Fall.
The balancing act of the deer trecena has meticulously carried us up a sacred temple where we have been commanded to reduce and recycle—stripping down to become lighter and healthier in order to meet this necessary centering. This creates the cave: an internal hunger born from that inner beast being forced to go without. That cave can collapse upon us, or we can willingly take the dive and become the descending eagle—the eagle that falls.
Revealing it is; revelation is the very essence of this nawal, exposing what lies underneath and finally allowing us to perceive the invisible. This revelation demonstrates that emptiness is the underlying structure of everything, proving that nothing is more abundant than empty space, even within the densest matter. But then, what is space? We may be shown and commanded to enter the cave, and even to remain there for a time, but a cave is never the permanent home for a human being, nor for most living creatures. If there is a sun, we are inevitably drawn to it, urged to climb toward it, to become it, and to shine with love and warmth, filling every cold emptiness with radiant heat.
This is the next evolution of the mind when it realizes that maintaining emptiness is the balanced way to sustain the inner structure. Yet it cannot remain absolutely empty; by its very nature, it fills with love. This love pushes outward against the cave walls in a fierce attempt to implode them, forcing our escape and triggering the next phase of the balancing act: the moment when the rain falls, blessings descend, and we can finally feast and feel fulfilled. This desperate quest to break free from the emptiness of fate is governed by today's nawal, which achieves its breakthrough by taking it a step further—by falling, by plunging into an eagle dive.
This occurs when our hunger becomes so absolute that even if our present reality is stable though painfully lacking, we are willing to undermine it and force a catastrophic crash, accepting all the additional loss and reduction that such a collapse entails. It is our raw, stubborn human nature: we remain profoundly unsatisfied with what simply is, and we are willing to destroy, to weep, and to engineer a deliberate crisis just to force destiny into forging a different structure.
There are two distinct outcomes to this fall. We may be falling like a hunting predator, snatching a prize from this sudden, terrifying loss of altitude, soaring back out victorious with something that is finally not nothing; or we can smash straight into the ground. That fatal impact kills the eagle, yet even that transforms the nothing into something. Regardless of the outcome, a hidden truth is revealed, and the cosmic dance ensues. Emptiness is never meant to become an eternal, stagnant stillness, declares love. This is the exact moment we choose to crawl out from the depths of the cave, even if it means walking straight out to meet the storm.
The Bird / The Vision / The Eagle ( Tz'ikin) represents the sacred bird, the vision of the future, good fortune, the Messenger who flies between the earthly realm and the creator, luck, wealth, and the higher perspective of the skies. It is the nawal of visionaries, dreamers, intermediaries, those who see from above, and those who interpret the signs of the cosmos. In its ninth position (B'eleheb'), it introduces the frequency of movement, the push toward manifestation, the transition from internal reflection to external realization, and the test of breaking free from stagnation through decisive action.
To embody Nine Tz'ikin is to leave the dark safety of the cave, tuck your wings, and commit entirely to the terrifying plunge of the eagle dive. It demands that you recognize when the emptiness has served its purpose and that you possess the courage to force a crisis rather than rot in stillness. At this ninth station of the trecena of Keej—surging upward from the dark interior of 8 I'x—Tz'ikin arrives as the bird of prey, reminding us that true vision requires the willingness to fall from the heights in order to grasp what is real.
Fall.
The balancing act of the deer trecena has meticulously carried us up a sacred temple where we have been commanded to reduce and recycle—stripping down to become lighter and healthier in order to meet this necessary centering. This creates the cave: an internal hunger born from that inner beast being forced to go without. That cave can collapse upon us, or we can willingly take the dive and become the descending eagle—the eagle that falls.
Revealing it is; revelation is the very essence of this nawal, exposing what lies underneath and finally allowing us to perceive the invisible. This revelation demonstrates that emptiness is the underlying structure of everything, proving that nothing is more abundant than empty space, even within the densest matter. But then, what is space? We may be shown and commanded to enter the cave, and even to remain there for a time, but a cave is never the permanent home for a human being, nor for most living creatures. If there is a sun, we are inevitably drawn to it, urged to climb toward it, to become it, and to shine with love and warmth, filling every cold emptiness with radiant heat.
This is the next evolution of the mind when it realizes that maintaining emptiness is the balanced way to sustain the inner structure. Yet it cannot remain absolutely empty; by its very nature, it fills with love. This love pushes outward against the cave walls in a fierce attempt to implode them, forcing our escape and triggering the next phase of the balancing act: the moment when the rain falls, blessings descend, and we can finally feast and feel fulfilled. This desperate quest to break free from the emptiness of fate is governed by today's nawal, which achieves its breakthrough by taking it a step further—by falling, by plunging into an eagle dive.
This occurs when our hunger becomes so absolute that even if our present reality is stable though painfully lacking, we are willing to undermine it and force a catastrophic crash, accepting all the additional loss and reduction that such a collapse entails. It is our raw, stubborn human nature: we remain profoundly unsatisfied with what simply is, and we are willing to destroy, to weep, and to engineer a deliberate crisis just to force destiny into forging a different structure.
There are two distinct outcomes to this fall. We may be falling like a hunting predator, snatching a prize from this sudden, terrifying loss of altitude, soaring back out victorious with something that is finally not nothing; or we can smash straight into the ground. That fatal impact kills the eagle, yet even that transforms the nothing into something. Regardless of the outcome, a hidden truth is revealed, and the cosmic dance ensues. Emptiness is never meant to become an eternal, stagnant stillness, declares love. This is the exact moment we choose to crawl out from the depths of the cave, even if it means walking straight out to meet the storm.
The Bird / The Vision / The Eagle ( Tz'ikin) represents the sacred bird, the vision of the future, good fortune, the Messenger who flies between the earthly realm and the creator, luck, wealth, and the higher perspective of the skies. It is the nawal of visionaries, dreamers, intermediaries, those who see from above, and those who interpret the signs of the cosmos. In its ninth position (B'eleheb'), it introduces the frequency of movement, the push toward manifestation, the transition from internal reflection to external realization, and the test of breaking free from stagnation through decisive action.
To embody Nine Tz'ikin is to leave the dark safety of the cave, tuck your wings, and commit entirely to the terrifying plunge of the eagle dive. It demands that you recognize when the emptiness has served its purpose and that you possess the courage to force a crisis rather than rot in stillness. At this ninth station of the trecena of Keej—surging upward from the dark interior of 8 I'x—Tz'ikin arrives as the bird of prey, reminding us that true vision requires the willingness to fall from the heights in order to grasp what is real.
