Category Archives: Landwork

Landwork, Workings

Hamilton Pool

I made it to Hamilton Pool yesterday.

Aside from a stone I’d planned to offer disappearing in under a minute, I can’t report any clearly supernatural anything.

Which is par for the course.

I’d hoped the cold weather and overcast would thin the tourism. It might have, but I was still sharing the area with 100 people or so. Many of them chattering away like humans should not in such places.

A panoramic photo of Hamilton Pool from inside the grotto.

The photo above shows a panorama, but of course the aspect ratio is a bit weird. You have to imagine the far left and right edges almost meeting behind you.

Two dominant features of the site are a waterfall near the left side of the opening and a moss-covered area near the right. There is a wavering line of drips from above that forms an arc between the two.

I say dominant because after walking all around the site, those were the two places that most drew my attention. The Texas Problem was still in evidence here. Though intellectually I could tell this was a place of power, between the other humans and the “cloak” I was barely picking up much of anything.

The first couple of hours was spent meditating in different spots, trying to do basic centering and grounding. This was a bit easier here than in the city, but not by much because there were still so many humans making disruptive noises.

I had fasted since the night before, not long, but enough to feel the drag of it. My hope was that it would sharpen my focus, which sometimes it does. I’m not sure if it helped, hindered, or neither.

After slowly making circumnavigating from the waterfall side to the beach (washed out in the center of the picture), I decided that the mossy area and the waterfall were the focal points where I needed to make offerings.

While the tourists thinned out, I sat on the beach and used a tiny rock with sharp edges as a burin to etch a horned serpent into a small cobble.

Once all but 30 or so tourists had departed, I made my way from the beach to the mossy area. From certain angles, it bears a resemblance to a large, sunken skull overgrown with moss. It also appeared to host a spring or seep that was coming from deeper than the water falling from above.

Still dodging tourists and park rangers (they often try to interrupt offerings), I first presented tobacco:

I offer you this tobacco, in honor and gratitude.

Then I offered a handful of toasted corn:

I offer you this corn, in honor and gratitude. Thank you for allowing me to visit this place.

Then, I had more people show up from out of nowhere, so I got flustered as I was packing up the corn. Somewhere around this point, I lost track of the etched rock. I may have left it on a post nearby or stuck it in my backpack and lost it in there.

I next moved clockwise around the inner section of the grotto, stopping periodically to meditate again. At one point, I noticed that the drips from above formed a pretty clear horned serpent motif- but only from that angle.

From another angle, I noticed several very faint, sinuous ripples on the surface, like invisible snakes 40′ long or more with their heads in the waterfall and their tails very slowly swishing back and forth to maintain position. I had not noticed them from that same vantage point earlier.

The waterfall was also flowing stronger than earlier for no reason I could discern. It was not raining in the area, nor anywhere upstream that I was aware of.

By this point, I was down to less than a dozen tourists, and I clambered down to the base of the waterfall. There, a massive red stone, like a huge egg some ten or twenty feet across, emerges from the pool and is drummed upon by one branch of the waterfall.

Here I readied four offerings:

  • The rest of my tobacco.
  • More toasted corn.
  • A red stone from Lake Champlain, triangular in shape and flat.
  • A smaller stone from a cenote in New Mexico, which I set atop the red stone.

These I carefully arranged on a flat-topped boulder nearby.

I turned, stood directly next to the waterfall with my hands and arms wide and invoked my hosts.

O, Great Serpents of Central Texas- you who dwell in this sacred place, your kindred, your ancestors, and all of your kind who call this region home…

While I was primarily trying to get the attention of the immediate locals, I wanted to make sure I was indicating an attempt to show respect to and communicate with the large “body politic”- for lack of a better term.

I am Keith, son of Michael, son of Eugene, of the line of Cormac.

This bit served multiple purposes:

  • Firstly, placing me in a context of lineage not only asks my own ancestors for help, but gives my hosts something longer-lasting than me to wrap their minds around. As humans, our individual lives are short compared to much of the spiritlife we are dealing with.
  • Secondly,  the overly formal recitation establishes gravitas and that my purpose for being there was diplomatic, not simply a friendly “how-do-you-do” visit.
  • Thirdly, that last bit is significant in its own right. While the “Cormac” in question is not necessarily Cormac mac Airt (probably isn’t), the name establishes a longer ancestral tie back to Europe and invites said blood ancestor(s) and said High King of Ireland emeritus to step in if they want to.

It’s worth noting that none of the genders are important. The wording feels right to me, but others may want to name their lineage differently or by tradition instead of blood relations. The important thing is to outline a lineage of strength.

I come to you humbly and to apologize. My people have not been respectful of you, nor of the land. Most of my people’s ancestors came from across the sea to the east. We live here now.

Once, my people knew better- they knew how to show respect and to live with the inhabitants of the land. But they were deceived by a new god, who led them astray, who blinded them to you. I wish to help my people learn again.

I turned back to the boulder, took up the tobacco, and placed it with both hands into the waterfall.

