret to finding this horse, some proven technique laying in waiting for him to discover, then his worries and anticipation would all subside! Certainly his success planned for his oppressed family and their salvation, would then be only a matter of time. He casually walked over to an enchilada stand with a smiling young girl running it, who was only a few years older than himself.

“Chicken or beef?,” she asked, as she gleefully lifted the perfectly clean covering cloth laying over a large silver platter on which the enchiladas were neatly stacked.

“I’ll take beef, please, and a chicken tamale, if you have one.”

“You know I always do,” replied the girl with a warm smile.

“And they are always the very best!,” replied Juan, with special emphasis on the word best. “How much?”

“Normally I would ask a peso a piece for these, but since it is you I am selling to., I guess I will accept only one peso for both,” replied the cheerful girl.

“Don’t tell anybody, but one day I will come buy every one of them. You’ll see..,” replied a broadly smiling Juan.

“I’ll be right here, as I always have been. Where are you planning to go there, Juan? Far across the northern border, into the land of golden plenty? I’ve heard the streets there are literally paved with pure gold, and it rains diamonds and pearls twice a week!,” spoke the girl with a wide beaming smile.

“Not really, but who knows? Anything is possible with me these days,” laughed the youth, continuing to smile broadly.

“Well, if you can swim, run, and hide with great skill, then you might make it across. My great uncle says one does not really even have to do all of that. The boarder guards do not really care, since the corporations there are using us to subvert the established wage base, while intending to weaken both the effectiveness and power of established labor unions.

“He says he literally has seen guards simply turn the other way, as his and thirty more conspicuously swam the Rio Grande. He says the corporations are giving the guards an additional monthly stipend, three times greater than the greatly reduced pay of the average salary. There remains so little because of the excessive tax, callously extorted insurance fees, and the extorted back end fees for energy use. So he says, the face of poverty is appearing even up there; yet still excessive wealth remains compared to this place here, depending on one’s specific location.

“Over there, he says, the gangster cartel are in charge of the entire government, not the common men down the street. For those reasons, the boarder guards are only delighted to accommodate the large corporation’s labor needs. This oversight, however, seems to go and come with the changing of the day. None of them could ever determine a consistent pattern, or as to exactly why it was all so on the day before in the first place.”

She spoke the words as she carefully selected and placed the boys’ order into another lard oil saturated brown paper bag.

“Well then, like I said earlier, who knows? If they have a need and the pay rate require, then we might work something out,” replied Juan, with a smile and a quick laugh, to the wise girl.

Juan turned, slowly making his way back toward the bamboo diner where he was seated the day before, in the company of the wise elder. He took his seat in the same chair, at the same table, and began to snack on his lunch. As he walked from the enchilada stand over toward the diner, he thought to pick up an ice cold refreshing bottle of fruit soda. The price was only half a peso, so he still had plenty of money remaining for the next three days or more. He sat quietly eating his lunch as people plodded by, to and fro.

Soon Jose’, a local herdsman, paused to have a seat. He was only approximately four years older than Juan, and already amassed a sizable herd of goats and sheep, some three hundred strong. He specialized in meat, leather, and according to local reports, some of the best in breeding stock. His young lambs were fetching some of the highest returns in the local market. He eased his tall, thin muscular body down into the seat, only two chairs over from Juan.

“Well hello, mi amigo! Como estas?,” the sheep herder turned to say, as he smiled broadly into Juan’s direction.

“Hollo, muy bien! I have not seen you here in a long time, my friend,” replied Juan.

“True, I spend my time out on the plains with my herd, making my leather and preserving my meats. What about yourself?”

“Well I am here and there,” replied Juan. “I work in town here, and other places.”

“I understand well, my friend. I am a wanderer of sorts, my self. I go from this desert, into that one. I always travel mostly by the light of the moon and stars. I do this to avoid the extortion fees directed specificity to business people, making use of natural resources in the deserts. Los Seniores want a fee to cross into El Canyon. Los Zetas want their fee to cross into El Mar De Arena.

“I avoid the extortion fees by traveling at night, taking shelter in the mountain valleys for days, sometimes even weeks. So I understand, the penalty for avoiding these fees is death by fire, if I am ever captured; or more than likely, death by beheading, since these people love to display the heads of their victims on poles sitting by the ragged, dust swept roadsides, with broad cards tacked to the poles underneath the head; bearing large letters displaying their violations to any who may pass by on the local roads and pathways. I guess these make their point, loud and clear, my friend,” spoke Jose’ with a glint in his eyes, and a slight laugh in his voice.

“Without a doubt,” replied Juan. “How have you managed to avoid them?”

