The Eagle's Journey

By Carlos Martinez

Life is a constant search, a constant walk, where we learn, discover, find, assimilate, discard and more.
Stories, real and imaginary that have every intention of giving us answers to unite time, existence and its reason; projecting towards happiness or wellbeing.
Nonetheless, The Eagle`s Journey breaks the established paradigms in that we are not who we think we are. The path confuses us when we arent owners of our thoughts, but rather they own us.
Its hard to understand that perfect love is not the one we build in our mind; its the one that reveals itself when you convert it into consciousness.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Palibrio
• Release date: Oct 26, 2012
• ISBN: 9781463341725

Book preview

The Eagle’s Journey

Carlos Martínez

Copyright © 2012 by Carlos Martínez.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2012919584

ISBN:                     Hardcover                978-1-4633-4171-8

                               Softcover                  978-1-4633-4170-1

                               Ebook                      978-1-4633-4172-5

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Editor and corrections by Alejandra Lopez

Translation by Ximena del Campo

Cover designer by Diego Burbano

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

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Contents

Preface

Day 7

A SPECIAL INVITATION

TEN THOUSAND THINGS

THE LAST THOUGHT

Day 8

THE FEAR OF LIVING

THE MENTAL PICTURE

Day 9

THE RIGHT PATH

GOD’S PRESENCE

LIVING THE MOMENT

Day 10

THE HOMEOPATHIC GRACE

Day 11

UKHO, THE WELL INSIDE

ENCOUNTER

MEMORY’S SECRET LURE

Day 12

ON THE OTHER SIDE

Day 13

THE UNIVERSE BREATHES YOUR OWN BREATH

SENSORY ECSTASY

CHEMISTRY OF MARRIAGE

Day 14

NOW, NOW, NOW

DREAMS AND DISAPPOINTMENTS

Day 15

LETTING GO OF THE ATTACHMENT

THE 2437 STEPS

Day 75

BEHIND IMAGINARY BARS

Day 76

THE PSYCHOLOGICAL WEIGHT

TRUE GOODBYE

COME ON, SCREAM LOUDER!

Day 77

PAIN IS ALSO STRENGTH

THE MATERNAL BOND

Day 78

THE PATERNAL BOND

EASY TO LOOK OUTSIDE

Day 120

GOD’S ESSENCE

THE LAST FINAL FIRST CHAPTER

THE FRIENDLY CRUELTY

Author

Dedicated to Alba, Mauro, Paul, Vanessa,

Viviana and family for their unconditional love

Preface

Jorge Luis Borges, the great writer, says that the preface is that time in the book that the author is less author. He is almost a reader and now he’s earned the rights as such; that is to say, he’s earned—after having written his book—of a certain distance from that which he wrote. For this reason, Borges adds the preface is the beginning of the book but its time is postscript.

So it occurs to me, knowing, feeling having lived that this prologue is the postscript of a path taken; first in a journey of a personal experience, of deep spiritual impression; then, writing it. And writing is a gift of giving, to offer your own to the world; to be in the moment itself, reading—in the here and now of the reader.

The path of the eagle expresses a life choice that I’ve decided to embrace, as a result of many other journeys, in a search to find that which many great teachers and spiritual guides looked for. In my personal case, my search has been—and continues to be since I am alive—to be able to be in the world letting go, more and more, of the Ego that ties us so, filling us with things that we think are more than necessary but in reality take us away from the divine essence; the grace of being in the here and now. Only there, do we decide to be in harmony with the universe. As Basho, an old poet monk, advised his disciples thousands of years ago: Do not follow the path of the teacher, search for what they searched for; this is a great teaching that my spiritual guide taught me, who in this book, I’ve changed his real name to Peter—and who transmitted old teachings from other teachers, that I think are today of urgent certainty. At least for me, and I hope that once finished reading this book that it’ll be so for my readers, who I, here and now,—as Peter said—humbly transmit this to.

My wish is that in these pages The path of the eagle be for each and every one of you. I think I took the right path—as you will see in these pages the importance of the right path—that which, and just as Peter says transmitting the old wise ones, is the shortest and the driest, on this occasion, my correct path has been to take you, along my long spiritual trip, through these pages.

