Lago Atitlan is the most beautiful lake in the world.
So proclaim a history of writers and explorers, drawn here by the mystery of the morning mists over the water. Ancient volcanoes sleep at its edges and the Mayans, isolated to the extreme, appear to live as they have for thousands of years. From village to neighbouring village, one's ears prick with completely different dialects. Weak sunlight glints from the sparkling fabrics of the ladies, who keep their spirits alive in the startling threads of the full, traditional costume.
I first came to Guatemala in 2008, on a trip designed as a test for this current journey.
At that stage my hula-hoop loop was just a twinkle in my eye, and the perspective of that holidaying office girl painted a perfectly-proportioned picture of my future quest.
I spent ten dreamy days on the shores of Atitlan in a sleepy village called San Pedro, absorbing myself in the solitude of single travel and the intense peace of the rocks.
I had rarely seen such beautiful evenings.
Today I return, this time in the middle of a moody rainy season that paints the mountain-scratched skies with emotion. We enter San Pedro on one of Guatemala's famous chicken buses, painted beautifully kitch colours and packed eight across.
I barely recognise the town.
From the emptiness of the Christmas weekend two years ago has birthed a town for tourists, crawling with white faces and shamelessly-plugged memorabilia. The locals unsmilingly rip me off at the market and, in sharp contrast to the rest of Guatemala and Mexico, flatly refuse a bargain.
I am shocked at the difference between this town and my memory. Not only that, but I quickly discover that the lake has turned toxic and is only weeks away from a devastating algal bloom.
It is as if this postcard memory has been decomposed by first-world scum.
The worst is the singing. Every morning at 6am, the loudspeaker cries of Evangelist churches echo in symphony across the lake, blasted from each village in a call to convert the few remaining Mayans.
The 1970s left a crater of devastation in the wake of civil war and natural disaster, providing vulture-like missionaries the perfect conditions in which to descend. In the midst of destruction and agony, new religions proliferated and churches, foreign-funded, were often the first buildings up in the most hard-hit areas.
Converts tell tales of miraculous healings. Gifts of money and American trinkets.
Now, perched smugly upon the old houses of San Pedro, a church more like a wedding cake than a building shits over the spirits of the lake.
I am disgusted.
The same thing has happened to virtually all of the indigenous traditions across Mexico and Central America. No doubt to the rest of the world.
While to the untrained eye, the locals may look as they always have, in reality the addition of new religion has divided neighbouring villages, keeping people under strict, unofficial laws (in many villages the church owns the land, dictating where the villagers may work and live and when they may leave).
But (I pathetically justify to myself) this is nothing new. Catholicism, unsurprisingly, is the principal religion of the region, brutally imposed by the conquering Spaniards hundreds of years ago. Indigenous practices survived this steamrollering by learning to adapt and unite in a deeply interesting combination of traditional beliefs and that of the Vatican. Up until the second half of the last century, the music of the ancients continued to sing in this syncretic meld of faiths known as costumbre (custom).
Somehow, however, the loudspeaker ceremonies of the Evangelists seem unbearable in comparison.
The voice of the ancients, crushed under the pretence of development. I am left slightly flustered, wondering what to do.
Nothing can take away the beauty of this lake.
But the changes within myself have been highlighted by my return.
I realise how uninspired I am by the idea of going out to drink in cute, themed bars. I watch old hippies, drawn by the energy of the lake, overtly take photographs of the locals as if they are no more than animals. I see how repulsed I am by the damage the rest of this world has done to the culture of this village.
I do not want to make it worse.
When Eva and Toño leave after a few days, I happily board the boat away from this town.
I seek retreat.
Showing posts with label mayan. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mayan. Show all posts
Saturday, August 7, 2010
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Flowers, clouds and clues
The sign on the door at Casa de Doña Catalina is peeling. I wonder if Catalina herself is dead.
In the garden her geraniums nod happily. I long to meet the carer of this paintbox of plants.
Sometimes we end the day in a cloud, an explosion through which the sun stretches dying fingers. We float away in our wooden boat in a wispy flood of white.
It feels as if we are lost.
Once again, a vortex of energy has sucked us in to a slow whirlpool of routine.
Over the last few weeks we have watched the sinking slopes of the valley ahead of us emerging and disappearing into clouds of a hundred different variations. We have explored the mountain trails through the pine forests, neon lichen and huge cacti like great, tentacled aliens, resting on the red carpet of the forest in surreal colour clashes.
We have continued to function without running water, pouring buckets of dirty dishwater down the toilet bowl and washing from a bowl of rainwater. Like so much of Mexico, Oaxaca state is not so far from seasonal abandonment for lack of water. Prophecies echo from state to state: the next world war will surely be over water.Night rushes in, velvet skirts rustling and star-splattered. We retreat from the terrace to the cosy, low ceilings of Catalina's living room, walled in on all sides by psychadelic murals, bookshelves, musical instruments and brightly woven cushions. The lightshade is a carefully-arranged plastic bag. Against the window is a wide ledge filled with soft things for sleeping in.
In the other corner stands a bookshelf, with titles in a handful of languages, ranging from Carlos Castaneda to Madame Bovary.
The spine that grabs me belongs to a small notebook. I open it. The first thing I see is a piece of paper dated 1958. It is someone's Mayan horoscope. Whoever owns this book has the same energy as me: in modern Mayan interpretation, Yellow Sun, representing the Enlightener. In ancient readings, Kame, representing the beginning, harmony, vision, cunning.
The next page is a list of diseases.
It takes me a moment to realise that besides each of the diseases is a cure, encoded in Spanish. I wonder whether this belongs to Catalina. The looping script shows me my place and I feel I am prying.
I snap the book shut, but fail to forget.
After about a week we consider leaving and play cards for the decision. The cards tell us to stay.
That afternoon, Catalina herself arrives home from a month at the coast.
Monday, February 22, 2010
The duality of sense and bewilderment
After breakfast, I allow myself to be taken by Luis to the other pyramids at Tzuntzintzan, the ancient capital of the Tarascans, holders of the Lake Patzcuaro territory. The tip of my tongue trips and taps over the name in ingeminated, gratified triplets.
The pyramids are larger, more numerous and seemingly more alive than those I visited at Ihuatzio a few days ago. I wonder how to broach to this well dressed, expensively perfumed gentleman the fact that I very much want to meditate here.
Before I do so, Luis tells me this place is a centre of energy. He asks me if I know how to "charge" from it.
Taken aback, I reply, "Yes. I think so. Sentar y sentir. Sit and feel."