“I watch for signs in the animals dwelling in the landscape around me. The eagle flying high has a way of shortening his broad circles when danger is approaching. The deer race into my direction from abroad. The desert cactus warbler makes his very nervous call, always alerting the observant, my dear friend. The ground hogs suddenly and without warning, race into their holes and remain there, without surfacing. Few realize it, but they posses the ability to sense vibrations from afar, way out beyond the range of human senses. But I have another friend who always alerts me amigo., and I dare say he is the truest friend any man of the desert can posses.”

“Tell me about this friend, man, I want to hear..,” replied Juan in earnest.

“He is not a man, my friend. He is known as the midnight ghost of the Sierra winds. He runs free with the sky herd. He is lord over this herd, my friend., just like he is lord of the desert vastness and the entire Sierra Madre’.”

“What does he look like, Jose’?,” inquired Juan

“Just as perfectly black as midnight, my dear Juan. Some say he is a living part of the midnight, but a part living and thriving within a greater whole.”

“Have you seen him?,” asked Juan.

“Indeed I have, my friend. I have neared him close enough that I actually laid my hand upon his perfect neck, moving my hand downward to feel his sleek midnight fur. My very fingers have combed through his mane, with a respectful gracefulness rivaling even that of a man and his most talented female lover.”

Juan suddenly alighted with a fresh excitement at Jose’s informing words.

“Please tell me more, my dear friend. How did you near him to that point? Where might I find him?,” asked Juan, to the point he feared appearing to beseech.

“Tonight is the crescent moon, but the night of a special crescent moon, a moon that shall hex the midnight spirit stallion as it shall the entire natural world. It is called the bleeding crescent moon, for it shall literally bleed red as blood on the exact time of the twelfth striking, right there before the eyes of the entire world to behold. None but the most astute shall manage to do witness this astonishing event, and fewer heed the extending word.

According to both the Navaho and Apache prophets, both the old ones in ages passed, and those among them living to this very day; the blood of this moon shall foretell the dawning of a new brotherhood between men and nature. This event is destined as a forthcoming brotherhood, where evil shall pass, and all mankind shall sit at the table of union, as a single unit, both with one another and the natural world. All fear and trepidation shall pass soon, my friend. All fear and reasons to fear, shall part from the mortal earth, soon, very soon. Soon, and very soon, my good friend., all the saints shall hail this glorious celestial manifestation, offering forth their yearning hearts, minds, body, and their very souls...”

“Tell me more, my friend, please tell me more!,” inquired Juan, in yearning, pleading gasps, nearing to the point of weeping.

“Go back out toward the Sierra Madrea, my friend. Go to the place of the clover there, in the great hidden entrance way into the illustrious enchanted range of majestic mountains. At the twelfth striking he will appear there in the center of that clover, guarding his precious, mysterious herd. When the moon begins to bleed, he will be much more apt tonight, to allow an approach.

“Be extremely careful in your approach, my friend, for many have done so, only to become immediately enraptured as their souls were possessed by the evil ghosts of self-serving domination, lust, and greed. Please, my dear one, do not allow this possession of your unadulterated soul to take place!

“The majestic enrapturing beauty of his form carries with it in company, the bane three apparitions, who ride the winds with the midnight stallion in search of new souls to possess and mortal bodies to lead into undignified destruction; thereby sealing for all eternity, the forlorn fate of their weeping spiritual being.”

“Give me more of this sacred instruction,” my dear friend..” asked Juan.

“When the stallion shall appear tonight, before the twelfth striking, carry the other six apples.; for your subconscious elements have instructed your mind to begin with the required sanctified nine already, and the ghost winds have whispered this knowledge unto me, my dear one.”

The young man leaned over toward Juan, whispering in low mysterious tones as he spoke.

“I know he already accepted your gift of the precious three.

Unbeknownst to you, the apples were procured from a natural orchard high atop shadow mountain, the exact point upon the very alter where the astounding Apache prophetess, Sapientissimo, consulted with the ancient spirit gods, seeking divine instruction before the Apache made great flaming war upon the Spanish and the Mexicans, effectively driving them from their cherished place of enchantment for all eternity.”

“Go then, into the place of the clover, bearing the precious remaining sacred six. Approach very slowly with the next three, for the magic stallion shall recall your former gift, of which he has already graciously accepted. He shall not deny your gift, because he shall recall the sanctity of the former three.

“Approach very slowly, my dear friend, very slowly, place your hand upon his sleek majestic fur, which shall radiate forth glowing sapphire sparks in the gentle midnight breeze, further indicating the fact of his form being more that of a sanctified specter, than only of mortal physical, flesh and fur. As you offer the hallowed gift, whisper words of contentment and good cheer into his ear. Tell him your name, and how you come unto him in peace, and in the name of eternal brotherhood.

“For it is said, my dear friend, should he fully accept your gifts and the absolute truth in your words, and you demonstrate the strength in your character unto him by refusing any persuading temptations of the bane three; then you may merge as a single spiritual unit with him; riding forth into eternity upon the ghost wind, into a radiating glorious realm of holy apparitions, to savor the pleasures of a celestial Elysium oasis, for a most blessed infinity.”

