#stream it now and you can quite possibly read the same significant conversation twice!

[purgaytorysupremacy]

me, writing a heartfelt conversation between two characters in my 120k word and counting fanfic: does this feel familiar bc I’ve been writing this conversation in my head for months, or did they have a shadow of this conversation 60k words ago?

[ikesenhell]

New Heights

GLITTER & GOLD, CHAPTER 6. You can find all other IkeSen works of mine here. NOTES: Violence tw. Guns, general discomfort, implied death. 

There was no such thing as a rivalry in the post-apocalyptic landscape--just varying factions all trying to survive, same as the next. That didn't make the relationship between Waŋblí Hoȟpi and Kasugayama any better. They didn't contend for resources or fight over territory. The answer was much simpler.

It just so happened that, out of all the people in the world, Shingen Takeda, Kenshin Uesugi, and Nobunaga Oda all hated one another.

The reason was as petty as it was significant: Nobunaga was abrasive. Kenshin Uesugi didn't respond well to being abraded. Shingen Takeda didn't respond well to what he perceived as pompous behavior. Together, the trio mixed about as well as oil and water, and very little ever assuaged that. The only thing that came between their mutual dislike of each other was the collective welfare of the plains settlements.

This happened to be one of those times.

They arrived on horseback around mid-morning, their saddlebags thick with papers and plans. Only four came: the two leaders of Kasugayama and their respective experts, Yukimura and Sasuke.

“So,” Masamune asked, watching the four exchange awkward greetings with the Waŋblí Hoȟpi leaders, “Which do you think is the mechanical engineer?”

She grinned up at him. “Do we want to go stereotypical, or a serious guess? Cause my guess is on the nerdy one.”

“You’re right, Kitten, that is stereotypical.” He kicked back against Ieyasu’s porch and worked his hands over the worn wooden steps. “When do you think they’ll bring up the ship?”

“I can’t imagine it’s high on the priority list. Well--” She paused. “Unless it’s been raiding their settlement, too?”

“We didn't get that on the list.”

“Did you ask?”

They hadn't. Masamune mulled over this before pressing on. “Well, then in that case, we should bring it up even sooner. I told Mitsunari to drag me in when they start talking about it, so hopefully that’ll be sooner rather than later.”

---

It was much, much later when Mitsunari rapped on the front door. Fortunately, Masamune was waiting. He slung on a jacket and followed the man to the office. The familiar long table was stacked with polaroids of the ship, each copied in triplicate and laid out according to angle. Apparently, she’d been right. The settlement leaders were all gathered around, but the most invested was clearly Mitsunari and Sasuke.

“This ship,” Sasuke was saying, bent double over a photo, “It just emerges without warning?”

“As best we know.” Mitsuhide settled into a chair and crossed his arms. “We’ve never gotten one.”

“Fascinating. Absolutely fascinating.”

Masamune rapped his knuckles against the table by way of greeting. “It’d be a lot cooler if people weren’t vanishing or dying cause of it.”

Sasuke nodded vigorously, shoving his glasses back up his nose. “Naturally. My apologies if it sounded insensitive; it’s simply fascinating, given the network of things at play here.”

Mitsunari paused. “Has anyone vanished from Kasugayama?”

Shingen stirred in his seat. He was a tall, broad shouldered man with rugged good looks. “We’ve had a few, but we didn't connect it to this. Our disappearances seem more attached to a sudden surge of these religious types outside the boundaries.”

“Then it’s connected,” Nobunaga announced gravely. “We’ve been dealing with much the same.”

“Oh good.” Kenshin finally spoke up. By all definitions of the word, he was a beautiful man--blonde hair, bright eyes, sharp features. “Then Shingen will stop objecting to me having them run out of town.”

Shingen didn't rise to the bait. Instead, Sasuke cut through the noise with a matter-of-fact tap against one photo in particular. “This is all very fascinating. I’d presume the ship existed before all this. Local lore springs up to explain its presence. Religion sprouts in its wake. All this over such a simple simulation.”

The room fell silent.

Masamune lifted his hand. “A what.”

Sasuke realized--perhaps too late--that he was the bearer of news. He plunged into explanation. “It’s a simulation. You see, if you arrange these photos by timestamp--”

Mitsunari caught on next. “Then every fifteen to eighteen seconds, it indicates part of the hull is missing in particular sections. You can see it on the leftmost and rightmost sections, though it is blurry.”

