Born in the barrio of Carlsbad, California in 1940, Victor Villaseñor was primarily raised by his Yaqui Indian grandmother alongside the alley behind his father’s poolhall until the age of four. Then Victor and his family moved to a ranch by the sea four miles north in South Oceanside.
Since his grandmother and parents were born and raised in Mexico, Victor spoke only Spanish when he started school and “only English” was the philosophy of American education at that time. And so Victor and his fellow Latinos were yelled at and slapped when they spoke Spanish, and Spanish was all they knew.
School was a nightmare for young Victor and he became a bedwetter, then after years of facing language and cultural barriers, heavy discrimination and a reading problem, later diagnosed as dyslexia, Victor dropped out of high school his junior year and moved to Mexico.
There, he discovered a wealth of Mexican art, literature, music, and to his utter shock, he found out Mexicans could become doctors and lawyers and architects and teachers, and weren’t just people who labored in the fields.
Returning to the U.S. at the age of 20, with a new understanding of the dignity and richness of his Indigenous Native American heritage, he began to immediately feel the old frustration and anger return to him as he once again witnessed the total disregard toward poor uneducated people and especially toward Mexicans and Native Americans.
And also now in quick little flashes, he began to remember how his old Yaqui Indian grandmother had raised him with such joyous LoveAmor to Know that we were all Walking Stars, and we’d come across the Universe with our very own Guardian Angel collecting Stardust from our different familia of Stars, so we could help Papito Dios, Little Daddy God, plant His ongoing Holy Garden with the Stardust we’d brought with us from the Heavens. Why? Because Little Daddy God couldn’t do it without us.
Oh, we were such special wonderful people. Papito Dios needed us as much as we need Him. And so this was why it was so important for us to plant with all our LoveAmor the Stardust we’d collected, helping Our Holy Creator plant His ongoing Happy Sacred Holy Garden of Heaven on Our Beloved Mother Earth.
This was why we saw all of Our Sister Flowers open every morning with such joy when Our Father Sun, the Right Eye of God, came up each morning, giving light and warmth to all of us. Birds chirping. Trees swaying. Rocks purring. And Our Beloved Mother Earth along with all her Holy Waters giving Life, la Vida, to all of Creation.
And at night Our Mother Moon, the Left Eye of God, along with all Our Familia de Estrellas giving us gentle Sacred Guidance and warm LoveAmor in our Sleep Dream Catching.
And all this had been ripped away from him with “English only” ever since he’d started kindergarten and he and the other Mexican kids had been slapped and ridiculed and punished for speaking Spanish. They’d only been little five-year-old kids and within a week they’d been made to feel ashamed of their brown skin and Mexican Indian heritage.
Feeling such rage of having been culturally raped as a child, Victor took his dad’s old 12 gauge Remington shotgun and a pistol out of their gun cabinet and drove down to Wisconsin Street to kill the old playground teacher who’d so much enjoyed slapping him and his Mexican friends until they were bloody.
Trembling with rage, he sat in the old ranch truck with shotgun in hand, listening to crashing waves of the ocean until daybreak. He was waiting for her to wake up and turn on her bathroom and kitchen lights as he’d seen her do other mornings. Oh, he’d been looking forward to killing her since kindergarden while she was sipping her first cup of coffee of the day. He wanted her to be fully awake and see him and his shotgun and big bowie knife with which he was going to cut out her no-heart out of her body.
And there she now was, an old woman with trembling hands blowing into her too hot cup of coffee, when he suddenly realized that he was bleeding. He’d been gripping his big bowie knife too tightly.
Quickly, he wrapped his hand in the sleeve of his long-sleeve western shirt, started the motor of his truck and drove home. He’d failed. He’d failed. But then in the bathroom washing the blood off his hands and arms, he leaped back in terror. He didn’t know this person that was staring at him in the mirror. This was a wild-eyed crazyloco mad feral cat.
His heart was pounding and he burst into tears. What had he become? Oh, my God! My God! And so feeling totally crazyloco, he quickly packed rifles and pistols and a couple of hundred rounds of ammunition and got back in the old ranch truck and took off going east before he went back to Wisconsin Street and killed that old teacher along with his list of six other racist abusive teachers, because teaching was a sacred job and so teachers should be kind and thoughtful and good hearted. THEY WERE TEACHERS, DAMNIT!