He nods, satisfied, and beckons me through the alleyway between two of the central pyramids. Then he points to a position on the crumbling stone. "Sit there," he commands. "On the third level up, in that corner."
Once sat, he orders me to uncross my legs and arms, place my palms on the stone, and close my eyes. Asks me if I have a mantra. The only one I can think of is the one contained within my Mayan Yellow Sun dreamspell - "I am that I am". He tells me to focus on my breathing and repeat that. He will tell me when to stop.
Slightly self-consciously, I do as he says. Within around five minutes I feel my forearms twitching. The visuals on my eyelids swirl excitedly and I feel almost as if I have pins and needles running up my arms.
After fifteen minutes, he whispers my name from his position on the ground, bringing me out of my trance. He tells me to stand and raise my arms to the sky, and then to climb down. He places the palms of his hands on mine and tells me to close my eyes.
His hands start to vibrate. For a moment I am flooded with fear, for it feels like I am electrocuting him, and he is so frail. When he takes his hands away, I open my eyes to see him smiling. "You have a lot of power, Julia," he says, with no hint of embarrassment. "Even before we came here I could feel your power. You radiate heat."
Once again, as so often, I am grateful for my poor Spanish; providing a convenient mask when I wish to remain silent.
We walk around the site in a circle, and I remember my meditation a few days ago at the pyramids of Ihuatzio. I have the urge to tell him about the red bird; for some reason I know he will understand. When I do so, he smiles that ever-more familiar quiet smile. "Do you know what that means, Luis?" I question, knowing the answer, knowing he is not going to tell me.
In the silence that follows his nod, I then get the urge to tell him about the stranger in England who told me I'd find answers in Mexico. His smile widens even more. "This is one of your answers."
I can't help thinking, But I don't even know the questions! But I remain silent, still thinking about the red bird and what it could mean. We continue to walk in circles in front of the pyramids.
I gasp. There in front of me is an identical red bird, darting between the trees. Behind it is a bright blue bird.
I stammer Spanish like an idiot, stating the obvious. "Otra pecaro rojo! Y un azul!"
Luis looks surprised for the first time. "Now you have two. Two red birds. And a blue. This is very special, Julia."
I do not find out the answer until later on in the day, driving around the lake, enough time and mind-bending conversation having passed for me to know, with all my being, that something momentous is occurring.
He tells me that enlightenment and states of being are represented by the colours of the rainbow. Blue is love. Red is life. The highest form of being. I am seeing red because I am deep inside life right now.
As he tells me this, we drive over a large piece of bright red plastic on the road, next to a man standing at the edge wearing a red shirt.
I am caught between the wide-eyed silence of disbelief and the clamouring curiosity of the very young. I ask him question after question, processing the increasingly bizarre answers with lengthy stares into the shimmering lake. It does not take long before he mentions the principle of everything being the same thing, and in excitement I tell him about my tattoo.
He stops the car.
When he looks at it, a strange look shadows his face. I ask him why. To this, he replies, enigmatic as ever; "This has a very special meaning for me. I have been expecting you. I think it is you that has a message for me."
I can barely do justice to the events I've related, let alone relate everything that occurred that day. Of course, as will likely most who read this, I found it extremely hard to let go of my scepticism. How many times have I been warned about kidnappers, fraudsters, rapists, who here seem to be just that little bit more professional, that little bit more elaborate?
But I rationalise to myself that whatever he wants can have nothing to do with money, given the amount he seems to have. And I do not feel threatened. If this is a hustle, he has outdone himself.
Of course, I could be letting myself in for something extremely dangerous. But I have committed now to travelling on my instincts; following coincidence. And there were a great many coincidences that day. If I stopped because I was scared, I know these coincidences would stop with me.
When he asks me if I would like to travel with him for a few days, I say yes, before I have even thought about the reply.
An instinctive answer. And thus the correct one.
Later on, when my mind kicks in, I will suffer the paranoia and fear that is missing from this moment. But right now, in this car, I feel I have no choice.
Thus, I flow into the first stage of my entrenamiento.
The pyramids are larger, more numerous and seemingly more alive than those I visited at Ihuatzio a few days ago. I wonder how to broach to this well dressed, expensively perfumed gentleman the fact that I very much want to meditate here.
Before I do so, Luis tells me this place is a centre of energy. He asks me if I know how to "charge" from it.
Taken aback, I reply, "Yes. I think so. Sentar y sentir. Sit and feel."
He nods, satisfied, and beckons me through the alleyway between two of the central pyramids. Then he points to a position on the crumbling stone. "Sit there," he commands. "On the third level up, in that corner."
Once sat, he orders me to uncross my legs and arms, place my palms on the stone, and close my eyes. Asks me if I have a mantra. The only one I can think of is the one contained within my Mayan Yellow Sun dreamspell - "I am that I am". He tells me to focus on my breathing and repeat that. He will tell me when to stop.
Slightly self-consciously, I do as he says. Within around five minutes I feel my forearms twitching. The visuals on my eyelids swirl excitedly and I feel almost as if I have pins and needles running up my arms.
After fifteen minutes, he whispers my name from his position on the ground, bringing me out of my trance. He tells me to stand and raise my arms to the sky, and then to climb down. He places the palms of his hands on mine and tells me to close my eyes.
His hands start to vibrate. For a moment I am flooded with fear, for it feels like I am electrocuting him, and he is so frail. When he takes his hands away, I open my eyes to see him smiling. "You have a lot of power, Julia," he says, with no hint of embarrassment. "Even before we came here I could feel your power. You radiate heat."
Once again, as so often, I am grateful for my poor Spanish; providing a convenient mask when I wish to remain silent.
We walk around the site in a circle, and I remember my meditation a few days ago at the pyramids of Ihuatzio. I have the urge to tell him about the red bird; for some reason I know he will understand. When I do so, he smiles that ever-more familiar quiet smile. "Do you know what that means, Luis?" I question, knowing the answer, knowing he is not going to tell me.
In the silence that follows his nod, I then get the urge to tell him about the stranger in England who told me I'd find answers in Mexico. His smile widens even more. "This is one of your answers."
I can't help thinking, But I don't even know the questions! But I remain silent, still thinking about the red bird and what it could mean. We continue to walk in circles in front of the pyramids.
I gasp. There in front of me is an identical red bird, darting between the trees. Behind it is a bright blue bird.
I stammer Spanish like an idiot, stating the obvious. "Otra pecaro rojo! Y un azul!"
Luis looks surprised for the first time. "Now you have two. Two red birds. And a blue. This is very special, Julia."