Shingen and Mitsuhide quietly slid copies over to follow along. Sasuke snapped his fingers at Mitsunari as if to say ‘you got it’. “The motion blur makes it difficult to spot.”

“But how?” Mitsunari continued. “To make such a complex simulation occur without casting it over something--that would require technology we haven’t seen since the war. Besides that, it would take quite a vantage point…”

Mitsuhide snapped his fingers, tossing down the photo. “The turbine field.”

It made sense as soon as he said it. The wind turbine field was a well-known scavenging spot. Almost all of the spare parts for generators in Waŋblí Hoȟpi came from there. Masamune felt his stomach lurch. How close had they been all this time?

Ieyasu huffed. “How would we have missed it?”

“It’s in the turbine,” Masamune announced, realizing it all in one. “One of the functioning ones. It’s how it has power. It’s connected to the turbine.”

“Masamune,” Hideyoshi started, “Masamune, no--”

Too late. Masamune turned on his heel and jogged from the room. Down the steps he ran, out into the dark streets. If they were right--if they were right!--they could end this tonight--

“Woah, tiger! Where are you going?”

Masamune skidded to a halt only seconds before impact, but he didn't stop. He scooped her up into his arms and flung her over his shoulder, ignoring her squeal. “You feel like a climb, Kitten?!”

“Masa! Put me down!”

He obeyed, setting her on his motorcycle and digging for two helmets. “We’ve got a mission. It might stop the whole damn thing. Are you with me?”

She didn't even wait for an explanation before jamming the helmet on her head. “Just fill me in while we’re going, won’t you?”

---

Moonlight streamed down on the field. The ancient remains of pylons towered in the echoing plains, overgrown blades lying in discarded heaps. Long ago they’d decided not to what was left for power; they’d never been entirely certain of the integrity of the remaining turbines. Instead they’d languished. In the dark, they looked more like the ruins of a temple made for giants.

Masamune puttered to a halt on the outskirts. With the engine off, nothing but the swell of silence remained.

“Fucking creepy,” he muttered.

“Tell me about it,” she agreed, dismounting. “Which one is it?”

“Dunno. I figured we’d wait for the wind to kick in and see which ones still work out of the standing. There’s only five--”

“Five to search, if they all work,” she shot back. “That’s a lot of climbing to do. We don’t even know what we’re looking for.”

She had a point. “Any ideas?”

But she just sighed and shook her head. “Short of waiting for the ship to come around and seeing if the light projects out one? I’m not sure.”

“My plan it is.” Masamune shook out his hair. “Come on. Let’s go.”

As if on cue, the wind raced up behind them, swirling through the grass and echoing between the columns. Two turbines turned in response. It was now or never. Reaching behind him to her, he linked his hand in hers and squeezed.

“You good, Kitten?”

She squeezed back. “I’m fine.”

The dry prairie grass cracked underfoot. They picked past rubble and rusted parts, old vehicles abandoned to nature. In the moon, bright red paint glinted off one the abandoned pylons, reading: GODS COME FOR THE FAITHFUL.

In the distance, a faint light fluttered.

Masamune froze first. Her breath hitched behind him.

“Do you think--?” She whispered.

“Possibly.” He paused, groping himself for a machete that he knew he’d left at the motorcycle. Did they turn back? No--he realized there was too much wide open space between them and their exit now. There was only one alternative: hide.

Together they charged for the nearest functioning turbine. A dog bayed nearby. Laughter and conversation ghosted over the wind. Masamune tried the handle of the service entrance, but it was shut too tight to budge.

“Shit,” he mumbled, rolling up his sleeves. “This is gonna be loud.”

One, two, three--he lifted his leg and kicked in the metal door frame. The distant flashlight roved in their direction. Desperate, he yanked at the jammed handle. It screeched free. “Go, go, go!”

More barking. Someone shouted. She dove in first, Masamune sharp behind her. The inside was tiny and cramped, only enough space for two and the ladder up.

And oh--that ladder certainly went up. He couldn’t see where it ended, but no doubt it went up through the whole turbine.

“Shit,” he repeated. “Go.”

He didn't have to tell her twice. She leaped onto the ladder and scaled it to the first level, going as fast as she could manage. Masamune crouched by the door and sifted through the dust until he found a wrench. Good enough. As if on cue, the door started opening.

Well. Better to handle it on his terms.