“Gracious adios, mi bueno amigo.. mucho gracious,” whispered Juan, bowing respectfully in warm gratitude.

“I must return into the desert to guard my flocks, my friend. If you ever near my pasture, then feel free to pause and converse, enjoying the luscious nectar potions conceived from the high desert cactus flowers gathered, using hand harvesters crafted from long lodge pole pines.”

“And that very thing I shall do, my dear friend, in the near future,” replied Juan, in gracious farewell.

As his dear friend made his way back out into the forbidding desert sands, Juan glanced back toward the sun, which had commenced it’s downward decent, back into it’s nest somewhere behind the majestic Sierra Madre. On the inside, the desire to behold the stallions dominating form was increasingly becoming more than only an inner longing, but now more a deep inner compulsion bordering on raw obsession, even though his eyes had yet to get a single solid glimpse.

He arose from his seat, beginning an aimless walk through the town to free his mind of the heavy laden thought. He glanced toward the smiling faces of the girls his own age as he walked passed, who always nodded toward him saying; Ven aqui, mi amigo, vamos ahacer negocios..tengo frutas, carnes y herramientas, utiles para la venta!

Then as he passed the long line of small shops, soon finding himself out in the streets. He noticed the stern, rugged blank faces of elders, who said nothing, but were only sitting around in idle wastefulness and hopelessness, waiting to pass on into eternity, embracing eternal relief from the pain of living.

As he ambled along the partially paved but very shattered road immediately passed the wasting elders, small clusters of very well dressed young women would appear from amid the concrete rubble structures bunched up tightly along either side of the road. Their young faces seemed to be painted up in a way appearing more as a reluctant cake icing, than any sort of artistic inspired work.

As he neared them they would all gather about as they yelled: Ven aqui, mi gran hombre. De’jame ser tu mujer por la noche!

When he ambled on passed without returning any comment to their gracious offerings, they would reply, speaking in harsh tones; Asi es, usted nino, vas de vuelta a casa a su madre!

Every now and then, a very enraged shrill voice would yell; Si necesita romper alli hijo, puedo mostrarle lo que un hombre de verdad se siente como!

Most of the time, he would simply hold his head down as he walked along, staring at the dust and rubble strewn road beneath his sandal shod feet, never even bothering to glance up at the painted faces who yelled such provokative comments.

Up ahead on passed the painted girls and young women, loomed the sun hardened face of a security man, donned in desert camouflage wear, and slim jet black leather combat boots. Across his left shoulder was slung a fully automatic AK-47, with the filled maxi cartridge tightly inserted, and more than three more filled and tucked away in his thigh pockets. Crisscrossing his shoulders were two leather belts filled with brand new 223 cartridges of shinny glittering brass.

The man gazed out upon him with hard observing eyes, as if he were attempting to peer deep into his very soul. As he neared him, he immediately noticed a large clearly tattooed Z on both sides of the man’s exposed neck. Juan’s heart nearly stopped beating inside his breast, but he swallowed the shock down hard, attempting to appear undaunted by the sudden observation. The man closely observed his every move as he walked passed, but did nothing more than that, as far as Juan could see.

Up ahead was a narrow cart road branching to the right. Without glancing backward, he made a hard right, then cut back again to the left on farther down; skillfully moving to get out of the commando’s line of sight, but hoping to do so without being obvious while walking along at a normal relaxed pace. Ahead of him loomed the gradually fading edge of the town, and the desert vastness beyond.

Even now as he ambled along, he could make out the tall, flowering cacti and the rolling tumble weed on the horizon. He crossed the boarder of the town as the descending sun seemed to touch the top of the mountains looming on the horizon in the distance.

As he moved toward the falling sun and the mountains beyond, the town the desert environment felt as if it were swallowing him up. The town soon seemed far behind now, so with the falling sun to his face giving him effective cover and serving to enrich his hindsight, he glanced backward toward the town and the street in which he had last traveled.

In the distance, about a third of the way from the edge of the town limits, but back into town, he could see the faint, but clearly obvious figure of a man wearing camouflage, paused stoically as if he were struggling to observe in the brilliant orange evening sunlight. He was clearly aware of the sunlight blinding the man, offering him excellent concealment, but he was also aware that the man must have intuitively suspected that he had intentionally ambled off into the falling sun. A person walking into the sun must be attempting to evade pursuers.

It would also be a logical assumption that a person on the run would always determine the time in which he was to travel, then possibly position his hideaway in the direction east or west of the nearest population center, in order to take advantage of the sun by traveling toward town with it to his back and traveling away from town with it shining into his face, while still illuminating his backward glance.