I do not find out the answer until later on in the day, driving around the lake, enough time and mind-bending conversation having passed for me to know, with all my being, that something momentous is occurring.
He tells me that enlightenment and states of being are represented by the colours of the rainbow. Blue is love. Red is life. The highest form of being. I am seeing red because I am deep inside life right now.
As he tells me this, we drive over a large piece of bright red plastic on the road, next to a man standing at the edge wearing a red shirt.
I am caught between the wide-eyed silence of disbelief and the clamouring curiosity of the very young. I ask him question after question, processing the increasingly bizarre answers with lengthy stares into the shimmering lake. It does not take long before he mentions the principle of everything being the same thing, and in excitement I tell him about my tattoo.
He stops the car.
When he looks at it, a strange look shadows his face. I ask him why. To this, he replies, enigmatic as ever; "This has a very special meaning for me. I have been expecting you. I think it is you that has a message for me."
I can barely do justice to the events I've related, let alone relate everything that occurred that day. Of course, as will likely most who read this, I found it extremely hard to let go of my scepticism. How many times have I been warned about kidnappers, fraudsters, rapists, who here seem to be just that little bit more professional, that little bit more elaborate?
But I rationalise to myself that whatever he wants can have nothing to do with money, given the amount he seems to have. And I do not feel threatened. If this is a hustle, he has outdone himself.
Of course, I could be letting myself in for something extremely dangerous. But I have committed now to travelling on my instincts; following coincidence. And there were a great many coincidences that day. If I stopped because I was scared, I know these coincidences would stop with me.
When he asks me if I would like to travel with him for a few days, I say yes, before I have even thought about the reply.
An instinctive answer. And thus the correct one.
Later on, when my mind kicks in, I will suffer the paranoia and fear that is missing from this moment. But right now, in this car, I feel I have no choice.
Thus, I flow into the first stage of my entrenamiento.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Student of the Vortex
Fuck Spanish lessons. It appears Guadalajara is to make me student of other arts.
Because I'm 'not supposed' to be here, I feel like I should leave. So much for my disdain of cities. But in actual fact I have stumbled upon a centre of creativity, epitomised by Frank, who seems to be an endless source of energy - constantly producing, creating, literally singing his love for life.
Inspiration juices over my computer screen. I spend days in the hammock on the leafy terrace, attempting to record just a fraction of the information I'm receiving.
After a week and a half Dan arrives for a few hours, and like me is drawn in to stay for a further couple of weeks. Every time we try to leave we feel ourselves pulled back into the centre of the vortex, the flow so strong we do not even attempt to resist.
The hostel is small but it is a magnet for the people I need to speak to. I leave less and less.
Pecas, one of the helpers at the hostel, knows everything I want to know about the Mayans. He helps me understand the complexity of their calendar system. I plug him for information, pulling it out in long, savoury strings, chewing with unsated appetite, swallowing ravenously. When I finally digest it I will attempt to regurgitate it here, but for now I need to let it sit, slightly uncomfortably, in my stomach.
I am tattooed. An overwhelming lesson and a story in itself.
I meet a shaman, who feeds me even more information. His name is Marcos, and his Mayan sign is Cosmic Wind. Messenger from afar.
I feel like a human sponge, and wonder when all this started happening.
He gives me keys for my future journey - tells me to learn to heal with my hands, and correctly guesses that I have already felt the ability to do this without having been taught how.
He gives me the name of the man who will teach me, who I can find on a beach on the coast of Oaxaca state. We can stay there for free, and learn about self-sufficiency at the same time.
I will be with Michael then. I wonder if this will fit well with his own journey, whatever that may be. But then Shaman Marcos tells me there is also a collective of people there who make instruments. I can barely conceal my excitement when I talk to Mike, who has many times talked about his wish to record the sounds of the world. The perfection seems a little odd, even with my belief in all this.
Marcos makes my brain hurt. He is a shaman of three different cultures. Before this he was in prison for robbing a bank at gunpoint as a teenager, his head twisted by the images received as a 'body collector' in the Vietnam war. He heals the migraine of the only other hostel resident by placing his hands on her head for ten minutes. His right thumb is bent at an angle where he allowed a rattlesnake to bite him in a ceremony.
He spent years camping next to the Pyramids of Palenque before they were 'discovered' (Palenque is one of the Mayan sites that tell the prophecies - he was one of those who told the Mexican government about those famous glyphs; something he regrets deeply to this day).
He believes 2012 will bring the return of the Mayans through the black hole at the centre of the universe.
My brain is not quite ready to take all of this in.
I try to write down at least some of his stories. I wrestle with indecision over whether to put all of this in my blog, for fear of what people will think. But the indecision is momentary - of course I have to write.
I don't know enough to be able to comprehend what he means when he says the Mayans will return. Instead I focus on the more palpable information - what his people believe will actually happen in the next three years.
"We have dammed the rivers - the earth's life blood. We have moved mountains from one place to another. We talk about the future, when the Earth will be ruined by our mess, but little do we realise we are already at that point. We have destroyed it far more than we ever admit to. Look at Mexico. Every week there are protests because someone fell into a river and died, not from drowning, but from poisoning. How many rivers are there that can be swum in safely?
"The earth is in huge imbalance. You know enough about flows to understand that this is unsustainable. How can it continue to function in such an imbalance?
"Despite what we believe, it is infinitely more powerful than the human. Very soon, it will reveal this power. The Mayans knew that. We just don't want to listen. It may well mean the end of everything as we know it. And it will be a lot sooner than we think."
Into my mind floats an image of the earth as a dozing dog, having its hair plaited and its paws rearranged by bullish children. It waits patiently. But how much time is it going to be before the dog becomes so uncomfortable that it has to jump up, suddenly, shake itself violently? The plaits come loose, instantly. Buildings, dams, the construction of our lives, all razed to the ground.
Dan brings it back to reality: "The real question is, what will we do if the economy collapses. What will you do if you can no longer buy what you need from a store?"
All I can do right now is become the messenger. Enlighten by reflection.
One day I wake up and know it is time to go. By this time, I am armed with everything I need for a final two and a half weeks alone before Mike's arrival.
Because I'm 'not supposed' to be here, I feel like I should leave. So much for my disdain of cities. But in actual fact I have stumbled upon a centre of creativity, epitomised by Frank, who seems to be an endless source of energy - constantly producing, creating, literally singing his love for life.
Inspiration juices over my computer screen. I spend days in the hammock on the leafy terrace, attempting to record just a fraction of the information I'm receiving.