He drove east through Riverside, San Bernardino, Las Vegas, St. George, Utah, then turned north going through Salt Lake City and into Idaho and turned right. The whole way he kept crying and praying and asking for Papito Dios and his grandmothers to come to him, for he knew that we all came from the Stars with our very own Guardian Angel to Mother Earth to help Little Daddy God plant His Sacred Garden. But how in hell could he help plant a Happy Sacred Garden with all this rage and hate that was killing him deep inside?
Then in Wyoming out in the middle of nowhere, a herd of antelope ran across the road in front of him. He slammed on his brakes, got his model 70 Winchester 30/06 and strapped on his .357 Magnum Smith & Wesson revolver, and took off after the antelope to kill all of them.
He’d shoot one of the furthest pronghorn antelope, so they’d think the shooting was being done from over there, and then they’d come running towards him, and he’d kill three more with his rifle, then switch to his .357 Magnum and knock down six more, then rush out to cut the throats of the wounded. He knew what he was doing. He’d been taught at military school “onward Christian soldiers to war” was the All-American Way, and he finally wanted to fit in.
But then in the early morning light, he saw the distant snow-capped Tetons and they were so beautiful and the antelope around him were also so beautiful that he dropped to his knees and screamed, “God, I need help! Can’t You see that I need to get all this hate and rage out of me so I can once more see all of Your beautiful Holy Creation as mi mamagrande taught me to see!”
And saying this was when he saw the Father Sun, the Right Eye of God, come up shooting such warmth and LoveAmor of Bright Golden Light to all the world that the wildflowers instantly opened up with big happy smiles. And the birds began chirping. And three of the just-spring-born little antelope began coming towards him. No doubt never having seen a human animal before.
And the antelope ShapeShifting into three little nine-year-old human girls with colorful Indian dresses and they smiled.
He rubbed his eyes, thinking he’d gone crazyloco, but when he looked again he saw that they were now young white girls with sunflower dresses.
He laughed, and now they were little Asian girls, then little African girls, then all the different little girls of the whole world, and they were smiling. And they kept coming closer and closer to him with big smiles and such curiosity and Trust and LoveAmor that he was overwhelmed with joy.
And this was when they turned into just-born little antelope again and his vision BURST into flashes and he suddenly saw with his SoulEyes that God never chose the Jews to be His Chosen People. No, we were all God’s Chosen People. Antelope People. Grassland People. Wildflower People. Breeze caressing People. Oh, we were all God’s Chosen People!
And the Jews had learned this when they’d taken their oral story and put it into written form, and this was why there’d been chaos with the Jews before the word. The written word was Sacred. And so it was now for all us — Mexicans and Indians and Blacks and Asians and Whites — to put our own oral stories into written form, so we, too, could all then also consciously become the Chosen People of God.
And in that zenith of a moment, Victor realized that he had to become a writer. A great writer. And write about his familia. His own People. But then he remembered that he didn’t even know how to read, and he leaped to his feet and started screaming at God, “What are You, senile? Or so hard up and mean that You just love giving wonderful visions to people that you know they can’t do it?”
But then he suddenly remembered that God can do anything and so he said, “Look, God, I’ll make a deal with you, but not kneeling down! No, standing on my two feet, planted here on Our Beloved Mother Earth, I swear that if You stick with me and don’t chicken out, then I won’t chicken out either, and so I’ll write my Peoples’ story with all my Heart and Soul, so we, too, can be Your Chosen People.”
And so with this commitment and tears pouring down his face, Victor drove non-stop all the way home to Southern California, well-over 1,500 miles away, and he looked up his old high school English teacher at his military high school in Carlsbad, and told him that he had to become a great writer.
Captain Moffat looked at Victor in his eyes, a student who’d done below a “D” level work in his English classes, but had also been the chess champion of their school, and he could now see in Victor’s eyes that same fire he’d had when he’d played chess, and so he said, “Yes, you’ll do it.” And he walked his former student across his classroom and pointed to a big poster he always kept on the wall by Johann Wolfgang Goethe and he read it to Victor.