Some people are even known to head out of the population center in a western direction in the evening, then swing outward to the east after dark. Not only does this take advantage of the rising sun for cover, but it also allows one to make use of creative trickery, if he suspected he was being pursued. Everyone knows these tricks, if he knows the outdoors. To be safe, he was forced to assume that the man observing was knowledgeable as well. To ensure his own safety, he must anticipate his own pursuit and serve to trick the agent sent to arrest him, in lieu of that anticipation.

Tonight he would relocate from the hollow boulder, going high into the Sierra Madre to find a place where he might observe the direction of his former lodging, anticipating the emergence of his own pursuers. He could now already see that tonight was definitely going to be a special night for more reasons than only one.

By the time that he had entered into the mountain causeway, the sun had already slipped slightly behind the mountain summit. There was still enough light so see, and in reality, since he was now on the dodge from possible pursuers, now was probably the best time for him to be out. He paused in passing by his former place of abode, the hollow boulder, retrieving his bedroll and a homemade backpack filled with possibles he had collected in his wandering. He procured a well worn jack knife, a hone he had picked up by the creek-side, a nice flint and a piece of steel, some fish hooks and line. He had also been lucky enough to find a ripped out fishing net, with a twelve by twelve section that was still in very good condition. A partial machete was good to keep around he had learned.

All of these items he bore with him inside a home stitched pack-bag crafted from a pair of worn out jeans someone had discarded along the way, mounted on willow sticks tied together using scrounged copper wire to form an A frame. This simple design allowed for a fairly comfortable back pack to transport his newly acquired items, and more that were surely yet to come. These items were very precious to him, and some he never wanted to be without.

Juan moved forward ahead toward the rising base at the foot of the first mountain. There, about a hundred feet upward or so, was a noticeable crag. It must be very deep, and may even conceal a meadow valley within, as they are sometimes known to do. From that crag it also appeared he would have a clear view of the flat desert floor back in the direction of the town and his old abode. There he could observe clearly without ever being silhouetted or observed. Such a find out in the desert makes the perfect place for a person on the run.

He carefully walked the gradual rise until it became steep enough that the walk transformed into a strenuous climb. Soon he made his way upward upon what appeared from the lower heights, as being a narrow summit ridge, but in reality was a fifty feet wide, more or less, grass covered rim. The area appearing as a crevice was in reality a ridge going up and down, with areas cutting deeply backward at an angle, directly into the side of the mountain.

Not only did this area create a nicely secluded area to make into a home, it was perfectly concealed from view of the outside, but yet allowing him to have a complete view before him and to the far right, back toward the city and his old place of abode. In the distance, along the flat plain of the desert floor, he could almost make out exactly where the boulder was he once lived in. As a matter of fact, he thought he really could make out the rise in the desert floor concealing the boulder from his complete view.

From his high position, the area only appeared to be a few hundred yards out, but in reality, it stood more than four miles from his straining eyes. When his head commenced to throb, he would remove a child’s toy binoculars he had picked up from a trash heap near the center of town a day or so before. These metal glasses were not the real thing by far and away, but they were better than nothing at all. To tell the truth about it, these glasses performed almost as well as some real binoculars he had looked through in the past. When he carefully zoomed in on the topographical rise far out in the desert floor, sure enough, he could determine definitively that the place was indeed his former place of abode.

Soon nightfall would settle in, so he lay his supplies inside the slanting debit, and he commenced to gather wood for his night fire, and began constructing a raised platform for his bedding.

Upon completing his raised bedding platform and procuring the necessary materials for making a home inside the large debit, he eased backward to relax upon the stone crevice wall. Before him he had lain twelve lodge pole pine saplings at an angle snugly up against the stone wall of the large debit. In between theses he could weave the branches cut from the sapling trunks, and vines, as well as other boughs he had collected, until it formed a tightly packed wall between himself and the cold night air rifling inside from the narrow mountain pass without.

A nice mesquite fire dancing before him in a predetermined place , where it would remain invisible from the outside, would more than aptly set the atmosphere within. Soon it was only a matter of waiting until the eleventh hour immediately before the twelfth striking. His only clock would be the little dipper and it’s position in relation to the north star, which was almost like that of a clock and it’s hands up in the night sky.

In the distance he could hear the tenner barking howl of a coyote pack on the stirring night wind. Every now and then, he could make out the low pitched howl of a wolf, with the others soon chiming in to remind one there was a pack of wolves about, and not only a single one. Others were on the hunt besides his most direct and dangerous enemies, but he had much less to fear from the wolves and coyotes than the men who were in pursuit of him.

Time seemed to pass quickly, more quickly than it should have. Maybe he had fallen asleep, he did not know for certain. He glanced up at the little dipper, taking notice that it was nearing the exact opposite direction from where it had been positioned at the onset of darkness. According to true time, it was now eleven o’clock approximately. He must head outward now, deep into the forbidding darkness, to arrive at the place of the clover patch deep inside the natural gateway into the majestic Sierra Madre.