After a week and a half Dan arrives for a few hours, and like me is drawn in to stay for a further couple of weeks. Every time we try to leave we feel ourselves pulled back into the centre of the vortex, the flow so strong we do not even attempt to resist.
The hostel is small but it is a magnet for the people I need to speak to. I leave less and less.
Pecas, one of the helpers at the hostel, knows everything I want to know about the Mayans. He helps me understand the complexity of their calendar system. I plug him for information, pulling it out in long, savoury strings, chewing with unsated appetite, swallowing ravenously. When I finally digest it I will attempt to regurgitate it here, but for now I need to let it sit, slightly uncomfortably, in my stomach.
I am tattooed. An overwhelming lesson and a story in itself.
I meet a shaman, who feeds me even more information. His name is Marcos, and his Mayan sign is Cosmic Wind. Messenger from afar.
I feel like a human sponge, and wonder when all this started happening.
He gives me keys for my future journey - tells me to learn to heal with my hands, and correctly guesses that I have already felt the ability to do this without having been taught how.
He gives me the name of the man who will teach me, who I can find on a beach on the coast of Oaxaca state. We can stay there for free, and learn about self-sufficiency at the same time.
I will be with Michael then. I wonder if this will fit well with his own journey, whatever that may be. But then Shaman Marcos tells me there is also a collective of people there who make instruments. I can barely conceal my excitement when I talk to Mike, who has many times talked about his wish to record the sounds of the world. The perfection seems a little odd, even with my belief in all this.
Marcos makes my brain hurt. He is a shaman of three different cultures. Before this he was in prison for robbing a bank at gunpoint as a teenager, his head twisted by the images received as a 'body collector' in the Vietnam war. He heals the migraine of the only other hostel resident by placing his hands on her head for ten minutes. His right thumb is bent at an angle where he allowed a rattlesnake to bite him in a ceremony.
He spent years camping next to the Pyramids of Palenque before they were 'discovered' (Palenque is one of the Mayan sites that tell the prophecies - he was one of those who told the Mexican government about those famous glyphs; something he regrets deeply to this day).
He believes 2012 will bring the return of the Mayans through the black hole at the centre of the universe.
My brain is not quite ready to take all of this in.
I try to write down at least some of his stories. I wrestle with indecision over whether to put all of this in my blog, for fear of what people will think. But the indecision is momentary - of course I have to write.
I don't know enough to be able to comprehend what he means when he says the Mayans will return. Instead I focus on the more palpable information - what his people believe will actually happen in the next three years.
"We have dammed the rivers - the earth's life blood. We have moved mountains from one place to another. We talk about the future, when the Earth will be ruined by our mess, but little do we realise we are already at that point. We have destroyed it far more than we ever admit to. Look at Mexico. Every week there are protests because someone fell into a river and died, not from drowning, but from poisoning. How many rivers are there that can be swum in safely?
"The earth is in huge imbalance. You know enough about flows to understand that this is unsustainable. How can it continue to function in such an imbalance?
"Despite what we believe, it is infinitely more powerful than the human. Very soon, it will reveal this power. The Mayans knew that. We just don't want to listen. It may well mean the end of everything as we know it. And it will be a lot sooner than we think."
Into my mind floats an image of the earth as a dozing dog, having its hair plaited and its paws rearranged by bullish children. It waits patiently. But how much time is it going to be before the dog becomes so uncomfortable that it has to jump up, suddenly, shake itself violently? The plaits come loose, instantly. Buildings, dams, the construction of our lives, all razed to the ground.
Dan brings it back to reality: "The real question is, what will we do if the economy collapses. What will you do if you can no longer buy what you need from a store?"
All I can do right now is become the messenger. Enlighten by reflection.
One day I wake up and know it is time to go. By this time, I am armed with everything I need for a final two and a half weeks alone before Mike's arrival.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
As Above, So Below
I have been thinking about my tattoo design since 2001. I always knew the perfect design would arrive, and the key was not to put any pressure on it.
When I went travelling to New Zealand and the Pacific Islands in 2004, I was so taken with the Maori culture that I designed my own tattoo out of elements of various greenstone carvings that meant something to me. The design was beautiful. But I never got the tattoo. I couldn't decide where to have it and by the time I left the area it felt like the moment had passed.
I felt her liberation and kept the thoughts in my mind, circling slowly.
When I was in Vallarta the next time, I spent an afternoon in tattoo shops, looking at fonts. While I was there, a girl came in, about to have one down her spine. I asked her what it would say.
She replied, 'You have to lose yourself in order to be found.'
I left that tattoo shop with a mark not on my skin but on my mind - of that girl and her truth. It mirrored what was going on at the time. From the lost wilderness of my first weeks emerged the familiarity of myself. Shortly afterwards, I found myself sitting on the beach in Yelapa, wondering where the hell all this perfection arrived from.
Sure enough, my peace and patience paid off. When the coincidence occurred in the bookshop - the coincidence that led me to the Law of Attraction book - I knew the words As Above, So Below would soon be tattooed somewhere on my body.
Not only would it be a physical representation of that amazing memory of swimming in San Blas with the phosphorescence, but also a hats off to the techies up there that gave me the later coincidence.
On another level, there is the basic physical nature of it - that I am claiming my body as my own, maturing, changing, but in the same time recognising that it is just a body, and it is mine, so I can do what I want to it.
But more importantly, in those four words lie the truths I commit to. My beliefs in the unity of everything, the Law of Attraction and the ultimate connection of everything to everything else. The words represent it all for me.
Everything is the same. The things that you find above you are the things you find below you. That which is within, is also without. The stars are made of the same thing as the earth, the same thing as the sky, the same thing as ourselves. The physical manifestation of the world is exactly what is in your head.
Everything is made of the same energy - the omnipresence of consciousness.
All you have to do is tune in, and I feel like I have done that as much as I can for the age I am and the experiences I've had. I am at the stage now where I am truly feeling everything that comes along - seeing energy patterns in things and directing flows, or rather, flowing with them. I feel somewhere that this is a point in my life that will transpire to be very important. I am leaning against the proverbial milestone, catching my breath, darting my eyes around this new tierra to navigate the best way forward.
This is my journey, and these words express that perfectly.
And there is another reason. More and more, I feel like my purpose is to spread the word. The people I meet seem to be bringing me messages along these lines. In Mayan prophecies I am Yellow Rhythmic Sun, which means my life's purpose is "to enlighten". Even in Western horoscopes my charts tell me I am to "shine a light" in order to lead the way.