I offer you this tobacco, in honor of you and in gratitude.

I turned back to get the corn, and its lid had blown off (I’d loosened it already). The cenote stone was also gone.

Just… Gone.

I took up as much corn as I could hold, and with both hands placed it in the waterfall.

I offer you this corn, in honor of you and in gratitude.

I turned back to look for the cenote stone, which weighed about half a pound (not a pebble). It wasn’t on the ground around the boulder, and it certainly wasn’t atop the several-pound red stone, where I’d left it!

I took up the red stone instead and with both hands placed it atop the large red stone at the base of the waterfall.

I offer you this red stone from Lake Champlain, the land of Odzihozo, that you might have this as a connection to Him and to his land. I also brought a stone from a cenote in New Mexico, for the same reason, but now I cannot find it. I hope that you already have it.

I stepped back, now sopping wet despite my duster and wide-brimmed hat.

I ask that you help my people to see you, to hear you, to recognize you, to learn respect for you. Help them understand what their ancestors once knew. Let them see the land as it is, as it should be, that they may be good neighbors to you and to the land.

I waited.

I thank you for allowing me to come here and for listening.

Sensing no particular response, I packed my things and began huffing and puffing my way back up the trail from the floor of the canyon. I stopped at one point to offer the rest of the corn to the other inhabitants of the area after eating two pieces to demonstrate that it was safe.

I also picked up some trash here and there while exploring and on the way back. There wasn’t much- the rangers do a really good job policing rubbish.

Once back in my car, I thanked Hermes and Hekate for guiding me in and out of that liminal zone.

Then I ate the meat stick and candy bar I’d left in the car for post-working food. If you’re not in the habit of setting food and drink aside ahead of time, you should be. It’s a good safety precaution.

That’s about it.

So far, no further indications of anything.

-In Deos Confidimus

Landwork

Horned Serpents

Tomorrow, I’m heading to Hamilton Pool to at least begin an attempt to “do the thing“. For some time now, I’ve been aware of the principle that a people’s sovereignty, in the landwork sense, is typically associated with a particularly important pool of water- a “sacred well“.

Specifically, there is some kind of a meeting at this location between a representative of the people and a powerful entity or deity who controls the region. What happens during that meeting varies wildly- depending on the mythology in question, the specific individuals involved, and the reporter. The events run the gamut from sacred marriages to chaoskampf-style battles to the death.

I’ve spent a great deal of time trying to figure out where this “well” was for Central Texas, and I kept coming back to Hamilton Pool. To be fair, most landscapes have lots of smaller sites that might be associated with a homestead, hearthing, or village. There are lots of important springs in Central Texas to be sure- such as Aquarena Springs, sacred to a number of bands of the Coahuiltecan peoples.

I’m after the big one- the one that links the smaller sites in the affected region.

In Central America and up into parts of the desert Southwest, the most important water holes are often cenotes.

Here in Central Texas, many of the smaller springs are along the edge of the Balcones Fault, which runs roughly parallel to Interstate-35. Hamilton Pool is upstream of nearly all of them.

Damn. I just rediscovered a site directly next to Hamilton Pool (Westcave) that I may need to visit as well. It’s also a cenote, or as they like to call it, a grotto.

Note that grottoes were common sacred sites in the Old World as well. Many of Apollo’s oracular sanctuaries were built near or around spring-fed caverns. Delphi, in particular, was the home of Python, a great serpent slain by Apollo in one of those chaoskampf events I mentioned earlier.

Why are cenotes or grottoes so important? Aside from their mysterious ability to remain full of clean water even during long droughts, they are almost universally recognized as liminal places. Typically they connect the human world with the underworld, which in many mythologies is also the source of all water.

Here in the Americas this is a common belief, but we find it in many parts of the world. Some Hindus and Buddhists, for instance, hold that all of the world’s freshwater springs originate in Patala, the underworld home of the Nagas.

In the Dindsenchas, the River Boyne is said to be the source of all the world’s great rivers and to have been created when Boann angered a vitally important sacred well which was home to dreadful magic.

Back to Greece, Heracles fought the Lernaean Hydra in a region of springs. Lake Lerna itself was associated with the cleansing of miasma and was an entrance to the underworld (Hades).

In Japan, Susano’o slew a great serpent or water dragon at the headwaters of a river. From its tail, He drew the sacred sword which was later handed down via the imperial line.

In Scandinavia and even into England, lindworms and knuckers were often associated with waterways, wells, and caverns.

There are plenty of non-serpents associated with sacred waters, but the serpents show up a LOT, especially in regard to the sites of greatest importance.

The Americas are no exception as far as dangerous giant serpents associated with waterways, cenotes, and grottoes.

A recurrent motif, the horned or plumed serpent, appears throughout much of the New World. The Lakota tell of Unhcegila and Unk Tehi, who rose out of the Atlantic and crossed half the continent spreading blindness, insanity, flooding, and death until they were stopped by one or more brave heroes or by Thunderbirds.