Carlos Martínez

Day 7

A SPECIAL INVITATION

We were now at the seventh day of this experience, and at last we had reached the rocky ditch, after an extensive trek along a path, that as we went up, it became more and more rocky and narrow, taking us away from the initial path. Despite this, it was as if nothing had started. Nothing. I kept asking myself, what was I doing in this moor, which we had reached, and me, exhausted, freezing cold, with the wind that wouldn’t stop blowing, furiously, fearlessly as if it were up against the world and we were its prize. At some point along the path, Peter said, he who insults the wind insults himself. I didn’t say a thing and I tried to be as calm as possible. After a while, as if understanding my purpose, Peter smiled pointing to the leaves, the twigs, saying that we had to learn from them, unavoidable friends of the wind. Unavoidable is what he said. And he added, upon taking some steps, some arduous steps up the slope—that the leaves, the twigs and even the grass had a responsibility to this friendship. This is why they are unavoidable to the wind, until the ultimate consequences. I became quiet, I was tired, worried and to add to it the wind and the dust that didn’t let me see, the clouds, getting thicker and darker, announcing one of those storms that you feel like being at home, in bed, rolled up in blankets, really warm. Peter stood against the wind and as if knowing what was happening to me, told me the place where we were. At last, I said to myself, at last this hike has ended! I stopped going round, fighting off the wind. I stood still; breathed deeply. Standing in the ditch which we had reached we could see the moor where we would set up camp; it looked intriguing, as if everything and the wind itself left its footprint to reveal itself in this immense green that didn’t stop stirring and involving this new landscape, so full of life with its long and restless stream zigzagging like the very devil’s tail. From the moor I could see a huge stone barrier that ascended from the esplanade where we were standing, with its plants growing from the rock unions, and just like that, facing the sunlight, nurtured from the humidity that flows from there. How wonderful!—I thought to myself—as if everything could be in agreement and be everything, as if everything followed its own path, and every path belonged to everything! I was absorbed just being there, when Peter told me that it was exactly here where, what we came to see happens, and something in me knew that this was so. At once, we started to put the cameras in strategic places to capture all the action, but maintaining a careful distance. We put a camera on top of a large tree full of branches. And when I say we put I mean to say Peter climbed up the large trunk and put it there. This man looks like a monkey—I thought—subdued by the lightness of his movements. Peter indicated to put a couple of cameras tied to the smaller trees, and that I put another one between two big rocks. It was by no means an easy feat for me, with the wind at my face and then having it on my back.

Only when we finished with the cameras, we started to set up camp. We had brought provisions and water for a couple of weeks, and two small tents that we had to place as close as possible to the cameras to be alert to every flight movement of our elusive visitor.

Fighting off the wind we took out what we could, from our backpacks until suddenly it got so dark that it looked like the sun had been swallowed. The sky was fearsome; it looked like it was coming towards us.

-We have our heads in the clouds!—screamed Peter as he tried to hold on to some sticks, with a smile from ear to ear. I couldn’t answer him: the wind blew the thermal blanket out of my hands, which ended up getting stuck on the crown of a tree. It fluttered like a flag. Oh my God! Why on earth am I here? I said. And the wind answered me: I fell down and sat like a child with bad thoughts. I grumbled, but I heeded to the wind and there I sat, grumbling, with my arms crossed, shivering. Peter, somewhere between being comprehensive and amused, told me to leave it, that it wasn’t worth it to climb up the tree to get it down. There will be time for that. No, dear God, I’ll freeze tonight! I thought. And a little voice inside told me to give in, let it go. OK I said, OK.

We decided to use one of the tents to put away the food and all our things, while the other one would be our place to rest.

I took us some time to find that mountain, so rocky and humid, a flat place that would allow us to have a wide and clear view where the eagle resided: our guest of honor. Once we were settled, I couldn’t stop thinking about that ‘Our guest of honor’ Is the eagle really our guest of honor? Or are we the guests? Like a giant that takes a step, leaping over a mountain, there it appeared above the highest peak displaying its wings and showing us its feathered chest, open. The sky and its body seamed to be of the same gray, light matter; its eyes so bright, you could easily mistake them for the sun’s rays peaking through the clouds.

It landed on the center of the ditch with the ease of the adult ones, knowing that we were in its territory, under the sky of its flight. And it was at this moment that I understood. The eagle was our host and we were its guests. It was as if