It is easy to be sceptical, particularly when I blush self-consciously at saying something so far-fetched and potentially arrogant. But what matters is what you feel inside. Without being daunted or condescending of this prophecy I feel myself shouldering it and preparing for it. My instincts tell me it is true. In stepping along this journey I know I'm stepping towards that purpose and I am in the process of submitting to it and simultaneously grasping it.
They tell me to be the change I wish to see in the world. A tattoo is a ritual, and for me this ritual comes in a poetically beautiful format.
By the time I arrive in Guadalajara I have just a rudimentary blur where my tattoo should be, but I know, really KNOW that I want this. I have the words but no shape, the curve but no position. The intention but no artist. When I turn up at the Hostelito Inn, casually mention my fondness for the owner Frank's body art, it does not surprise me that he says he will do mine for free.
Ask and she shall receive. Who am I to resist a flow such as this? Of course I say yes.
A circle is notoriously difficult to draw, and on the wrong body part could end up missing the point. But I want it, so badly. I need those words on me.
Up until the day before I have it done, I struggle with indecision over where to have it and what it should look like. Dan shows up, a welcome addition to the pack and with artist's eyes and comforting presence helps me to find the perfect font. I know it is the one the moment I see it. Words looping in circles and spirals, letters emerging from the swirls shyly but firmly. And with that comes the decision to have it on my side. Partly on the front, partly on the back. Above, below, across my core.
I breathe through the nerves and ground my fears.
There comes a point when you just have to let go. Trust the hands you are in. That point comes as I am examining the stencil. I could stand in front of the mirror for hours adjusting the position, but in the end I just hold my hands up and submit to the charge of Frank. Frank of the single braid and spiky hair, Frank of strange Mexo-Anglicisms, Frank of morning singing and afternoon doobies. What a legend that man is. Despite knowing he'd only done 40-odd tattoos, I trust him completely. I know this is going to be good.
So I plug myself into music fit for an imaginary world of light and inflection. Close my eyes. Lie back to feel the burning pierce of the needle.
All across my ribs, down the side of my stomach, to the scarred remnants of my appendix, just inside my right hip. They did tell me it was going to be hard.
I want to etch the deep ink of my beliefs into my tattoo. So I focus on them.
I meditate, for five hours, on the meaning of those words, the significance of circles and spirals. The endlessness of life, symmetry, the journey in and the journey out, the double helix, getting young as you grow old, everything as one. I etch my intention into my skin.
All at once I feel both the unity and the difference between my physical body and my mental body. On the physical level, I lie on the bed, helpless at the hands of my artist, pain stabbing deep into my being. I feel the vibration inside my rib cage.
On the mental level I am a hum of energy, with an apex of intensity over the needle into which I pour all my positivity and awe at everything I've experienced. Those five hours take me to places and experiences usually only achieved with the aid of psychadelic substances. I am in a trip of the highest form, rushing off the exhilaration of the physical and the challenge of the mental.
It is a five-hour long, full body physical and mental orgasm.
I enjoy every minute. I am by no means exaggerating when I say it is one of the most monumental experiences of my life.
In having the words branded forever, I experience first hand what they mean. As above, so below. As within, so without. What may be outside is also felt inside. My mind is all around.
When Frank taps me to signal the end, I feel a wave of disappointment that this moment, this perfect moment is over. But then I stand up and take my first look at my new body.
All over my body my skin tingles, like I've been scrubbed.
It takes me a while to gather my mind from the corners of the room. I pull myself together just enough to stumble downstairs to bed.
I am exhausted.
When I went travelling to New Zealand and the Pacific Islands in 2004, I was so taken with the Maori culture that I designed my own tattoo out of elements of various greenstone carvings that meant something to me. The design was beautiful. But I never got the tattoo. I couldn't decide where to have it and by the time I left the area it felt like the moment had passed.
A few weeks ago I watched my friend get her first tattoo in Puerto Vallarta. It was very small but it had a lot of meaning for her. I was as nervous as she. We got pissed on tequila and laughed the whole way through, before spending the rest of the night riding high on endorphins to take on the city.
When I was in Vallarta the next time, I spent an afternoon in tattoo shops, looking at fonts. While I was there, a girl came in, about to have one down her spine. I asked her what it would say.
She replied, 'You have to lose yourself in order to be found.'
I left that tattoo shop with a mark not on my skin but on my mind - of that girl and her truth. It mirrored what was going on at the time. From the lost wilderness of my first weeks emerged the familiarity of myself. Shortly afterwards, I found myself sitting on the beach in Yelapa, wondering where the hell all this perfection arrived from.
Not only would it be a physical representation of that amazing memory of swimming in San Blas with the phosphorescence, but also a hats off to the techies up there that gave me the later coincidence.
On another level, there is the basic physical nature of it - that I am claiming my body as my own, maturing, changing, but in the same time recognising that it is just a body, and it is mine, so I can do what I want to it.
But more importantly, in those four words lie the truths I commit to. My beliefs in the unity of everything, the Law of Attraction and the ultimate connection of everything to everything else. The words represent it all for me.
Everything is the same. The things that you find above you are the things you find below you. That which is within, is also without. The stars are made of the same thing as the earth, the same thing as the sky, the same thing as ourselves. The physical manifestation of the world is exactly what is in your head.
Everything is made of the same energy - the omnipresence of consciousness.
And there is another reason. More and more, I feel like my purpose is to spread the word. The people I meet seem to be bringing me messages along these lines. In Mayan prophecies I am Yellow Rhythmic Sun, which means my life's purpose is "to enlighten". Even in Western horoscopes my charts tell me I am to "shine a light" in order to lead the way.
It is easy to be sceptical, particularly when I blush self-consciously at saying something so far-fetched and potentially arrogant. But what matters is what you feel inside. Without being daunted or condescending of this prophecy I feel myself shouldering it and preparing for it. My instincts tell me it is true. In stepping along this journey I know I'm stepping towards that purpose and I am in the process of submitting to it and simultaneously grasping it.
I say all this in a vain attempt to explain the reasons why I decided to tattoo my stomach yesterday. There are many reasons. Some much deeper than others. I am no longer going to bother postscripting my thoughts with caveats and excuses for those who think I'm being carried away with hippy nonsense. Take the one that most rings with you. I am simply being honest.
They tell me to be the change I wish to see in the world. A tattoo is a ritual, and for me this ritual comes in a poetically beautiful format.
To enlighten the self is to enlighten others.
As above, so below.