The Cherokee have Uktena, while the Abenaki know Pita-Skog. The Ojibwe have Mishi-ginebig and the Menominee speak of Misikinubik. In Central America we have Kukulkan and Quetzalcoatl, though They tend to bridge not only underworld and human world but also the overworld/sky as well.

So to with Avanyu of the Tewa peoples of the desert Southwest, most especially the Rio Grande Valley.

In some cases, these entities are considered deities, whereas in other traditions they are simply inhabitants of great power. The legends differ on humans’ ability to deal diplomatically with these powerful beings.

I honestly don’t know what to expect tomorrow, now later today. In all likelihood, I won’t notice anything going on. Indeed, I fear that as failure. On the other hand, Hamilton Pool has a long history of mysterious drownings- and Westcave won’t even allow people to their cenote without guides.

As far as offerings, roasted corn and tobacco might be traditional, but I don’t know for sure. Certain of these beings appear to accept these offerings just fine. On the other hand, because tobacco could be considered aerial if burnt, it might be offensive to the purely chthonic sort, even in a non-burning form.

I guess we’ll find out.

-In Deos Confidimus

 

Land Health, Landwork, Research, Troubleshooting

A visit to Waco

For some time now, I’ve felt an impending time pressure regarding the Texas Problem. After some very simple divination, I took the hour-and-a-half drive up to Waco to see if I could learn anything new about the situation there.

I resolved to visit Proctor Springs, a group of natural springs in Cameron Park. I suspect these were near the settlement known as El Quisciat, which was described as being on a bluff with springs somewhere in the vicinity of the later, larger “Waco” settlement.

The springs are in the older part of the park. There is a distinct feeling of visiting ancient ruins. A large number of crumbling concrete stairs, streams, pools, and paths criss-cross the area, often disconnected from the newer trails. Anniversary Hill Park in Holyoke, Massachusetts has a similar “ruins” feel to it.

I left offerings of roasted corn, dried fruit, and nuts at the two main spring seeps and some significant trees. I picked up a bunch of trash. Typical stuff. Aside from a vague sense of “generally healthy park”, I didn’t have any particular experiences of note near the springs.

The springs flow into a creek, which I followed upstream through Lindsey Hollow. Aside from some additional Fae markers, nothing. The markers I noticed didn’t strike me as particularly unusual for a well-established woodland- trees forming arches and the like. Nor did I feel any particular menace or concern. A little harmless misdirection, like driving right past the turn I needed to take, but nothing that felt sinister.

This part of Waco basically felt more like what I expect woodlands to feel like, i.e.- NOT affected by the Texas Problem. Even the best experiences I’ve had around Austin felt “cloaked” or “sandbagged” by comparison.

On the way to wash my hands (I forgot to bring trash gloves!), I finally noticed a structure that I’d passed twice already during the day:

Yes, immediately after crossing a creek at the old entrance of the park, the road forks. More than that, someone decided to build it out as a triple crossroads. Even more than that, someone did this:

A ground view of the triple crossroads at the entrance of Cameron Park in Waco.

That is a miniature colonnade, surrounding a large urn inside a circle.  Perhaps the person(s) who built it didn’t really know what they were doing. Perhaps they did. Who knows? Either way, it might have taken me awhile to notice the shrine, but I certainly wasn’t going to ignore it now.

As soon as I washed my hands, I prayed and made an offering at the urn- to the vocal amusement of a pre-teen in a passing car. Whatever. You find an appropriate shrine where you weren’t expecting one, you pray at it.

It’s clear to me that the park is, as suspected, liminal.

What is less clear is whether the park is an Awakened landscape surrounded by a terribly mundane one; or, is it an exposed bit of REAL surrounded by hundreds of miles of dampening / glamour? I strongly suspect that the park is a place where the Texas Problem is very thin. So much so that I’m even wondering if it would be better to host Hearthingstone nearby instead of in Austin.

Probably not, but it might be good to at least have a working solution to the larger issue by the time it rolls around.

By this point, I was already pretty exhausted and dehydrated, having (for safety reasons) resolved to eat and drink only things from outside of Waco. Before I left, however, I did want to locate a mysteriously recondite historical marker- the Waco Village site.

Officially, the marker is located at 701 Jefferson Avenue. A quick Google Street View reveals nothing of the kind, though. I eventually figured out that it is under an immense tree next to the Taylor Museum, which appears to be all but closed.

A historical monument supposedly at the site of the Waco native village.

Obviously, the language of the marker is suspect, but it does provide at least a possible location. Adjacent to the marker and the museum is an African-American Baptist church. Across the street is the Grand Lodge of Texas- the central Masonic temple for Texas. I don’t know whether they consciously built it right there- but as with the shrine at the park, it might not be simple coincidence.

The city block in the lower center is (very roughly) about 2 acres in size. If reports from the early 1800s are accurate, the Waco village was about 40 acres in size and surrounded by an earthwork. The yellow square shows a vague approximation of what 40 acres looks like in modern Waco.

The approximate location of the historical marker in 1886 Waco.

