Manataka American Indian Council












Carol Perez Petersen

Tlamco: mystical solar temple of ancient time


When I was a child what my mother didn’t tell me became a hollow place inside.  That hollow place yearned, longed, pleaded and prayed for answers.  I was forbidden to cry at home so I muffled stifling cries under my pillow in secret.  There were no wails, no heaving sobs to shake my arms free so I could fly away.  I learned how to make a very tiny piercing sound until it carried me into the dream.  I would sit in the closet for years for the safety of formlessness.  Pitch darkness was a sanctuary.  I had no desire for pretty dresses or new bed linens.  I just wanted to sit in the darkness and lean into emptiness.  My father finally took the closet doors off a severe form of punishment. I guess you could say I came out of the closet like an alien hatchling disinterested in all pubescent body changes, disinterested in joining school activities. 


While riding my bike I felt an energy drop down and cascade through the top of my head.  My parents were embroiled in life, catching up with those in the neighborhood and successfully acquiring property while I was taken by the likely spirits that I longed for.


When I was a child I loved to listen to the Spanish songs my mother sang.  It was a relief to know the answerers were in the songs.  Her voice was pure and bird-like.  She often sang about them:   Pio pio pio cuando es poitos cuando tiene hambre cuando tiene frio“Oh tiny little birds when you are cold and hungry.”


 She taught me about the kinds of flowers she planted in the garden.  I was very proud to know snapdragons, ranauculas, dahlias and rhododendrons big words for a 5th grader. I completely knew with my body, heart and soul that I came from a garden.  I was shocked to have her tell me I was born from her womb.  Oh no, I shook my head with confidence and stated, “A very large bird brought me and laid me in a garden.” I came from the land of the birds. 


I flew awkwardly out of the nest at 18 years of age and straight to the Haight-Ashbury district of San Francisco.  It was the epicenter of unconditional love in the golden gate park of Tlamco, a city of seven hills that was colonized by the scouts of Atlantis before the fall. The landscape of the mounds marked exact orbits with our solar system and the Pleiades.  The Pleiadian portal vortex was singing, “If you come to San Francisco be sure to wear flowers in your hair.”  The energy vortex broadcasted mega hertz frequencies of unconditional love.


San Francisco’s patron Saint Francis was a mystic lover of the sun, moon and all animals and birds. He understood their language, the blessed realm of love, peace and freedom. The Pleiades Solar temple, Tlamco, changed the world and it was during the Vietnam War, a time of extreme love and extreme conflict.  The drums beat a rhythm to people in motion, there’s a new vibration called the fifth dimension transmitting love from inner space.


This is where I was born on the Temple mound of Mars on November 16.  Dad called me a “Flower child.”  I didn’t grow up, I grew within.  I didn’t get a Ph.D.  Instead I learned to navigate inside.  I was born in a garden, brought to the earth by a Pleiadian Bird-like being.


In 1983 I was told by a mystic, “You are an air traffic controller for E.T.’s.  Such a strange thing to hear.  The message came at a point in my life when I was fed up with trying to explain my perceptions to others. I was on a word fast.  No more words, I was adamant.  Instead I will beam a wave of understanding. I was living in the heart of the Bible belt: Dallas, Texas.


I’m attracted to energy, the spark of life and conversations are all about energy.  If someone had energy of a truth I’d bask in the heart of it until dogma followed; then I’d fly away.  I had a gift for hearing sounds.  That I was connected to extraterrestrial activity was perplexing.  Most of the folks around me were trying to save me and not the other way around.


Then the whirring and oscillating sounds penetrated the neighborhoods I lived in.  I guess they’re my ships, I thought.  “I wanna know what love is,”  “I don’t know much but I know that I love you” were the songs I loved.  I experienced expanded states of freedom and unconditional frequencies of love when they came over the radio.  I could hear the ships come down the street and hover over the rental I lived in.  The den wall was a time tunnel and many visitors came and went.  I lay in bed and sang over and over, “I wanna know what love it.”


Then the lights turned on.  They turned on inside of me while I was driving.  A blast of light connected me to everything inanimate and animate. “Creator doesn’t call the equipped, love equips the calling.”  I always knew I was not born of original sin.  I am  born and reborn with original innocence.


Mom, now in her eighties, told me on the phone she heard the answers to the questions I sought as a child. They were found in the blessed realm of love in the now.  She said, “Oh love which set me free, such a love shall hallow me.” Hallowed me is exactly what happened when the lights of love turned on. The answers came streaming forth all at once. Nothing is hidden. You are connected to the practical wisdom navigating infinite realms of possibilities.  The blessed realm of the presence of love is a moveable feast.


In 2001 I packed up all my belongings put them in storage and flew to the Yucatan, but before I left a visitor came to tell me, “You are the second wave which comes from the  Milky Way, the river of life. “You are requested to perform an invocation of the seven virgins at Pyramid Chichen Itza during the spring equinox.” I have always stayed clear of readers and psychics. Often they would tell me what I already knew but I didn’t know I was an air traffic controller and now I was faced with the portent of a strange ceremony. I wrote their names down on an index card.”


By Carol Petersen All rights reserved 2007




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