By the time I arrive in Guadalajara I have just a rudimentary blur where my tattoo should be, but I know, really KNOW that I want this. I have the words but no shape, the curve but no position. The intention but no artist. When I turn up at the Hostelito Inn, casually mention my fondness for the owner Frank's body art, it does not surprise me that he says he will do mine for free.
Ask and she shall receive. Who am I to resist a flow such as this? Of course I say yes.
But now the decision is made, more decisions arrive. Where to have it? Do I want it to show all the time, or do I want it private? Do I want just the words, or do I want a shape as well? I have toyed with the idea of having spirals or circles, for these too hold a heavy meaning for me. Everything is cyclical, the world moves in circles. I slip round the corner of one.
I even meditate whilst hooping in a blurred cylinder of blue glitter.
Up until the day before I have it done, I struggle with indecision over where to have it and what it should look like. Dan shows up, a welcome addition to the pack and with artist's eyes and comforting presence helps me to find the perfect font. I know it is the one the moment I see it. Words looping in circles and spirals, letters emerging from the swirls shyly but firmly. And with that comes the decision to have it on my side. Partly on the front, partly on the back. Above, below, across my core.
I drink a couple of tequilas and lie prostrate on the bed upstairs, a crowd of well-wishers having a party in the sun outside the door, shouting encouragement.
I am scared.
I'm not sure quite of what, because when I think about it I am not scared of permanently marking my skin. I know it is going to hurt, but I want it to be a journey and it wouldn't be a journey if it was easy. I trust Frank and I know that the words are exactly what I want. I come to the conclusion it is just the energy of the event infecting me.
I breathe through the nerves and ground my fears.
So I plug myself into music fit for an imaginary world of light and inflection. Close my eyes. Lie back to feel the burning pierce of the needle.
It hurts. A lot.
All across my ribs, down the side of my stomach, to the scarred remnants of my appendix, just inside my right hip. They did tell me it was going to be hard.
But because of the significance of the words, I want to really feel what is going on. This is not just a branding of my skin, but a branding of my life, my persona. It is a declaration to the world of my beliefs and my vow to commit to those beliefs for the rest of my life. It is a declaration of my story, of the path that has led me here and the core trust in the synchronicities I've experienced.
Instead of having a body as the physical means by which the mind is transported, I am bridging the two with a physical manifestation of what goes on in my mind.
I want to etch the deep ink of my beliefs into my tattoo. So I focus on them.
I meditate, for five hours, on the meaning of those words, the significance of circles and spirals. The endlessness of life, symmetry, the journey in and the journey out, the double helix, getting young as you grow old, everything as one. I etch my intention into my skin.
On the mental level I am a hum of energy, with an apex of intensity over the needle into which I pour all my positivity and awe at everything I've experienced. Those five hours take me to places and experiences usually only achieved with the aid of psychadelic substances. I am in a trip of the highest form, rushing off the exhilaration of the physical and the challenge of the mental.
It is a five-hour long, full body physical and mental orgasm.
I enjoy every minute. I am by no means exaggerating when I say it is one of the most monumental experiences of my life.
I become the music and I become the needle and I become the ink deep inside my skin.
In having the words branded forever, I experience first hand what they mean. As above, so below. As within, so without. What may be outside is also felt inside. My mind is all around.
When Frank taps me to signal the end, I feel a wave of disappointment that this moment, this perfect moment is over. But then I stand up and take my first look at my new body.I didn't know what I wanted, but when I see it I know it is perfect.
I am exhausted.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
The Mayans come to Yelapa
It so happens that when I finally get really sick - amazingly not until 2 months after my arrival in Mexico, I am lying in a real, double bed with real, crisp sheets and a real live pillow.
This is no ordinary room. It is a penthouse. It squats above the Yacht Club over in town; a name that suggests much more glamour than the corrugated plastic roof and concrete floor in fact impart, but a fitting name all the same, for this building balances itself directly over the water, and the sea is as much a part of its existence as the bricks it is made of.
Looking out through the glassless, iron barred windowframes from the comfort of my sick bed is like looking from the window of a boat. I am just a few metres away from gently folding, turquoise waves.
The sea explodes against the beach below; wakes me gently every half an hour from delirious dreams. The breeze strokes me to sleep, fluttering coloured scarves at the windows that float around me like Mexican spinning dancers.
Now I am alone with my blue sky and my stomach spasms, attempting to order my increasingly unfamiliar brain. I feel like my body is doing this to me to force me to think about these things and address the things I am struggling to digest.
Dan showed up yesterday. His original plan was to travel for a year, interviewing people to make a film about the shifts that are occurring to our world. Instead he has been on the road for four years, following coincidences like me, on a looping, curious path seemingly seeded the entire way through by the person he last interviewed.
On his doorstep in Canada awaits a pile of film; everything from shamans, to Nobel prize winners, to scientists, to people he picks up on the street whose eyes shine a particular light. His battered van has taken him from the Arctic, through Canada, the States and half of Mexico, and will eventually drop him in Panama. Along the way he has lived with several different groups of indigenous people, been given a dog, gained and recently lost a love, and been sent well on his way to enlightenment. (You can read his story here).
Confidence and understanding seeps from his pores. He distils things so simply. I want to resist, want to be sceptical, but I am drawn in because I know I have to be.
We spend days in conversation. I learn more from him than I have perhaps the entire journey. Here is someone who truly has the voice of the people; the truth we are so protected from. And it is clear to him that the world is in flux and is due a serious change, very soon.
Yet again, the prophecies of the Mayans are the centre of the conversation. Yet again, we find ourselves dissecting the possibilities.
Most people believe the Mayans predicted the end of the world in 2012. This is not true. In actual fact, the messages they left actually show a calendar that ends on December 21, 2012. This date corresponds with the date that the sun will eclipse the galactic centre.
The following is taken from Daniel Pinchbeck's book 2012: The Return of Quetzacoatl. (This is the book that came to me from Taylor, following the coincidence I had in Sayulita.)
On the winter solstice of December 21, 2012, the Sun will rise within the dark rift at the center of the Milky way galaxy, an event that occurs every 25,800 years. As John Major Jenkins describes in Maya Cosmogenesis 2012, this alignment represents a "union" of the Cosmic Mother (the Milky Way) with the First Father (the December solstice sun)." Mayan hieroglyphs describe the center of this dark rift as the "Hole in the Sky," cosmic womb, or "black hole," through which their wizard-kings entered other dimensions, accessed sacred knowledge, or toured across the vast reaches of the cosmos. In September 2002, astronomers verified the existence of a massive black hole at the center of the Milky Way, naming it "Sagittarius B."