Somewhere along the way while he was in town earlier, he picked up a leather throng and a hand sized piece of leather, which he trimmed into a functional shape. He cut two slits into either side of the diamond shaped patch. He passed the leather throng through these two slits, being very careful to tie a small loop into one end of the string, effectively crafting a nice, but deadly throwing sling. Although making these things as a young kid served the purpose of owning a toy, now it was lethal business.

With a smooth stone picked up from the desert floor, he could throw the fatal projectile a hundred yards with a fair amount of accuracy. He had actually knocked goats down from time to time, stunning them with this weapon, only to be dispatched with a throat slash of his jack knife blade. Surly he could slay a man, if he needed to do so.

With his razor edged knife and his grim sling, he headed fearlessly into the thick blanket of darkness, making his way toward the clover patch. Little was he aware of at the time, but he was crossing from the realm of early youth, into the world of strong, budding manhood.

He walked with a high stepping firm, but very brisk pace. His tendency now was to propel his body forward from the ball of his foot, in tiptoe stepping fashion. By turning his feet inside as he stepped, not only could he move with a very brisk stride, but more importantly, he had trained himself to move about in near absolute silence, in a way resembling the deer and the leaping desert antelope. Matter of fact, he had taught himself the tactic of walking from watching these animals as a young child.

Soon he crested a scrub covered rise preceding the natural gateway and the clover patch. He scanned the dark area before him, straining his ears on the wind, listening and looking for sign of the spirit stallion, but he heard nothing. He glanced upward into the clear starlit sky, beholding the crescent moon, but one of brilliant golden yellow rather than a bleeding rouge, as he had been informed to seek out. According to ancient legend, the bleeding crescent moon, among everything else, would herald the coming of a massive earth quake destined to remove the corrupting curse and scar of mankind from upon the face of the earths most cherished, sacred areas. It was a heavenly sign that the earth was becoming angered by the careless self-serving actions of men, according to the ancient legends.

Then abruptly, his ears caught the astonishing sound. A hoof chopping into the sand.. A horses long snort.. He strained his eyes before him, in the direction from which the sounds came. A dark figure looming in the bleak void surrounding him appeared to move, then his eyes caught a glaring glint in the starlight, he gasped for breath. He must have made a sound as he gasped, for suddenly the figure reared upright, and his widened eyes beheld the backward thrown figure of a dark horses’ head, and his ears beheld a proud stallion’s mighty song. When the horse’s forefeet were replaced back upon the earth, he tossed his head, snorting in Juan’s direction repeatedly as he did so..

El Caballo De Los Deosis, Juan whispered quietly into the wind in the direction of the stallion. “Esta noche eres mia,” he continued to whisper. “I am like you, we are one in the same. True, no man may own you outright, but one may own you as you own him. “Esta noche sera’ propietaria de uno a otro”

The majestic stallion continued to paw the sand with his hoof, slinging his head and snorting in Juan’s direction. Juan arose from his concealed place, gently easing along forward in the direction of the stallion, very quietly walking on the ball of his feet in near total silence with three green apples in his carefully rolled up bandanna carry bag. The stallion reared again, standing proud and tall upon his hind legs, singing his boisterous song into the night wind of the desert surrounding. His feet came to rest again on the desert floor...

“You may be one of the spirit world, qey el ray de los caballos salvajes, but unlike the average man, I am of that same spirit, destined with you only to return into that same world, but as one with you,” whispered Juan into the wind as he crept ever closer.

Clearly he could behold the stallion as he proudly stood in the now exposed moonlight there on the soft clover before him. The feeling coursing through his veins was more like that of him beholding a majestic god, than only an untamed stallion. His heart began to race, and the stallion stood completely motionless..

In the silence of his mind he caught himself, for the spirit of possession bore down hard in the pit of his heart. But the desire to obtain, to control what was perceived as being uncontrollable, was far more powerful than his gentle mind ever conceived of in the past.

Ahead in distance, born seemingly from the glinting moonlight itself only to stand right beside the stallion, two ghastly apparitions appeared standing, then commenced to float in the direction of the young man. No matter how much Juan resisted, the tauntingly gleeful apparitions transcended the narrowing distance, entering into the body and soul of the young man. As they did so, the stallion reared again as lightening slashed the moonlit sky, and the sound of the midnight stallion rang so sweet and loud on the desert midnight wind, that it seemed every ear on earth was captivated by the enrapturing music.

Juan gritted his teeth, saying into the wind as the thunder rolled;

“The spirit demons of greed and possession may have forcefully entered into my mortal body, but they will never capture my soul. For my soul is that of my own, and it is only mine to posses and the domain of no other, but that of my own...”