If we transpose this location to the 1886 map, we can see that the site overlooks a creek that is largely invisible in modern Waco except for the mouth, which is undergoing some kind of construction. Notice that this location also appears to be on a bit of a bluff. It’s possible that El Quisciat might have been there all along, but I doubt it. I think the “bluff” in question would’ve been taller and closer to the river.

Anyway, I don’t yet have any really good answers, but hopefully something I gained from the trip will be useful in the future. If I’ve learned something actionable, I haven’t grokked it yet.

-In Deos Confidimus

Research, Troubleshooting

Who Lived Here?

In researching the Texas Problem, and the seemingly contradictory Waco Problem, one significant question arises- who lived here before Europeans?

Specifically, which group or groups were indigenous- having inhabited Central Texas for the longest time before the Spanish and Anglos arrived?

Casual Internet searching delivers an absolute mess, such as this map on Wikipedia:

Digging deeper, there are a large number of errors with this map, which purports to describe the situation in Texas around the year 1500.

The Apache were present in the Texas Panhandle as nomadic bands by 1500, having migrated from the northwest in prior centuries. The Tonkawa, incorrectly represented here as Coahuiltecan, are now thought to have lived in much the same area as the Apache until forced out by the Commanche around the turn of the 18th Century.

The Jumano, upon further review, seem to have been a cross-cultural melting pot of people from various tribes who formed a diverse trading and diplomatic society at the meeting point of numerous linguistic traditions.

Other maps represent Comancheria as having been in existence pre-contact. However, there’s significant evidence that the Commanche were still living in the vicinity of Montana in 1500 and did not venture south until acquiring horses by trade after the 1680 Pueblo Revolt in New Mexico.

Part of the issue confusing pre-contact maps is the tendency, by Anglos and Spaniards to confuse bands, tribes, and nations. Imagine if a traveler met a group identified as “Round Rock” or “Austin” and decided that Austin was a great city of the Round Rock nation.

Students of European history should know better, as it was not that long ago when a single barony might sway back and forth between two, three, or even four kingdoms, any of which might later be considered counties or duchies in a still-larger kingdom.

The same applies with native peoples, who might share kinship and political cooperation with a sizeable number of other bands, collectively a tribe, and a group of tribes, sharing a common linguistic heritage and a more or less peaceful coexistence might be considered a nation.

To be fair, all of these distinctions are muddy, both for native peoples and European-style nations. For the sake of not bogging down too much in technicalities I am concerning myself with native nations in the sense of large linguistic groups who were allied with each other. That said, internecine conflict still occurred within nations, as it did between villages in Europe and still sometimes does here in the U.S.

This is the map I come up with:

Pre-contact borders by Keith's estimation.

As you can see, there is a huge area that is “international”. There were definitely important sites linked to various nations within that zone- for instance Aquarena Springs which is sacred to certain Coahuiltecan bands and Hueco Springs to the south, which by some accounts was used by people related to the Waco village at, well, Waco.

Similarly, the Jumano and Coahuiltecan areas seem to have been populated by a number of different peoples who spoke different languages. While the Coahuiltecan bands seem to have shared similarities in diet and lifestyle, historians are unsure about Jumanos. In some cases they are described as settled farmers and in other cases as nomadic hunters.

It is entirely possible that the Jumanos region was actually much larger and included both settled peoples and nomads who traded extensively. We have written accounts of the Apache and Pueblo peoples trading this way, and of Apache bands camping near the Pueblos in colder months.

Likewise, the Tonkawa probably moved about in the “international” zone until the Comanches forced them and the Apaches south around the turn of the 18th Century.

If I am even remotely correct, the indigenous peoples in the area of concern were a combination of nomadic Coahuiltecan bands and villages of Wichita-related folks like those who lived at Waco.

The area of concern compared with New England.

Survivors of the Coahuiltecan peoples remain a part of the local population, often considered “Mexican” because their ancestors were forced to speak Spanish and to convert to Catholicism.

The Wichita bands were largely driven out of the area in the early 1800s by both Anglos and eastern native peoples being pushed into the area by Anglos. The main village at Waco was apparently deserted sometime in the 1830s after being  sacked by another native people- either the Cherokee or Comanche.

By the 1870s, almost all the free native peoples in Texas were being forced onto reservations in Oklahoma. This included the Wichita-speaking tribes, their Caddo cousins to the east, the Tonkawa, and various other pockets that had survived earlier conquests.

Given the decentralized, nomadic lifestyle of the Coahuiltecan bands versus the more settled agriculture of the Wichita-speakers, I’m inclined to focus my research on the latter. I suspect that whatever happened at Waco in the 1830s is somehow connected to the larger issue I’m trying to solve.

-In Deos Confidimus

Landwork, Research

Help From Across The Pond?

In relation to this project, as inspired by a surprise presence, I’ve been reading through some of the Irish quasi-historical narratives. I say quasi-historical, as they are generally older oral narratives that were later recorded (and changed) by persons holding a colonized, Abrahamic worldview.