In one fluid motion, he wrenched open the door. One very surprised looking man--the same cultist from the store!--weaved on the spot, rifle in hand and backup outside. Masamune took no chances. He snatched the rifle barrel downward and swung the wrench up into the man’s jaw. Crack! The cultist howled, and Masamune slammed the door shut in his face, taking the rifle.

“Come on!” She shouted from the next level. “Hurry!”

Masamune slung the gun over his shoulder and charged up the ladder. A flurry of blows landed against the thin metal door. It was only a matter of time before they cracked it open. Up, up, up he went, clambering onto the next level just as they breached inside. A gunshot ricocheted off the wall. Masamune checked the chamber of his rifle and counted two bullets. Only two shots. Great.

Someone fired off another shot. Behind him, he heard the rattle of metal and watched her heft a toolbox over the edge, handily knocking someone from the ladder.

“Nice one!” Masamune pushed her toward the next ladder. “Now go!”

Up, up, up they climbed, their pursuers close behind. Each progressive level just got smaller. What would they do when they reached the top? What lay in wait for them? Masamune didn't know. Instead he focused on covering her escape upward, saving those two precious bullets.

And then they were there.

There was a very small light at the top. It hung dimly over the rotor, hundreds of years of ‘on’ leaving it faint and brittle. Still it was something. She leapt onto the landing and immediately negotiated her way around the spinning engine, the dull roar echoing through his chest.

“Careful!” He shouted.

“Got it!”

BANG! Another shot. Masamune hissed a curse and slung himself over the ledge, preparing himself for whatever came next. She shimmied her way into the narrow crevice at the front.

This was it.

The first man made it over the edge, and Masamune picked him up by his shirt and shoved him bodily off. His scream echoed, cut short by the BANG of his body hitting the next level below. More shots. He wondered how much ammo they possibly had.

“Here!” She called. “I found it! I found it!”

Masamune hissed a prayer and slid back beside her, narrowly dodging the sharp wheels of the engine. A very slight hole protruded in the front of the turbine. Sure enough, there it was--a small box, caked in grime and dust. Pre-war tech, no doubt about it. She cradled its plastic frame in her hands and peeled it from the ledge, dusting off its surface. A small note was taped to the top.

“ARK,” she read, tapping the line beneath it. “And some coordinates.”

A thousand questions popped to mind. There was time for none of them. Behind them, the ladder rattled again. Masamune wheeled around and lifted the rifle just in time to confront the newcomer: bang! He shot off the ledge. One bullet left. Another man came over the edge and Masamune fired, narrowly missing.

Nothing for it. He hurled the useless weapon at the assailant, catching him off guard long enough to grab him by his collar and shove him face-first into the rotating wheels of the engine. The scream echoed; Masamune punted him off the edge as well, breathing hard. Silence.

“Let’s go,” he urged her, waving her along. “Bring the projector. We have a second’s opening.”

Going down was almost harder than going up. They skipped as many spokes as they could, rushing through the interior. Down, down, down--they made it to the landing and Masamune breathed.

It was premature.

The door kicked open. There, gun at the ready, was another few cultists. They screeched to a halt, the projector poised between them.

“Hands up,” snarled the leader. “And down on your knees.”

There wasn’t a choice.

Slowly, uncertainly, Masamune obeyed the directions. Another man swept in and cuffed their hands behind their backs, wresting the projector from her arms.

“What now?” She asked. “Do you shoot us?”

“Shoot you?” The first of them repeated. “No. You’ve angered the Messenger. We’ll take you to him instead.”

[nyangibun]

GoT S07E03 Thoughts

And here we go again.

As always, these are my rambling nonsensical thoughts on the episode, but disclaimer, my stream lagged so i missed maybe 30 seconds to maybe a minute of the episode. Let’s begin. 

Jon and Tyrion’s conversations had to be some of my favourite scenes from this episode. That shared smile between them when Jon first lands on Dragonstone and they greet each other was so pure. There is potential for a great friendship between them. They both have an understanding for each other that they don’t share with anyone else. Jon as a bastard and Tyrion as a dwarf. This was evident in earlier seasons too, but more so now that they have both found their places in the world. They respect each other, but they’re fighting for very different causes (and for different reasons) and I wonder if this fledgling friendship will become a point of contention for them later in the story.