Juan neared the stallion up very close, who seemed strangely calm all of a sudden. In his left hand he held the sacred apple, easing it close to the lips of the stallion, who eagerly accepted. With his right hand he ran his fingers through the stallions hypnotizing mane. On this very moment, he knew somehow there was no turning back. He was totally consumed by the touch, by the sleek feel and the look perceived clearly in the glow of the occasional moonlight.

He glanced high over his left shoulder, beholding the brilliance of a haunting golden crescent, as it slowly oozed a sublime blood colored rouge. Sudden lightening flashed and thunder rolled on a strangely sudden clear, starlit desert sky. As the pace of the midnight wind increased, he beheld the chanting voices of ancient native prophets combining with the howling wind song, who had foretold the night and the stories of the elders over the ages, who then carried the message of these prophets onward through the succeeding generations.

Though he battled the mounting, powerful urge with all of his might, he could never resist the desire to merge with the events, rather than battle against it. The urge to battle against it bore the signature of mortal weakness, a weakness inspired by the evil spirits of repressive control, and self serving possession. As the voice of the prophets sang aloud on the midnight wind, he desired more to merge with the events, than simply to posses it’s sacred manifestation found in the form of this majestic wild horse. His hands stroked the sleek coat of the midnight stallion, like an enraptured lover he allowed his fingers to stroke the hair of the stallions mane, as he spoke words of compassion into the twitching ward..

“Just allow me, oh great one, to ride proudly as you yourself run free on the open desert sands, to feel the wind as you feel it, as no other mortal has been allowed to. Is it not right, oh great one of the high plains, thou Lord of the midnight wind, for two born of the same spirit, to move about as a single unit?”

The stallion remained perfectly motionless as though he agreed with the endearing words Juan was speaking so elegantly into his twitching ears. The entire earth now seemed completely stilled, as though they were awaiting a most spectacular moment. The desert mice never moved, the coyotes or wolves hushed their howling, the entire mortal earth paused and waited for the enrapturing moment to emerge.

Juan fed the stallion the remaining five apples who eagerly received them. As the stallion consumed the last one from Juan’s left hand, with his trembling right hand he gently seized the stallions’ mane. With the grace of a professional gymnast, he swung his torso into graceful position directly onto the back of the midnight stallion. As he did so the wind abruptly quickened it’s pace, the thunder rolled across the empty desert stillness, only to echo enchantingly upon the mountain vastness.

Now the crescent moon was completely blood red, only the haunting chanting voices of those ancient prophets rode loudly and proudly on the desert wind. With another clash of thunder sang the shrill chant of Sapientissimo above all others, as she loudly proclaimed the return of those long lost ghost warriors and the thundering herds of buffalo. The earth itself would rebel against it’s ungrateful plunder by the Anglo, the Spaniard, and even his own authorities, the Mexicans.

Tonight however, Juan was born again, for his spirit destiny was not to lay among any sort of forlorn oppressors, but to stand tall among the proud and free. To live fully according to his own direction, even if it means to stand strong in a sacrifice of his own mortal body, in the name of absolute spiritual freedom.

So lies the importance of dwelling physically and intellectually among the eternally free, even if the price to pay for insisting on that freedom is to die, forever free. Paying that price is so much better than the ever looming alternative, which is only to dwell in total subjugation to an extortionist few, who bear the power to render all mortal life into a destitute, meaningless existence at best. Not his life, he now determined rigidly in the sublime light of the blood moon; as of tonight, never his life, for now a freeborn eternity was his timeless immortal destiny.

The spirit stallion reared, releasing his song onto the prevailing desert wind. As Juan’s body became seated upon his solid back, the stallion suddenly raced with the streaking of lightening strangely transforming from the color of pale sapphire, into an enchanting lavender of the reigning gods. The midnight stallion raced with great strength and endurance throughout the mountain peeks, onto the high stone alter of Shadow Mountain.

On the mountain summit in the distance against a midnight sky of flashing sapphire and sublime lavender, his eyes beheld the intrepid figure of Sapientissimo clothed in the luminescent robe of an ancient Apache priestess, pointing forward and yelling in a voice of falling river water and roaring wind to the stallion, instructing him to ride forward into the world of men, so that they might know the time of the long prophesied sacred coming had now arrived.

Proudly and tirelessly the stallion galloped, seeming to race forward with the desert wind, on down the mountain side out into the desert sands, never faltering nor growing wane in the race; but only increasing in vigor with each rolling clap of the midnight rumble. The fire in the desert sky, roll of the thunder, the chanting voices on the wind, were all enough to consume the soul of the youth, as he merged spiritually as one with the wind stallion. He did not know where the race would end, but then again, he did not even care at this point; he was totally consumed in complete joy by the rhythm of the sanctified ride, and the thrill of a never ending moment.