I’m studying these texts, despite their questionable provenance, because the UPG I received suggested that the ancient Irish possessed a form of the spiritual technology necessary to address (or at least begin to address) the Texas Problem.

Furthermore, I got the impression that this method was pretty darn fast-acting and that echoes of it had survived in “the lore” even beyond the depredations of Patrick and Cromwell.

To that end, I’m looking for examples of ceremonial actions related to the establishment of working relationships between a group of invaders and the local land deities (and by extension, spirits). We have lots of partial records of Gaulish, Irish, and Welsh kingmaking ceremonies (the Wiccan “Great Rite” is based on these), but I’m pretty darn sure that’s not what I’m looking for. Similarly, there are other purported rituals that I’m certain I can discount- these display their authors’ obvious biases and are typically wildly impractical and/or highly illegal.

On the other hand, there are hints of other rituals that are less well recorded and which were likely no longer in use well before these stories were recorded. While the kingmaking ceremonies were in use in historical times and occasionally commented on by outside observers, the techniques I’m looking for would have been used very early in the Celtic conquest of an area.

That’s the key difference, in my mind. The later kingmaking ceremonies appear to have been undertaken after an area was settled- i.e., by generations following the conquest. By contrast, when the Celts first entered an area, they had to establish diplomatic relations with the local land deity (or deities) and spirits. Doing that of course required establishing a mode of communications- which is normally a job for shamans (which is to say, not me).

But in the case of conquest, it meant doing so over the objections of (and esoteric sabotage by) the indigenous people. It meant esoterically “blowing up” or “burning down” those other peoples’ connection to the land and figuratively sticking a giant “this is mine” flag into the crater.

Yeah, that sounds pretty brutal.

My modern, Westernized mind recoils from it, but it’s clear that humans worldwide seem to have known how to do this from ancient times. By the early Middle Ages, though, Europeans appear to have lost this knowledge- at least on a conscious level.

By the 1800s, European-Americans in Texas almost certainly did not even know they needed that capability, let alone have the knowledge of how to do it. Why are certain parts of the United States more “awake” than Texas, despite Anglos’ lack of land-bonding technology? I have a theory about that, but it’s much too long to deal with here.

Back to the Irish.

Here is an example of the sort of thing I’m looking for, in this case from the Lebor Gabála Érenn (“The Book of the Takings of Ireland” – Book of Leinster version) as translated by R. A. S. Macalister:

§74. As he set his right foot upon Ireland, Amorgen Glúingel s. Míl spoke this poem—

I am Wind on Sea,
I am Ocean-wave,
I am Roar of Sea,
I am Bull of Seven Fights,
I am Vulture on Cliff,
I am Dewdrop,
I am Fairest of Flowers,
I am Boar for Boldness,
I am Salmon in Pool,
I am Lake on Plain,
I am a Mountain in a Man,
I am a Word of Skill,
I am the Point of a Weapon (that poureth forth combat),
I am God who fashioneth Fire for a Head.
Who smootheth the ruggedness of a mountain?
Who is He who announceth the ages of the Moon?
And who, the place where falleth the sunset?
Who calleth the cattle from the House of Tethys?
On whom do the cattle of Tethys smile?
Who is the troop, who the god who fashioneth edges
in a fortress of gangrene?
Enchantments about a spear? Enchantments of Wind?

This is implied by the text to be a powerful, ritual poem related in some way to the Milesians laying claim to Ireland. It’s essentially a fancy and esoterically potent version of “We claim this land for Spain”. Side note- the Milesians are said to have been Iberocelts (or Celtiberians)… Celts from Spain.

Clearly, the translation is corrupted. The name “Tethys”, for instance, refers to the Hellenic titan Goddess of fresh water- not an Irish deity at all. It’s possible that this is the result of a poor transcription of the translation, or a messy translation. Either way, it’s unclear.

Going back to the Irish, we see:

Ic tabairt a choisse dessi i nHerind asbert Amairgen Glúngel mac Miled in laídseo sís.

Am gáeth i mmuir. ar domni.

Am tond trethan i tír.
Am fúaim mara.
Am dam secht ndírend.
Am séig i n-aill.
Am dér gréne.g

Am caín.
Am torc ar gail.
Am hé i llind.
Am loch i mmaig
Am briandai.

Am bri danae.
Am gai i fodb. feras feochtu.
Am dé delbas do chind codnu.
Coiche nod gleith clochur slébe.
Cia on cotagair aesa éscai

Cia dú i llaig funiud grene.
Cia beir búar o thig Temrach.
Cia buar Tethrach. tibi.
Cia dain.
Cia dé delbas faebru. a ndind ailsiu.

Cáinté im gaí cainte gaithe. Am.

Here, the same name is written as “Temrach” or “Tethrach”. While neither of these terms has an easy translation provided by Dr. Google, there are a couple of interesting hints.

Firstly, Temrach appears to be a poetic reference to Tara, the seat of the High Kings of Ireland- a central point of esoteric significance. Tethrach, on the other hand, appears to be a possessive or adjectival form of words that can mean “crow”, “champion”, or “sea”. In some versions I’ve found, “Tethrach” appears on both lines.