Anyway, I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t say that one of my favourite scenes had to be Tyrion and Jon’s conversation about Sansa. What I loved about this scene was although it was fleeting, it still gave us Jonsa feels (if you’re inclined to read the scene this way anyhow). 

When Tyrion says, “does she miss me terribly?” Jon is very quiet and they let that silence play on long enough for it to be a significant marker in a conversation. Jon didn’t want to talk about it. It wasn’t an awkward silence; it was absolutely an annoyed, aggravated silence. And then what’s great is that Tyrion immediately went on the defensive and says that the marriage was never consummated. 

It’s a strange thing to say, especially when they were so friendly earlier. Wouldn’t it be safe to assume that if Jon had any suspicions that Tyrion had hurt/touched Sansa against her will that exchange would’ve gone very differently? There was clearly no need to mention it at all, but yet Tyrion did and Jon’s response was “I didn’t ask” in a clearly annoyed tone that suggested if this topic didn’t end soon someone was going to get choked out. Either Jon really hates the thought of Sansa with another man he turned into grumpy kitten Jon or he doesn’t want to think about his sister having sex at all. But bear with me here, if it’s the latter, why have this dialogue at all? There’s no narrative reasoning for this whatsoever unless Jonsa is a real possibility in the future and we’re supposed to continue to think about Jon, Sansa and ‘sex’ in the same line of thought.  

Okay, okay, admittedly my shipping goggles are on, but I still maintain the fact that it’s a weird piece of dialogue to have. If all they wanted to do was establish Sansa as a real political player, they could’ve cut that entire 2-3 lines out and just went straight into:

“She’s smarter than she lets on.”

“She’s starting to let on.”

And now that we’re onto the topic, I absolutely believe the mention of Sansa’s intelligence here serves two purposes. The first is to establish Sansa as a real political player here. She’s been underestimated by everyone in Westeros, but she’s far smarter than anyone gives her credit for (yes, even Jon).

In fact, jumping straight to Winterfell, you are given a whole scene of Sansa demonstrating that intelligence – not only in keeping everyone fed, but in keeping the soldiers protected. She understands what it takes to rule. But what I love about this sequence of scenes is Littlefinger praising her then going on to claim to know Cersei better than everyone and Sansa just shutting him down, saying she knows her better. Once again, we’re being forced to consider all that Sansa’s learned from Cersei. She just didn’t learn how to play the game but she learned Cersei herself. If anyone can outplay Cersei, we’re being led to believe it’s Sansa. 

Why I think this is important is how this episode also demonstrated that Cersei is once again one of the smartest and most devious rulers in Westeros. She completely outmaneuvered Tyrion, Daenerys and Olenna. People think her ‘madness’ from losing her children will make her weaker, but she’s still as shrewd as ever. She is very much Tywin’s daughter, but she’s much more ruthless. Tyrion may be smart, but thus far? He’s not as smart as his sister. 

But who is? 

Well, there’s a ‘queen’ in the North who is, and the more I think about it, the more I think this quote is actually referring to Sansa: 

“Aye. Queen you shall be… until there comes another, younger and more beautiful, to cast you down and take all that you hold dear.”

Because Cersei is right. Dany is a revolutionary, not a ruler. She can conquer and free slaves, but she doesn’t know how to rule. She’s not nearly as intelligent as Cersei in playing the Westerosi game, but Sansa is. She’s learned from the very best after all. Whether I’m wrong or right, I am convinced Sansa’s role in this war will be far greater than just ruling Winterfell in Jon’s stead. 

Its second purpose is basically to reaffirm Jon’s faith and trust in Sansa and her judgement. But what I found interesting is the way he says it is almost in an exasperated way, like he knows she is and she continues to “twist him in a way no one else can” because she’s too smart for her own good. But alas, the shipping goggles are on, so take that what you will. 

Now onto the big anticipated meeting. Honestly, I enjoyed Jon and Dany’s interactions. The juxtaposition of them as individuals and rulers were pronounced in the last episode, but they were even more glaringly so in this one. While Dany continues to talk about her rightful place and her indignation that he refuses to acknowledge what is hers, Jon continues to fight for his people and the war up North. I mean that’s just the thing, isn’t it? Every mention of Dany being this benevolent ruler who cares about the people doesn’t actually come from Dany. She doesn’t actually say she wants to save the people of Westeros. It’s always someone else because maybe, just maybe it’s not really her true purpose here in Westeros. Yes, I don’t believe she would be indifferent to the loss of innocent lives, but if it was the only way to get her to that throne, wouldn’t you think she’d do it? Wouldn’t Dany say ‘to hell with all of it’ and fly her dragons and burn everything in sight for that throne? If it was her only option, she would choose herself over the people. 