Most people also believe that this is just the prediction of one civilisation. This is also untrue. There are many other ancient civilisations who also talked of the end of an age in 2012.
The Mayan calendars were divided into a number of 'eras' of varying lengths, that grow shorter the closer we get to 2012. These are encoded into the pyramids at Palenque,Mexico; Chichen Itza, Mexico, and Tikal, Guatemala. Each of these eras represent a different stage of consciousness.
In brief - (again, borrowed from Daniel Pinchbeck's book 2012: The Return of Quetzalcoatl).
The initial level, 16.4 billion years ago, proceeds from the inception of matter in the "Big Bang," through the development of cellular life on Earth. During the second step, beginning 820 million years, ago, animal life evolved out of cells. The third underworld, starting 41 million years ago, saw the evolution of primates and the first, rudimentary use of tools by human ancestors. During the fourth underworld, beginning 2 million years ago, tribal organization began among the ancestors of Homo sapiens. During the next underworld, 102,000 years ago, Homo sapiens emerged developing spoken language. The next sixth underworld, beginning 5,125 years before the approaching birth date, when we created patriarchal civilization, law, and written language. The seventh step, beginning in AD 1755, introduced industrialization, electricity, technology, modern democracy, gene splicing, and the atom bomb.
The current era started in 1999, and corresponded with the birth of the internet - a global connectivity unlike anything seen before.
Time is 'speeding up.' Things are happening faster.
The next and final era of this age of history begins in April 2012 and ends in December later that year. There is much speculation as to what this final stage will bring. Many believe there will be a fundamental change in the way we think, and the way we connect to each other and the world - a connection to the 'global consciousness'.
Certainly in every era there is an increase in consciousness. And certainly the signs of this can already be seen.
The end of the calendar could mean many things, but the consensus is that there will be huge change, marked most likely by increase in frequency and intensity of natural disasters. While I am slightly sceptical that something can happen so quickly, I only need take a look at recent history to tell me things are already starting to shift.
In terms of what will actually happen on December 21st, 2012, opinions are hugely divided, ranging from anything from meteor collision or volcano eruptions to the arrival of extraterrestrial Mayans (the glyphs in several temples show what seem to be spaceships...). Others speculate that crossing the 'dark rift' of the galaxy could cause a magnetic pole reversal, as the earth spins in an external field.
Again the consensus is that society is going to change completely and in the process shed a huge number of people and their constructions.
Maybe nothing will happen in 2012. But if not then, it seems clear that something is going to happen soon, and the better prepared we are, the more chance we have of staying alive to see the change occur.
Dan is preaching self-sufficiency. From what he has seen and heard, it seems to be the only way to attempt survival through the coming eruptions. It rings with the voices deep inside me that have been urging me to keep going, whilst keeping one eye half out for a piece of land on which to create my nest. Whenever I start to worry about money I make myself relax, for I know that if it is right, the money will arrive.
We start getting into 'headfuck' area when we move on to the Law of Attraction, and the very real possibility that 2012 is a self-fulfilling prophecy. For if the world brings us what we think about most, it shouldn't be so far-fetched to suggest that the increased awareness will breed the things that we most fear.
My mind is swollen with conflicting emotions; acceptance and resistance, understanding and confusion.
I lie in bed, shivering with the aches of a mild Dengue fever, feeling my body process the information it has been loaded with in the last few days. I am forced to become one with my thoughts and to truly consider what path to take. I could view all this as hysterics; for after all, have there not been several occasions in the past when a small group proclaiming the end of the world have been proved wrong, again and again? Besides, it is far easier to ignore it and carry on planning a future of security. As the philosopher Neitzche pointed out, our tendency to be drawn towards the mundane and the secure and ignore the things that seem outlandish or scary is vital for our survival.
But how much does it blind us?
My instincts are shouting at me. Listen! There really is a lot of truth behind all of this. The Mayan prophecies have actually all been right so far. To the extent that they even predicted the date the prophecies themselves would be discovered. And even if the Mayans were wrong, how long is the Earth going to put up with what we are doing to it? It is not so far fetched to believe that a serious shift could occur in my lifetime. We are accelerating. Technology and development are speeding up. Can we really expect this exponential curve to go on infinitely?
If I really think about it, I know this is why I'm here.
I'm not here to 'see the world'. I don't care about cathedrals or museums or 'canopy tours'. I'm here because I know I have to do something. I have no idea what. But I'm here because on some level I've tuned into something that told me I need to be here. I don't see it as a coincidence that the place I'm in is at the very heart of these prophecies. Arguably, if I was in Africa I would be hearing African prophecies. But I have been brought here, so these are the ones I have to hear. I wanted to know about all this. I NEEDED to know about all this.
Whether any of this is true or not, this is part of my personal journey. Bizarre as it all seems, I´m confident that it will all become clear in time.
In the meantime, I feel like I am to collect and distribute information. Take it as you will.
A few days later, when I have stopped shaking, I leave Yelapa. Once again, I don't know where I'm going. Only that it is time to go.
This is no ordinary room. It is a penthouse. It squats above the Yacht Club over in town; a name that suggests much more glamour than the corrugated plastic roof and concrete floor in fact impart, but a fitting name all the same, for this building balances itself directly over the water, and the sea is as much a part of its existence as the bricks it is made of.
Looking out through the glassless, iron barred windowframes from the comfort of my sick bed is like looking from the window of a boat. I am just a few metres away from gently folding, turquoise waves.
The sea explodes against the beach below; wakes me gently every half an hour from delirious dreams. The breeze strokes me to sleep, fluttering coloured scarves at the windows that float around me like Mexican spinning dancers.
Now I am alone with my blue sky and my stomach spasms, attempting to order my increasingly unfamiliar brain. I feel like my body is doing this to me to force me to think about these things and address the things I am struggling to digest.
Dan showed up yesterday. His original plan was to travel for a year, interviewing people to make a film about the shifts that are occurring to our world. Instead he has been on the road for four years, following coincidences like me, on a looping, curious path seemingly seeded the entire way through by the person he last interviewed.
On his doorstep in Canada awaits a pile of film; everything from shamans, to Nobel prize winners, to scientists, to people he picks up on the street whose eyes shine a particular light. His battered van has taken him from the Arctic, through Canada, the States and half of Mexico, and will eventually drop him in Panama. Along the way he has lived with several different groups of indigenous people, been given a dog, gained and recently lost a love, and been sent well on his way to enlightenment. (You can read his story here).