In other words, either way, we are likely dealing with a poetic name for Someone or someone. In all likelihood, many of the lines refer to a specific deity, person, or entity.

On the surface this appears to be part of an invocation to the ruling deities of Ireland, the Túatha Dé Danann. Unfortunately, much of the rest of the account deals with Amorgen and the Milesians fighting the Túatha Dé Danann for control of the island. So, is this an invocation in pursuit of a blessing, or a mockery intended to provoke conflict?

Is the source even useful to my search, or am I chasing down the rabbit hole of a cargo cult? The entire story could be purely a medieval fantasy with no ancient basis at all.

There is a lot more to go through, and it is not exactly stimulating reading.

-In Deos Confidimus

Research, Troubleshooting

The Waco Site & Its People

From some earlier point through sometime in the 1830s, a particular site along the Brazos river near the mouth of the Bosque was home to a group of people who spoke a dialect of the Wichita language.

The Spanish recorded two villages in the vicinity, El Quiscat and Felchazos, both assumed to be Tawakoni (another Wichita dialect). El Quiscat was named after a leader- Quiscat, who met with the Spanish at San Antonio in 1772. His village was said to sit west of the Brazos atop a bluff near springs and to house some 750 people.

This village is recorded again in 1779, in 1786, and in 1795.

In 1824, official reports to and by Stephen F. Austin claim a village  some 40 acres in size of between 33 and 60 grass houses enclosed by a defensive earthwork and farming an estimated 200-400 acres of fenced cornfield. The earthwork was recorded again in 1829 and was apparently visible to Anglo colonists for many years after they settled in the area.

This number of houses was echoed by Jean Berlandier around 1830, who added that the Waco ranged widely on bison hunts in the cooler months.

There is some suggestion that the Waco, Wichita, and Tawakoni were themselves invaders to Texas, based on Coronado’s account of a Wichita city in Kansas that he called Quivira. Here’s the thing, though- Wichita is a Caddoan language, meaning that these people were linguistically tied to the Caddo, who we know lived in in Arkansas, Louisiana, and eastern Texas for hundreds of years before Coronado.

Furthermore, Coronado describes the people of Quivira as having settled towns with substantial populations and large-scale agriculture. This is in contrast to their western neighbors, the Apache and Teyas, whom he claimed lived in wandering bands and ate raw meat.

That’s because the Caddoan peoples, including the Wichita, Tawakoni, etc. were connected to the Mississippian Empire. This was a multicultural, hierarchical society that ruled the central Mississippi basin for more than half a millenium. Amongst its distinctive features were massive earthworks, social hierarchy, intensive maize (corn) agriculture, widespread trade networks, and certain pottery techniques.

While it’s not clear if the Caddo were subjects of Cahokia or not, they were clearly connected with the Mississippian culture, as they began building complex earthworks in a similar style. This was actually true of native peoples from the Great Lakes to the Gulf of Mexico and as far east as North Carolina (Cherokee country, if you’re keeping track).

What all of this tells us is that while the Caddoan peoples did move around, they displayed a preference for establishing long-term bases of operations. Bases of operations with earthworks. Earthworks that sometimes took centuries to construct. Earthworks that were tied into a complex set of spiritual technologies of which we have no written record.

Earthworks like the one at Waco.

Sure, the Waco wall wasn’t very big by Mississippian standards- but 40 acres is nothing to sneeze at. Even if the wall surrounded only part of the village, say a ceremonial center or fortified granary- we’re still talking about a village that planned to stay put.

Nor do we find accounts of earthworks at all of the sites associated with Wichita, Tawakoni, Waco, or other Caddoan villages. There are accounts of settlements here, there, and everywhere- almost as far south as San Antonio. Yet, in Central Texas, I’ve only found an account of the village at Waco having earthworks.

And this is nearly two centuries after the Mississippian Empire collapsed. However, the post-contact Kadohadache (a major Caddoan tribe somewhere around the Oklahoma/Arkansas border) appear to have maintained the hub-and-spoke village organization of the Mississippian culture.

What does that tell us about the Waco people? Chances are they are, as many claim, an offshoot of the Tawakoni. It appears that by the late 1700s, one of those villages (probably “El Quiscat”) was important and influential enough to become the hub of its own group of satellite villages, including one along the Guadalupe River near New Braunfels.

The ancestors of the Waco tribe probably lived in Central Texas for centuries before that, but on a more mobile basis. However, by the early 1800s, they’d invested substantial effort into establishing a permanent, fortified stronghold in the style of their downstream cousins- the Caddo.

During this same period, massive change was going on in other parts of North America. The Spanish were invading from the south and west. Anglo-Americans were pushing eastern native nations west. The Mississippian culture’s core had collapsed, but certain traditions continued on along the former empire’s frontier. Finally, plains tribes like the Apache, Comanche, Osage, and others were pressing down from the north- many on horseback.