Hell, she even says it. After her speech about all she’s overcome, she says the only way she’s endured any of that was because of her faith in herself. While it’s a good speech if you take out the context, Dany’s survived and persevered this long because of her unwavering belief in her birthright, which was to rule on the Iron Throne. Everything else comes second to that. And I refuse to believe that the ultimate hero of the story is someone who believes themselves a hero and entitled to a kingdom. 

Whereas Jon was thrust into his position. He would choose the people over himself and that difference was emphasised by this quote they just had to repeat twice: 

“…took a knife in the heart for his people.”

Also, the fact that Jon cut Davos off before he could blab about Jon’s resurrection and Dany’s fixation on this feels highly foreboding. It’s definitely going to come back up, but in what way, I don’t know. 

Objectively speaking, I could see how Jon3rys could be hinted in this episode, as Jon and Dany come to understand each other, but personally, I believe it’s a tentative alliance at best that borders on an impasse rather than actual understanding. Right now, they can work because Dany has bigger fish to fry and Jon needs dragonglass. But when their objectives clash? What then? You could even see this opposition highlighted in the way they were filmed on that cliff. They’re standing together yet they’re facing opposite directions. They spend far more of that scene looking away from one another than looking eye to eye. Having their first one-on-one interaction being filmed in the light is also quite telling. The sun can be a symbolic source of goodness, but it can also be an oppressive force. Actually, it made me think of this quote from Albert Camus’ The Stranger: 

“The sky was already filled with light. The sun was beginning to bear down on the earth and it was getting hotter by the minute. I don’t know why we waited so long before getting under way. I was hot in my dark clothes […] it was inhuman and oppressive.“

Jon is a man of the North. His season is winter. I’ve said in previous metas that having Jon’s resurrection coincide with Winter’s arrival was symbolilc. Where usually in literature winter represents a time of stagnancy or even regression in the hero myth, for Jon, it represents rebirth and growth. Winter is a time for Starks. Having such sunlight bearing down on them in this scene (looking more like summer than winter) and Jon still wearing his furs seems to forewarn perhaps bad consequences with this alliance. 

For my Jonsa shippers, this is the exact opposite in how Jon and Sansa’s scenes are shot. They’re almost always in dimly lit areas or surrounded by candlelight, and snow is usually falling. Their reunion also coincided with Winter’s coming, so don’t despair if you are over Jon3rys meeting. 

Speaking of how scenes are shot, Sansa and Bran’s reunion couldn’t be more of a stark (ha ha) difference to Jon and Sansa’s. Yes, he was never going to run towards her, but she didn’t nuzzle him. I’ve always said the choice of having Sansa nuzzle Jon’s cheek was a bizarre one. It’s just odd. People don’t nuzzle their family members. But maybe she wasn’t in the nuzzling mood, fine. Go to the godswood scene though and there just seems to be such a distance between Sansa and Bran. I think that’s partially Bran being the Three-Eyed Raven as well because the distance was also entirely about who he is now as well.

Anyway, Clearly in the books Bran’s importance and power is more obvious, so they had to demonstrate somehow that Bran as the Three-Eyed Raven can see everything. But why does he bring up Sansa’s wedding? If they wanted to show off his power, they could have him bring anything else up, so why her wedding? Why bring up Ramsay at all? Shouldn’t Bran know better than that? Especially to tell her she looks beautiful that day after already implicitly saying he knows what Ramsay did to her. It feels unnecessarily cruel for Bran who, while seemingly distant, does love her. It has to serve a purpose for them to write that in. Perhaps foreshadowing a future wedding in the cards for Sansa? Perhaps a fake one to LF? Or maybe something further down the line where it’ll be the opposite of everything she had with Ramsay. No godswood, no beautiful white dress, no snow falling, but with someone she loves and who loves her. I don’t know but I’m just speculating here. 

Moving on to my favourite scene in the episode though: Cersei with Elaria. Honestly, Lena Heady is a phenomenal actress. Everyone is so focused on Cersei being this horrible evil villain, but you forget the real nuances to her character. When she asks Elaria why she killed Myrcella, it was delivered in such a vulnerable tone. You really, truly get a glimpse of the heartbroken, grieving mother who just tried to do her best for her children (whether that best was actually good or not), but then immediately after, you get the vindictive, cunning and formidable Cersei as she kisses Elaria’s daughter. It was amazing. Horrible but amazing. 