Up and down the mountains did the stallion race with the desert night wind, finally descending into the desert floor, continuing to race onward with the wind across the sand. Soon they raced toward the distant limits of El Mazateca, bringing lightening fire of brilliant ice blue, blush, and blood rouge. The awakened towns people raced from their slumbering berth, many seizing their weapons of fire and lead, or bows and arrows, taking wasted shots at the spirit stallion who raced directly into their very midst. The gathering crowds then only melting backward into a mounting, consuming fear. As they raced through the town, the chanting voice of the reigning prophetess declared aloud on the wind in her native voice, that their water would run as thick blood, and the town would be consumed by hoards of desert ratton and putrid moscas in their wake, for the prevailing unrighteousness of their inhabitants.

In what felt like an instant the ghostly figures of a midnight horse and a man rode onward, vanishing back out into the desert sands, still enveloped in the bleakness of night. Continually they passed through the habitations of men, forward on into the town of Rio El Jimenez, the gathering hoards of awakened townspeople gasping as the ghostly figures somehow transcended through their secured limits. As they rode proudly onward, the townspeople could only stand idly by and whisper among themselves;

“Who was he? What did his appearance mean, and what was the purpose of his coming?”

In what felt like moments they were passing through the limits of Llanura De Flores Celestials, truly a most beautiful town within it’s own rights, but one who’s domination was given over to wicked men through the prevailing weakness of their inhabitants. For that weakness and lack of precious fortitude, they were all destined to suffer horribly.

Following their exit from the limits of the desert town, the horse and rider made their way back out into the vast sands, on forward for many miles now in the direction of the slightly dawning sun. This time they were heading in the direction of La Ciuadad De La Liberacio’n Mortal, truly the most corrupted and debauched city in the realm of mortal men. Once hailed as a perfect Sodom Of The Golden Sands.

Here, it was in this place of dazzling contrasts, of flower menagerie, comforting pool side weeping willows and majestic blossoming arbor, along side of comforting water side gazebo, all encompassed within the world of forbidding wind swept desert sand, that men went about masquerading as women and women as men, each only living to serve the most tarnished, debauched desires of himself, in complete disregard of the celestial, divine.

Huge ceremonial crowds gathering in a taunting festivity, taking gross pleasure in great insult to El Dios Divino, before the great Master Of The Universe, to perform their vile matrimonial mascaraed for the entire earth to bear witness. It was here among this place of the vilest debauchery, that the figure of a man and a midnight stallion made their most triumphant passing, with the emergence of the dawning Adonis, radiating it’s warm embracing arms throughout the sand swept vastness, heralding a birthing redeeming day soon to come.

The vast murmuring crowds gathered all throughout as searing flames struck in an astounding instance, consuming buildings as they stood, destroying standing crops, and racing toward these debauched inhabitants. In addition to their bodies being corrupted, their very blood had been corrupted by their mergers with the female man-beasts that were conducted during their pernicious Satanic festivals and flaunting blasphemous Mardi Gras; all done in complete disregard for the natural love of mortal womankind and an abiding adoration of all that is righteous.

As a result of these mergers, their defiled offspring were only cast into an unrighteous void, forever destined to wallow in and repeat the infected carnival mockery. From the desert surrounding, marched forth lions and serpents, consumed by the urge for vengeful redemption inspired by the power and fortitude of La Ma’s Divina, and the majestic seraph who surround his sanctified throne.

As the spirit stallion and the man raced through the center of the desert town, great throngs of people stood pointing and screaming in tremendous mounting fear;

“Look, the divine one has come upon us for the great harvest, and we are all destined only to end up inside the chaff pile, and the horrible consuming, indefinite flames! Run, quickly run! Hide yourselves from his raging fury!’”

The emotions varied from the inhabitants. Most were those of consuming fear, some very few righteous among their ranks, by joy, and a large and growing number by ever mounting anger. The anger of those so consumed caused them to throw empty bottles and flaming brands, fire their automatic riffles and their tainted arrows at the figures; but no harm could ever come upon the two as they raced forward upon the desert night wind.

Before time could be calculated, the horse and the man were exiting the limits of the corrupted city, riding on farther still into the dawning sun above the horizon, and on toward the town of El Obregon laying in the shimmering distance. In the distance behind them as they raced forward, a huge column of smoke seen for hundreds of miles, announced a catastrophic end to the place of liberated debauchery and a villainous deteriorating consuming style of living.

As they raced toward the town of El Obregon, the Zetas already heard the broad call for their suppression. Upon the very description of the man, they were all aware that they were dealing with a man who was once the youth of their efforts to persecute; for his very incarcerated family were mercilessly pressed with viciousness anew, to give his accurate description as time had continued forward on. This time there would be no escape, neither for him nor the immaculate stallion worth his weight in gold. It was all just a matter of enclosing him. They knew from where it was that he entered in from.