The result seems to be that sometime around 1820, Waco became one of the last strongholds of the beseiged Caddoan peoples. The eastern groups, such as the Kichai and Hasinai were swamped with refugees from displaced Caddo villages in Louisiana and Arkansas- as well as members of other nations.

The Texians debated war with the Wacos for much of that decade, but generally prefered to negotiate because of the tribe’s perceived strength and agricultural nature. Alliances between settlers, tribes, and nations seem to have waxed and waned at the drop of a hat, with Tonkawas, Apaches, Comanches, Caddos, Tawakoni, Karankawas, and about fifty other groups all alternately offering to fight each other and the Wacos.

Suddenly, but unsurprisingly- things went sideways. At some point between 1829 and 1839 (possibly 1837),  the primary Waco village was sacked by Comanches, Cherokees, or perhaps even a joint force. Within a short span of years, the Wichita-speaking peoples in Central Texas relocated much further upstream, in the vicinity of the Wichita River. The river got that name from the ill-fated Sante Fe Expedition which marked the location of a “Waco village” along the river in 1841.

History, by which I mean Americans, were not kind to the Wichita peoples thereafter. Even after moving west, conflicts between settlers and tribes continued to escalate, and by the late 1800s the natives had pretty much all been forced onto reservations in Oklahoma.

So here’s the question- what happened at Waco between 1829 and 1839?

Was it simply a violent attack and the locals decided to leave for greener pastures after years of escalating tensions?

Possibly.

Or did someone do something at Waco that seriously messed up the surrounding region on a spiritual level?

If so, we’re talking some extremely powerful working(s) to affect an area hundreds of miles across. At the same time, it wouldn’t be the first case in history of someone “salting the earth” to deny land to their enemies.

Is it possible that the Waco, finding their position untenable, self-destructed the spiritual framework that allowed people to bind to that land? Could the Cherokee (who likely also understood Mississippian spiritual technology) have blown it up to drive out the Waco- only to themselves have been forced out by Anglo-Americans before they could rebuild it?

Why am I blaming the natives?

Well, to be clear- I’m not. I’m speculating- casting about for answers in a sea of questions.

On the other hand, while the Spanish missionaries likely had, via Catholicism, the spiritual tech to blow up said framework- we don’t have a lot of evidence that they did tried to do so in Central Texas north of San Antonio. So, while Spanish missionaries are likely a contributing factor, the damage they did was probably secondary to (or a compounding factor to) the primary cause.

Protestants of the time, which most of the Anglo-Americans were, tended to reject spiritual technology altogether. They almost certainly did not possess the mojo to do something esoteric on this scale.

Which leaves either:

  • A purely natural or divine event in which humans had no agency beyond their own foibles; or,
  • A deliberate or accidental act by some organized and spirit-technologically-advanced group of people.

While I suspect some divinities were involved in what transpired, I believe that humans catalyzed it.

If I’m correct, the question now becomes- exactly what actually happened and how do we repair the damage?

-In Deos Confidimus

Land Health, Troubleshooting

The Waco Problem

About two years after moving to the Central Texas, I took a random day trip up to the city of Waco with a friend. Whilst travelling west along N. Valley Mills Dr., I suddenly found it difficult to breathe. I felt intense pressure and at the same time, the air seemed to contain less oxygen.

Conversely, my friend suddenly relaxed. She commented on how fresh the air felt- like a sea breeze. As we came over a rise, Lake Waco came into view. Normally, near a lake I’d have a similar reaction to my friend’s. Not this time.

After a few minutes, I was able to breathe normally again, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was seriously OFF in the area. Even at Quabbin, I hadn’t had that level of physical response.

As we moved away from the lake, I saw fog ahead, despite it being a clear, sunny day. Saying nothing about the fog, I asked my friend to turn left off of Lake Shore Dr. onto Airport Rd.. I noticed fog in a depression ahead there, too.

This time I commented on it to my friend. She’d seen no fog or mist, and as we approached, it vanished from my sight as well. However, my friend had an inkling and we headed back towards the city.

As we drove into a series of connected parks along the Brazos River, where the Bosque pours in, we encountered a distinctly awakened landscape- very different from our usual experience of Central Texas. There are certain tricks of light and shadow, certain meldings of form and perspective that suggest the presence of the Good Neighbors.

That park was swarming with such indicators.

In New England, that’s not highly unusual- though places like Quabbin took that to extremes. In Central Texas? Very uncommon. As I mentioned in The Texas Problem, the region has almost an asphalt sea of mundanity overlaying it.

As we left the park and travelled around town, my friend began to confirm her inkling that the entire city seemed to be under an enormous glamour. Where I saw decay and decadence, she saw the veneer of it.

This was Massachusetts level weird.

“West of Arkham the hills rise wild, and there are valleys with deep woods that no axe has ever cut. There are dark narrow glens where the trees slope fantastically, and where thin brooklets trickle without ever having caught the glint of sunlight. … The old folk have gone away, and foreigners do not like to live there. … The place is not good for imagination, and does not bring restful dreams at night… Weeds and briars reigned, and furtive wild things rustled in the undergrowth. Upon everything was a haze of restlessness and oppression; a touch of the unreal and the grotesque, as if some vital element of perspective or chiaroscuro were awry. I did not wonder that the foreigners would not stay, for this was no region to sleep in. It was too much like a landscape of Salvator Rosa; too much like some forbidden woodcut in a tale of terror.”

