Mati now in the Alchemy

For years, the word alchemy felt foreign to me. I heard it as something of magic, of spells and potions in smoking cauldrons, something that had no relation to what I did. I dedicated myself to remembering, to explaining the universe, to being an educator of consciousness, but I never saw myself as a doer, as someone who transforms matter or creates something new.

When I began traveling the world with my planetary tasks, I always explained that I was an electrician of consciousness. I connected points, connected networks, brought consciousness to different corners of the world. My work consisted of connecting what had been disconnected, of laying cables between forgotten places, of turning on lights where there was darkness. It was a clear task, understandable, that I could explain with ease.

Until one day, inside the Great Pyramid, Thoth appeared. Djehuti, the scribe of the gods, the measurer of time, the architect of words. And he explained the entire plan to me.

The Network of Networks

There I could see that my task was related to many levels I still couldn't comprehend. A network of networks, tasks connected to technology, biology, politics, agriculture, education. There were so many edges, so many interwoven threads, that it seemed impossible to achieve even a single one. Each point I touched opened ten more, each connection revealed a hundred more to be made.

How could one person encompass so much? How could I connect such different worlds, such distant disciplines, such fragmented realities?

And then Thoth told me something I didn't understand at that moment: "In all of this, you must be an alchemist. Not one who manifests, but one who takes different elements to create something new."

When I asked what he meant, he told me I needed to process what that meant. That the answer wouldn't come immediately, that I needed to walk it, live it, discover it in time.

Over time, the image of the alchemist became more present in my consciousness. I remembered that one of the first books I had read was called The Alchemist, by Paulo Coelho. Someone had given it to me around my fifteenth year and I read it in Ansi, Italy, the town of my ancestors, in my ancestors' house. But now that book took on another meaning I still didn't know, as if those pages had planted a seed waiting for the right moment to germinate.

The Black Land

I traveled to Egypt many times in my explorations and missions, toured temples and pyramids, heard the stories of priests and gods. And I could never connect that alchemy comes from the name of that land. Al-Khemia. The art of Khem. Khem, the black land, the fertile soil that the Nile deposited each year on the shores, that dark and rich silt that made life possible in the middle of the desert.

Egypt wasn't called Egypt by its inhabitants, it was called Kemet, the black land, the land of fertility and abundance. And alchemy, al-Khemia, was the art of working with that black earth, of creating life where it seemed impossible, of transforming the inert into the living.

Upon understanding this, something clicked in my memory. I realized that I had gone throughout my childhood and adolescence to an agrotechnical school, CAR in Venado Tuerto. My foundation was agriculture. I had spent years learning about soils, seeds, crops, growth cycles. And now I could see that alchemy was born as agriculture, as the art of creating good black and fertile soil for seeds. This is what led me to name my foundation in Argentina as "Arsayian, sowing a new humanity" (Arsayian, Atlantean language meaning to speak to the world, with words being the seeds of consciousness).

The first alchemists weren't in dark laboratories transmuting metals, they were in the fields, mixing elements to create fertile earth, observing how by combining certain minerals with organic matter richer soils were generated, how by mixing different plants larger, more nutritious, more resistant fruits were obtained. They were farmers experimenting with genetic modifications in plants and animals, and therefore in people as well, because what we eat transforms us, composes us, defines us.

Alchemy understood natural rhythms, cycles, seasons, lunar phases. All to generate cereal, the foundation of civilization. And from there the word ceremony, from Ceres, the goddess of cereal and agriculture. To cerear, to create cereal, to create the sacred food. The ceremony was originally the act of honoring the grain cycle, of giving thanks for the harvest, of sharing the food that sustains life.

From Cultivation to Culture

All culture is born from cultivation, from a space that follows the rhythms of time. The word culture comes from cultivate, from working the land, from honoring cycles. And so rituals, ceremonies, traditions, all relate to eating, to sharing food, to nourishing ourselves together. Culture and civilization emerge from this sharing and nourishing, from sitting together around the fire or table to break bread, divide fruit, celebrate abundance.

This led some to realize the power of plants beyond food. To discover that some healed everyday pains, that others healed ailments and diseases, first physical, but then emotional and mental. That's where they found the power of plant and animal poisons as the basis for human medicine. They understood that the difference between poison and medicine is the dose, the moment, the intention. That what kills in excess, heals in just measure.

This philosophy leads us to understand that the human being is like a seed. In the pineal gland, that small pine-shaped structure in the center of the brain, dwells the seed of consciousness. And everything that happens in our life is the process of growth and harvest of that seed.

The Process of the Human Seed

The seed falls into dark earth. The pressure of shadows and traumas acts as soil, like that black silt of the Nile that sustains and nourishes. The past acts like minerals in the earth, that inheritance that comes in the seed itself, the internal potential coded in our DNA, in our ancestral memories.