Second favourite scene had to be Olenna’s. What is there to say? She is the Dowager Queen of Badass Bitchery and Snarky Comebacks. Give me a great, complex female villain any day! I wouldn’t even call Olenna a villain tbh. But what I mean is I would 150% take morally grey or morally corrupt female characters over your atypical one-dimensional girl-next-door ones any day, week or month.  

Stray thoughts that I don’t have time/energy to write about:

Did anyone else get flirty vibes between Tyrion and Dany? 

And does anyone think Jorah’s “perhaps our paths will cross again” sound entirely too foreboding for Sam?

[xxcaptaincanaryxx]

The Ice That Melds Us Ch. 1

This is set in the recent episode of LoT, spoilers obviously!

(This also on ao3)

Also we are pretending for the sake of this fic that they have to follow original season 1 time rules so the whole going back in time isn’t an option to get out of the Legion of Doomsworld.

I kinda hate myself for writing this lol, but it came to me…

I apologize in advance.

Any and all review are appreciated. Dis.-I don’t own Legends or you would have seem shit like this on Tuesday ___________________________________________ ___________________________________________

“- I know you loved her to pieces,” Amaya’s frozen form shattered to pieces and on to the ground. The bits made a small pile, except for a few which slid away.

Nate let out a gasp as Sara heard herself let out a small cry of shock. The team stared at Amaya’s crumpled form and her killer, their former teammate, future teammate to his perspective?

Leonard had just killed Amaya.

No. Snart did. Captain Cold. If this man hadn’t yet truly joined the team, then he has not realized his potential. But is he too far gone. This isn’t the man she could of had a future with, wanted a future with.

Sara subconsciously began to twist the ring on her finger. The ring symboled what he had meant to her, and so much more.

“Well if you want something done right,” came in that same smug drawl. Pleased with himself over his kill. This was not him.

Sara continued to stare at the pieces of Amaya that remained on the ground. They were beginning to melt; a silent tear slid down her cheek. Sara’s face began to harden as she closed everything out.

Before completely shutting everything out she heard Damien respond to Leo- Snart. Something about commending him on a job well done. The bastard who killed her sister with the bastard who broke her heart and just killed her friend.

“You bastard,” she spit at Snart, “I’ll kill you all!” Her emotions were getting the better of her.

“Actually i believe that’s my line,” Thawne said zooming in and taking the spear from the crook’s hands.

It was over, she had no control. The assassin watched with wide eyes as the speedster dropped their last hope for recovering their world in to the depths of destruction.

A flash of light spread across them.

Sara looked around her as nothing had changed. Thawne’s men began to rush into the room, surrounding them with guns.

Damien and Merlyn made a threatening pass at Thawne. The enemies of her enemy, who also happened to be her enemies. She had to make a choice. The man had killed her sister, but her team came before her revenge.

“Except their not alone. I say we go down fighting,” Sara strutted down the stairs with a faux determination and strength. She glared at Thawne as her team threw in quips of encouragement.

This was all a facade of strength, and Thawne knew it.

“Don’t,” the speedster began, “Even if you survived my men you’ll never survive me. Not without powers or weapons.” He calmly stood their arms crossed, smugness radiating off. Sara’s blood was boiling, but he was right.

And he knew, she knew, he was right.

As he began approaching her team, Sara realized that she needed to begin making a plan. She was the Captain and she had to lead this mission. She had to lead the team to safety. But how?

“And the truth is I don’t want to see anymore of you dead,” Thawne breathed out as he began to stride towards Nate.

The spear was out.

“Not out of sentiment of course,” he patted Ray.

They can’t travel back in time because of the possible worse repercussions, and that is assuming they’d find Rip and the Waverider.

“No, no… Quite the opposite,” he patted down on Ray. Towering over him as a threat. Not so subtlety letting everyone know who is in control. Think Sara, think. Thawne finally began to approach her.

“But because it is… So-,” he took a breath staring into her eyes menacingly, “Delicious.” He evilly smiled down at her, but Sara couldn’t take the bait. She looked up at him, but unbeknownst to the speedster her mind was somewhere else.