– H.P. Lovecraft “The Colour Out Of Space”

While Lovecraft’s fiction is just that- fiction, parts of his work describe something deeper underlying the New England most people think they know. The recent film The Witch captured some of this same sense. On the surface, the weird events are Satanic. Beneath the surface though, it’s not- it’s the result of humans carrying their own crap into an area that is “not good for imagination, and does not bring restful dreams at night”.

Waco has this problem. In a region seemingly drained of magic, we have a pocket of hyper-weirdness. (Sorry, Austin- you don’t actually know weird.)

Yes, that is an old schoolhouse door standing all by itself in the middle of a fenced-off field.

Don’t believe me? Who could forget the Branch Davidians? While their standoff happened a few miles east of town, they were an offshoot of the Davidians, whose main compound is not far from where I first had the breathing attack.

The mass hysteria problem is much older, though. One of the most gruesome mob lynchings in the south, known informally as the “Waco Horror“, was perpetrated in the main courthouse square in 1916. The sheer monstrousness of Jesse Washington’s torture and public roasting to death affected attitudes across the country and around the world.

That’s another thing about Waco, though- ideas flow out of it and through it. The two “national soft drinks” of Texas- Dr. Pepper and Big Red, were both invented in Waco.

Waco is a small city outsized in its impact on Texas and the United States in general.

In 1870, the Waco Suspension Bridge became the main crossing for the Chisholm Trail, which was still a significant cattle drive route. Texas Christian University came there from Fort Worth and later returned after their main building in Waco burned down. Baylor University is still there even after its athletic department’s sexual assault scandal – a watershed in the current climate of exposing institutional sexual abuse.

In 1953, the generally tornado-free city was also at the heart of what was likely the deadliest tornado outbreak in Texas history. A massive F5 tornado flattened the downtown area, roughly around the site of the native Waco village from which the city took its name.

Which gets us to a possible root of what might be going on in Waco, and in Central Texas more generally.

More on that later.

-In Deos Confidimus

Land Health, Landwork

The Texas Problem

Ever since moving to Austin, I’ve struggled to connect with the land in the way that I was used to in New England. Even basic tasks like grounding are significantly more difficult, and drawing in energy feels viscous and resistant to flow.

For a long time, I’ve blamed myself for this. In theory, I should know how to work around such limitations. I’m finally beginning to come to grips with the realization that this isn’t simply my problem. I’ve heard others use the term “dead” to describe how the land feels. A friend once called Texas a “blast zone”.

That’s not to say that no one builds relations with local spiritlife or that no one connects with the land at all. Rather, it seems like the process is exceedingly more difficult and the results far less successful than in areas like New England or the Pacific Northwest.

For example, a friend from Austin recently visited New England and was immediately struck by her awareness of the natural world- “every leaf”, to use her description. That doesn’t happen for me here in Texas, nor for a number of other knowledgeable people I’ve spoken with.

To be sure, some of that is simply the vastness of the region. Compared with even very large zones in New England, the area I’m dealing with in Texas (in yellow, below) is positively enormous.

The area of concern compared with New England.

Contrast that with the Champlain Valley (light blue) between Vermont and New York. The spiritlife of that region is fully “awake” in their interactions with humans and the area’s owner is firmly in control of His backyard.

To be sure, New England has a lot more going on than my simplistic map shows. I just mapped out a few of the areas with which I have personal experience.

Within the big yellow zone in Texas, there are also smaller regions to be sure- the Lost Pines and the like. However, I can’t shake the certainty that they are ruled (for lack of a better word) by a divinity who controls an area roughly like the yellow outline.

What’s interesting though, is that the orange zone from Houston out into Louisiana (also an enormous area) is much more “awake” and engaged with humanity. It’s not my kind of land, but it’s palpable enough that I can feel it pretty clearly.

Traveling west from Central Texas into the Big Bend region or New Mexico, I once again encounter more engagement. Not at New England levels, but reasonable amounts for a desert. By Roswell it’s pretty noticeable and in Santa Fe or Taos the “mojo” becomes quite obvious.

So what the heck is going on in Central Texas? Is it just a magical “dead zone” as some conjecture?

The area around Waco would beg to differ. There’s an enormous amount of glamour and veil-parting going on there, and I’m pretty sure it’s not being done by the local spiritlife. This suggests that the esoteric potential is there (and here), but that we humans are somehow cut off from it in ways that aren’t the case in many other parts of North America.

This, then, is the “Texas Problem” I’m currently trying to work out. I’m increasingly convinced there’s some deadline to solve it ticking down to something bad, but damned if I know what it is or why.

I’m starting to develop some theories about what might be going on, but those belong in another post.

-In Deos Confidimus