The seed opens to put down roots. It goes deep to the origin, to the past, it sinks into darkness to gain momentum and grow. The deeper the roots, the higher the tree can grow. The roots are carbon, nitrogen, phosphorus, the elements that anchor in the dense to extract nutrients from what was.

Then the stem emerges, seeks the sun, seeks a lifestyle that allows it to expand toward the light. The stem is structure, it is calcium and magnesium, it is support and direction. It opens to receive information in the leaves, those green antennas that capture sunlight and transform it into food through photosynthesis. The leaves are the dialogue between the carbon in the air and the oxygen we release, the constant exchange with the world.

Then comes flowering, that moment when the plant opens completely, vulnerable and beautiful. The flowers invite insects, those beings that may seem like annoying bugs but that actually pollinate, expand, connect. Insects carry pollen from one flower to another, creating genetic diversity, ensuring that the species doesn't remain locked within itself. In our lives, those "bugs" are the people and situations that make us uncomfortable, that challenge us, that force us to expand beyond our comfort zone.

And finally the fruit. But the fruit is not the end, it is the container of a new seed. The fruit is sweet so that others will eat it and disperse the seed far from the mother tree. The fruit is generosity, it is the act of giving so that life continues. In the fruit all the elements are gathered: the carbon of structure, the oxygen of respiration, the hydrogen of the water that fills it with juice, the nitrogen of proteins, the phosphorus of energy, the potassium that regulates its growth.

And when that fruit falls and decomposes, it releases a new seed that will begin the cycle again. A cycle that never ends, that only transforms.

The Alchemist of the Mind

It was then that I understood that alchemy was not magic, and yet magicians did alchemy. The difference is that they worked with invisible elements, with symbols, with archetypes, with the subtle forces that move reality before it manifests in the dense.

Thoth told me something that changed my understanding: "You are the storyteller alchemist. Not the one who makes potions, but the one who tells stories. You are the alchemist of the mind."

There are different types of alchemy, and not all alchemists work with the same thing. Some work with metals and minerals, others with plants and potions, others with the body and its energies. In my case, stories, adventures, legends, journeys of the mind, education, that was my alchemy. And I had to perfect it.

But an alchemist must touch everything to then learn about a specialty. That's why he told me I needed to travel the entire path and practice various aspects of this alchemy. He told me to be inspired by Merlin, an alchemist of the mind who built complete realities through the stories he told, the prophecies he sowed, the symbols he wove.

I began to discover what alchemy was, its stages, its processes. The nigredo, the black phase of decomposition and death. The albedo, the white phase of purification and clarity. The citrinitas, the yellow phase of the dawn of consciousness. And the rubedo, the red phase of integration and mastery.

But then Thoth told me something important, something that became the key to my entire path: "Your poison is not knowing, and not knowing is what you will use to create your medicine."

The Poison of Not Knowing

Basically he told me I needed to go through everything I don't know. Alchemical processes, chemical knowledge, cooking, agriculture, potions, symbolism, so many things I don't know about alchemy. He told me that NOT KNOWING would be the key to my path, that nonsense would be the tool to create sense.

And that goes against everything they teach us. They train us to know, to have answers, to demonstrate knowledge. They shame us for not knowing, they make us feel that ignorance is weakness. But Thoth was telling me the opposite: that my greatest strength would be recognizing what I don't know, inhabiting the mystery, walking in confusion with the certainty that transformation lies there.

So here I prostrate myself before everyone in the not knowing of alchemy to guide them in an alchemical process. From Ate to Athena, from confusion and nonsense or unknowing toward clarity, sense and wisdom. Ate, the Greek goddess of confusion and error, who makes us stumble so we learn to walk. Athena, the goddess of wisdom, who is born already adult and armed from Zeus's head.

This is a process we will do all together. Not me as a teacher guiding students, but as companions on the path of remembering. Because if there's anything alchemy has taught me, it's that teacher and apprentice are one, that whoever teaches learns, that whoever doesn't know opens the space for wisdom to emerge.

The question is whether you will accompany me in the adventure of not knowing. Whether you are willing to release certainties, to embrace mystery, to convert your poison into medicine. Because the alchemical process is not comfortable, it's not easy, it's not a path of quick answers. It is the path of the seed that breaks in darkness to become a tree, of metal that melts in fire to become something new, of the mind that dissolves in chaos to reorganize itself in a higher order.

Are we willing to be seeds that accept breaking apart?

Can we inhabit the dark soil of our not knowing without fleeing toward the false light of borrowed answers?

Do we dare to put down roots in the past to gain momentum toward the future?

Will we allow the bugs of life to pollinate us, even though they make us uncomfortable?

Will we accept giving fruit knowing the fruit is not for us but to sow new seeds?

Because this is alchemy. Not the magic of transforming lead into gold, but the wisdom of transforming the poison of not knowing into the medicine of remembering. And that process begins now, together, walking toward the black earth of Kemet, toward the fertile soil where all seeds wait to germinate.