. . . . or, a Mayan Date, a Bird and
a Dying Tree. Post II – The journey and the story continues (see Post I)
“Synchronicity is the
simultaneous occurrence of two or more meaningful but not causally connected
events.”
We flew out of Mexico City and on to
Oaxaca. It was our plan to visit the famed El Tule Tree, situated in the
courtyard of a 17th Century church. (El Tule has the largest biomass
of all the trees in the world and is 2000 to 3000 years old.)
Before dawn the next
morning, we took a cab to Santa Maria del Tule. The little village was just
waking up, with small set-ups in front of houses for coffee and breakfast
breads. We sat at an oilcloth table, amidst the smell of meats and breads being
prepared for morning breakfast, and sipped our coffees while waiting for dawn
and the day’s gathering around the El Tule. It was one of the designated power
places for people to congregate during the two days of the Harmonic Convergence.
We were drawn to join the strangers
that were gathering around the huge tree, mostly Americans and Europeans.
As these things often happen when the energy is high, we organically fell into
an easy communion, eventually holding hands while trying to surround the tree
with our shared energy. There were not enough people to completely circle the
tree while holding hands, and I remembered being profoundly saddened by that.
As I focused on sending loving energy,
I opened my eyes to see a bird hovering in a crevice at the roots of this huge
tree. No one else seemed to notice. I suddenly sensed the bird was dying, and
had the thought that the tree was dying as well. Was this a metaphor for a
dying world? The world as we know it in the last chapter of its existence?
(Three years later, in 1990 it was announced that the tree was indeed dying)
The original hippie movement was
founded on the belief that the ‘age of Aquarius’ was dawning and the Picean age
was dying out--based on astrology and the indigenous beliefs from around the
world. The Maya marked this through their time/cycle keeping skills—a bookmark
in history. Their baktun of 5000+ years was ending while the new cycle
was about to begin. Going forward, nothing seemed to happen, but looking back
we see how many changes there have been since 2012.
So much hype surrounded the end date of
the Maya’s end cycle of Dec. 21, 2012, confusing the world. The Maya never
predicted catastrophe (no matter how many self-styled prophets said they did),
it was simply the ending of a very long age, and on the following day, the
start of a new one.
At some point it became too sad for me
to stay and focus on this dying energy of the bird and the tree, so we walked
to another part of the courtyard where we found a man and woman kneeling and
planting a new seedling tree. Were they shamans, I wondered?
No one was standing around them holding
hands, feeding this positive action. Only my husband and I stood and watched
them plant and bless this new tree that would grow to shelter and shade those
who would come much later.
Here was the hope that even though our
world might be dying, a new one was being born—hopefully one of inspired creation. The Maya
marked this time for us to know it was an important event—but we lost the Maya
writings and the secrets they held that might have revealed more. Or did
we?
We wandered over to the church.
Outside, an old blind man, and young boy we assumed was his grandson, stood at
the doorway. The man was singing Las Mañanitas (a song often sung to
women on their birthdays), his veneration ritual performed daily to the
Virgin Mary we were told. And a synchronistic happy-birth-day for the new
cycle?
Here is an excerpt from the past
life in Dance the Dream Awake—the Old One speaks to young Ixchel
about the changes that are coming to the Maya….
The fire flared and I
closed my eyes. I saw through Ixchel’s eyes. . . .
*
Ixchel sat in front of
the Old Itza. He carefully reached into the folds of his garment and pulled out
a pouch
of softened hide.
“Here,” he said, while pouring out three stones onto the
earth before them, “are the powerful gifts from the Nine Lords of Xibalba. Long
ago, they left the earth to guard the Nine Hells. They gave these to the sacred
priesthood of the Feathered Serpent. The other priests have all gone. I am the
last priest of both the Feathered Serpent and the Were-Jaguar.”
Ixchel fidgeted,
hearing the familiar story. He closed his eyes. Ixchel quickly sat up straight
and placed her hands back on her knees in respect.
He continued, “Now,
the priests of Ah Puch rule. There is blood and death everywhere. The exalted
gods no longer heed the prayers of our people. The end is coming soon.”
He paused and looked
at her. She knew that look. He was about to tell her something important. She
tried to sit straighter. . . .
*
When I opened my eyes,
I lay on my side watching the embers give off their last few spurts of flame
before sinking into a dying glow. The fine sand of the cave floor felt cool
beneath my cheek. Louisa’s shawl was still around my shoulders. The morning
light had squeezed through cracks high in the ceiling and shone into my eyes.
How could it be morning? It felt like I’d only just closed my eyes.
I pushed myself up on
my elbows and looked around. Louisa and Marta were gone. Juana lay sleeping
nearby. I lifted my hand to brush away the sand on my face and found the beads
entwined around my fingers. So it had been Marta and Louisa who took the beads.
But why? And even more strange, why had they now returned them?
*
Next week, I'll share a little bit
of history of the Maya, and since the novel is a romantic suspense, I'll have
an excerpt of the budding romance between Tessa and Nick, an archaeologist
working a dig at one of the ruins in Coba.
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