“Whatever you can do or dream you can do, begin it. Boldness has genius, power and magic.”
Victor shouted, “THAT’S IT! THAT’S IT! That’s exactly what I’ve been feeling ever since I took my oath before God in Wyoming!”
And so with his old English teacher’s guidance, Victor put all his concentrated energy into confronting cultural and racial discrimination through literature. Getting up at 2 and 3 in the morning, Victor wrote with burning passion for 10 years producing 9 novels, 65 short stories, and receiving well-over 265 rejections, before he sold his first book, Macho!, which was immediately compared to the best of John Steinbeck by the LA Times.
Thusly Victor’s journey began that would eventually lead to the publication of his non-fiction National Bestseller Rain of Gold, used by thousands of teachers and school systems across the nation as required reading, and publishing 17 other books, including his most recent, Our First Lady Pope.
Victor and Dyslexia
Victor Villaseñor first came upon the concept of reading in the second grade. He would read the simple “Jane saw Spot” and he could understand, but as soon as the sentences became more complex, he lost all understanding. Reading the simple order of the days of the week was too great a confusion to his young mind. He would hide or change seats to avoid being called upon to read. He lived in a secret world of terror.
Villaseñor flunked the third grade. He would have also flunked the fourth grade had his father not given some homegrown avocados to the teacher. Victor copied and cheated his way through school.
At the age of twenty he decided he really wanted to learn to read. He would read for 5 minutes and get tremendous headaches. His eyes would hurt and his mind would reel. He would stop and do push-ups, breathe deeply and try again. Sometimes this would work, other times he would almost pass out. He would circle words that he did not understand. He would look each one up in the dictionary and then write the new word down 5 times, “pressing real hard”, so he could “press” the new word into his mind. This went on for years.
In his late twenties, Villaseñor heard about dyslexia. He knew he had the symptoms. He was terrified. He heard it was genetic and he was afraid to ever have children. When he met his wife, he was glad to learn that she could read normally. They had two sons. When the boys began reading, there were some problems. Victor took the opportunity to have both his sons and himself tested for dyslexia. The boys were mildly dyslexic, but Victor was “off the chart”.
What the test revealed was that Victor had severe visual and audio dyslexia. He was told that it was a miracle that he ever learned to read or write. It was a surprise that he could even listen and understand! He learned about dyslexia. He understood how he was different. He finally understood about his childhood reading problems and his unbearable fear at school. He realized that he had a unique reading and hearing disorder and that this was the cause of his failures. It was not that he was stupid.
Victor Villaseñor now considers his dyslexia a “saving grace”. He views it as the means by which he has become an original thinker. He realizes he sees the world differently from other people. He goes deep within himself to unfold the mysteries of life in his own unique way. These observations and discoveries are reflected in his literary works, but are even more revealed and shared with audiences in his speaking engagements.
Both of Victor Villaseñor’s grandmothers were Indigenous American Natives, one from Oaxaca, Mexico and the other originally from Sinaloa, Mexico. Through all his writing, Villaseñor anchors his work to the Sacred Knowledge that he received from his parents about his grandmothers.
Please go to Dolphin Miracle plus your own Key to Living Miracles and you will find indigenous Terms and Concepts that are outside of Western civilization and give you access to the pre-Colombian Native Wisdom of the Americas.
For instance, in pre-Colombian times there was a Red City in Central America where Sacred Native Elders and Healers would come from all over South and North America. For 10 years they would exchange sacred knowledge of this planet and our Six Sister Planets. Then they’d go north and south to share this knowledge for 10 years. These 20 years were called “the living tree of ancient wisdom” and/or our Original Instructions. Parrots accompanied these Keepers of Wisdom, and that’s why, even today, feathers and carcasses of parrots are found in northern Canada. Truly understand, once you learn these native terms and concepts, you will see that Indigenous People the world over weren’t savages, but highly sophisticated people of sustainable knowledge in harmony with nature.
There’s only One Race, the Human Race, once we activate our Original Instructions.