Confidence and understanding seeps from his pores. He distils things so simply. I want to resist, want to be sceptical, but I am drawn in because I know I have to be.
We spend days in conversation. I learn more from him than I have perhaps the entire journey. Here is someone who truly has the voice of the people; the truth we are so protected from. And it is clear to him that the world is in flux and is due a serious change, very soon.
Yet again, the prophecies of the Mayans are the centre of the conversation. Yet again, we find ourselves dissecting the possibilities.
Most people believe the Mayans predicted the end of the world in 2012. This is not true. In actual fact, the messages they left actually show a calendar that ends on December 21, 2012. This date corresponds with the date that the sun will eclipse the galactic centre.
The following is taken from Daniel Pinchbeck's book 2012: The Return of Quetzacoatl. (This is the book that came to me from Taylor, following the coincidence I had in Sayulita.)
On the winter solstice of December 21, 2012, the Sun will rise within the dark rift at the center of the Milky way galaxy, an event that occurs every 25,800 years. As John Major Jenkins describes in Maya Cosmogenesis 2012, this alignment represents a "union" of the Cosmic Mother (the Milky Way) with the First Father (the December solstice sun)." Mayan hieroglyphs describe the center of this dark rift as the "Hole in the Sky," cosmic womb, or "black hole," through which their wizard-kings entered other dimensions, accessed sacred knowledge, or toured across the vast reaches of the cosmos. In September 2002, astronomers verified the existence of a massive black hole at the center of the Milky Way, naming it "Sagittarius B."
Most people also believe that this is just the prediction of one civilisation. This is also untrue. There are many other ancient civilisations who also talked of the end of an age in 2012.
The Mayan calendars were divided into a number of 'eras' of varying lengths, that grow shorter the closer we get to 2012. These are encoded into the pyramids at Palenque,Mexico; Chichen Itza, Mexico, and Tikal, Guatemala. Each of these eras represent a different stage of consciousness.
In brief - (again, borrowed from Daniel Pinchbeck's book 2012: The Return of Quetzalcoatl).
The initial level, 16.4 billion years ago, proceeds from the inception of matter in the "Big Bang," through the development of cellular life on Earth. During the second step, beginning 820 million years, ago, animal life evolved out of cells. The third underworld, starting 41 million years ago, saw the evolution of primates and the first, rudimentary use of tools by human ancestors. During the fourth underworld, beginning 2 million years ago, tribal organization began among the ancestors of Homo sapiens. During the next underworld, 102,000 years ago, Homo sapiens emerged developing spoken language. The next sixth underworld, beginning 5,125 years before the approaching birth date, when we created patriarchal civilization, law, and written language. The seventh step, beginning in AD 1755, introduced industrialization, electricity, technology, modern democracy, gene splicing, and the atom bomb.
The current era started in 1999, and corresponded with the birth of the internet - a global connectivity unlike anything seen before.
Time is 'speeding up.' Things are happening faster.
The next and final era of this age of history begins in April 2012 and ends in December later that year. There is much speculation as to what this final stage will bring. Many believe there will be a fundamental change in the way we think, and the way we connect to each other and the world - a connection to the 'global consciousness'.
Certainly in every era there is an increase in consciousness. And certainly the signs of this can already be seen.
The end of the calendar could mean many things, but the consensus is that there will be huge change, marked most likely by increase in frequency and intensity of natural disasters. While I am slightly sceptical that something can happen so quickly, I only need take a look at recent history to tell me things are already starting to shift.
In terms of what will actually happen on December 21st, 2012, opinions are hugely divided, ranging from anything from meteor collision or volcano eruptions to the arrival of extraterrestrial Mayans (the glyphs in several temples show what seem to be spaceships...). Others speculate that crossing the 'dark rift' of the galaxy could cause a magnetic pole reversal, as the earth spins in an external field.
Again the consensus is that society is going to change completely and in the process shed a huge number of people and their constructions.
Maybe nothing will happen in 2012. But if not then, it seems clear that something is going to happen soon, and the better prepared we are, the more chance we have of staying alive to see the change occur.
Dan is preaching self-sufficiency. From what he has seen and heard, it seems to be the only way to attempt survival through the coming eruptions. It rings with the voices deep inside me that have been urging me to keep going, whilst keeping one eye half out for a piece of land on which to create my nest. Whenever I start to worry about money I make myself relax, for I know that if it is right, the money will arrive.
We start getting into 'headfuck' area when we move on to the Law of Attraction, and the very real possibility that 2012 is a self-fulfilling prophecy. For if the world brings us what we think about most, it shouldn't be so far-fetched to suggest that the increased awareness will breed the things that we most fear.
My mind is swollen with conflicting emotions; acceptance and resistance, understanding and confusion.
I lie in bed, shivering with the aches of a mild Dengue fever, feeling my body process the information it has been loaded with in the last few days. I am forced to become one with my thoughts and to truly consider what path to take. I could view all this as hysterics; for after all, have there not been several occasions in the past when a small group proclaiming the end of the world have been proved wrong, again and again? Besides, it is far easier to ignore it and carry on planning a future of security. As the philosopher Neitzche pointed out, our tendency to be drawn towards the mundane and the secure and ignore the things that seem outlandish or scary is vital for our survival.
But how much does it blind us?
My instincts are shouting at me. Listen! There really is a lot of truth behind all of this. The Mayan prophecies have actually all been right so far. To the extent that they even predicted the date the prophecies themselves would be discovered. And even if the Mayans were wrong, how long is the Earth going to put up with what we are doing to it? It is not so far fetched to believe that a serious shift could occur in my lifetime. We are accelerating. Technology and development are speeding up. Can we really expect this exponential curve to go on infinitely?
If I really think about it, I know this is why I'm here.
I'm not here to 'see the world'. I don't care about cathedrals or museums or 'canopy tours'. I'm here because I know I have to do something. I have no idea what. But I'm here because on some level I've tuned into something that told me I need to be here. I don't see it as a coincidence that the place I'm in is at the very heart of these prophecies. Arguably, if I was in Africa I would be hearing African prophecies. But I have been brought here, so these are the ones I have to hear. I wanted to know about all this. I NEEDED to know about all this.
Whether any of this is true or not, this is part of my personal journey. Bizarre as it all seems, I´m confident that it will all become clear in time.
In the meantime, I feel like I am to collect and distribute information. Take it as you will.
A few days later, when I have stopped shaking, I leave Yelapa. Once again, I don't know where I'm going. Only that it is time to go.
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