They would seize up the man to skin him alive, and preserve his head for the entire earth to behold. They would capture the midnight stallion, they endeavored, who would be destined for the far northern markets where the cartel would fetch a price for him more than his weight in gold. The professional racers from as far away as the great time-honored derby in the state of Kentucky were already lining up, each placing a higher bid than the one before him. Not only that, the stud service fees would fetch the highest of any ever received, some declaring these would pay nine times the price of an ounce in gold, and that much was only for the seed of this glorious wind stallion.

The Zetas all donned in their camouflaged attire, with their automatic rifles and their dart guns, their darts filled with the encompassing drugs; leaped into their military Hum Vee Jeeps, dozens of them scattered forward disorganized into the desert, all moving in the direction of the stallion and the man. Soon they neared the two, the mass of jeeps parting and making a huge closing circle; but the racing spirit stallion never halted, racing directly through a narrow opening in the jeep circle before any could react and cause it to close

. On into the town the two did race, welcomed by the rolling thunder, the flash of raging lightening and roaring wind. The townspeople followed along in a vast crowd, all of them knowing well of the ancient herald in their sanctified emergence.. In the little time remaining the two had made their exit from the town limits, galloping onward proudly toward the majestic Sierra Madre in the nighttime desert panorama distance

Immediately the Zetas anticipated their predestined place of abode, and an army of men raced forward in the whining jeeps, then exited out on foot to secure the sacred place at the alter on Shadow Mountain. They were all aware of the legend where the spirit stallion would emerge in the distant future, to unite with the divine spirit prophetess, Sapientissimo. to ride forward into their eternal destiny, heralding to all the earth the mighty manifestation of the great celestial redeemer.

With the mounting army of jeeps at their rear, the man and the stallion dashed forward into the natural gateway of the Sierra Madre. Though the commandos tried to encircle them by jeep and on foot, all of them soon failed into bitter frustration. Quick as a flash the stallion zipped past the jeeps and the men on foot almost as if running directly through their physical bodies, soon to the astonishment of all, ascending the mountain heights with the footed skill of a mountain goat. In no time both he and the rider were at the summit of Shadow Mountain.

The commandos were already there in waiting, closing in surrounding them. Directly from his hip Juan pulled his broken sharpened machete, slashing viciously as the rearing stallion raced about. At a sudden instant, a brilliant flash of light struck in the midst of the circling commandos from somewhere above, blasting out an opening in their midst. Through this opening, the stallion surged forward, only now being able to race toward the mile high cliff edge...

“Give it up, man!,” screamed the Zeta Gran Maestro. “You have no where to go! Your fate is certain doom! Indeed, on this day Santa Muerte shall reap her a fine harvest.”

“Yes,” screamed Juan into the howling wind, “but what was once free is always destined to remain free, and if it cannot choose to remain free, then it will always choose to die., forever free!”

As the determined commandos moved forward in their enveloping semi-circle, the midnight spirit stallion reared to sing it’s enchanting heavenly song on the wind once more again. The horse and the rider suddenly turned, racing with all their remaining strength toward the mile high cliff side as the military men closed in all around them and eventually directly upon them. As the soldiers gasped with a breath of absolute astonishment, the horse leaped, disappearing into the misty fog hanging beneath summit. The soldiers gazed in amazement ahead as the apparition form of Sapientissimo appeared to stand in the distance from the cliff side, with opened welcoming arms..

Among those Apaches who often dwell in the vast sandy distance beyond, it has been said that a great earth quake consumed the pursuing soldiers. Nine days later raging flames were carried forward by the wind spirits, to consume the structures of men, and to liberate both the repressed and the destitute.

The same great earthquake paused, then cruelly returned, swallowing all of the town structures valued by the repressive invaders and loathsome hoards. The evil containment facilities, where the innocent were so ruthlessly enslaved, were graciously liberated by the flame and the trembling earth, whereupon the repressed inmates fell upon the dust of the earth, in gracious eternal gratitude to the supreme deity of the universe.

With the land purged now of the corrupt, the beast-men born from mergers between aliens and reluctant indigenous virgins, the repressive invaders and the extortionist; all that now remains is the enrapturing chant of the spirit prophets amid the blessed rhythm pace of the ghost dancers. For all the righteous natives who had forsaken not their ancient time-honored traditions, now dwell in perfect harmony as one with the surrounding natural earth and each other. The only thunder now sounding is the returning herds of the sacred buffalo, all destined for a new dawning, eternal glory.

Among the elder Tarahumara tt is often said that on certain nights while out in the beautiful Sierra Madre, during the rein of the crescent moon; if one gazes forward with eagerness afresh, he can still behold the sparkling flames on the distant mountain horizon, of the spirit stallions’ hooves striking stones as he passes over the face of the earth. Many declare with a likewise affirmation, if one should listen with an invested intensiveness, he may still hear the distant mesmerizing song of the spirit stallion on the desert night wind.