“Knowing that you’ll be forced to live in a reality that I- that we- created…” Sara’s eyes followed him, but her mind wandered. As the conversation in the room continued, Sara continued to think.

They need to change the past without time travel; she realized it was the only way to reset the timeline back into the original path. The original world.

Something significant. A death of someone from the past. Someone who was here, but who was not from the correct present timeline. The assassin’s heart sank in realization.

“You’re just gonna let them walk,” Snart’s cold drawl drew her out of her thoughts. It was not him she reminded herself, dreading what she was about to do. She turned to look at him, but he was looking at Thawne. Gone was the recognition he once had of her, gone was the comforting playful snark, gone was the feelings…

If she did this, would they forgive her. Would she forgive herself. None of it would matter because no one would remember, but the assassin felt like this is something she could never redeem herself from. Feelings. Mick would hate her. The team wouldn’t be able to look at her.

But she’s the Captain, an assassin, a killer.

“-And the fact that I could kill any of you at the blink of an eye.” Thawne sped away.

The Legends and what remained of the Legion of Doom stood motionless in the room.

“Well then,” a sharp drawl came from Snart getting ready to turn as if to leave.

Sara still turning the ring on her finger mumbled, “Even the best laid plans…” She was staring straight ahead into space.

Emotions were running high, and words could not describe the tension in the room.

Snart turned too look at her in confusion along with everyone else in the room. Merlyn, Darhk, the Legends. The blond got what she needed, all attention on her.

She drew a quick breath clicking her jaw trying to push her emotions aside.

“I am so sorry,” she said word by word very slowly as tough as she could, but her voice had cracked as she apologized to no one in particular. To everyone.

Her eyes betrayed her mind as they welled with tears. Her gaze met Snart’s and he felt something tug at his chest seeing her in pain. Time seemed to stand still as the almost lovers stared each other down. His confusion was only aroused more when-

*bang* *bang*

In the blink of an eye the assassin pulled out a gun and shot Snart in the chest two times.

Sara let out a little slob as she looked into the ice blue eyes of Snart before he clumped on his back to the floor.

Merlyn and Darhk were so shocked, but had fled the scene abandoning the crook. They knew the assassin did not make empty threats, and as far as they were concerned, she was ready to deliver asap.

Jax and Ray were staring at Sara with open mouths. Nate would be lying if he wouldn’t of been slightly pleased given he had just killed Amaya and never known the original teammate of Leonard. Together they were all speechless, and truthfully afraid.

Mick had a blank expression on his face, he just stared at Leonard.

“What-” Jax tried to say, a tear falling from his eye.

“I know,” Sara said calmly, but strongly.

Sara knew this would happen, but she needed to save everyone else. She rushed over to his crumpled body. Snart was breathing raggedly, but was not dead yet.

“I am so sorry,” she repeated softly as she cradles his head. The team was off to the side, frozen, watching in confusion and disbelief.

Leonard looked up into her eyes. He wanted to be angry. This woman just killed him, but the pain he felt in his heart and he saw in her eyes scared him more than his death. Tears were streaming down her cheeks.

Is she crying for me?

He let out a chuckle, but blood began to fill on his mouth. Sara pulled him closer into her, lightly caressing his cheek.

“What’s so funny?" she managed to say.

He coughed some more blood before gathering the strength to speak. “Well, this beautiful assassin just shot me… Twice. And here I am dying… And all I can think about is how can I take her pain away…”

Sara laughed a little hysterically tears still glittering her face. A small grin forming on her at how he managed to throw snark in his charm. Or was is charm in his snark? A small smile formed.

He smirked at her smile. His heart tugged. “There’s a smile I was lookin-” he began to have a fit of bloody coughs.

“Hey, hey,” she stroked his cheek and cropped hair leaning closer to him.

“I’ll see you soon,” she whispered as she saw his glimmering eyes start to close. Sara closed her eyes to the world and gently pressed her lips to the crook’s. When she pulled up, his eyes were still closed and he let out his final breath. Leonard Snart, Captain Cold was dead.

Sara looked up at the team as a bright white light, like the one that had passed when the spear was destroyed only stronger. A bright blinding white light that emerged out of Leonard Snart began to sheet over the city and the world.

___________________________________________

Timestream

“Captain, it seems a new aberration has emerged.”

“Captain,” a young Rip Hunter sauntered into his new time ship mumbled to himself in awe. Here he would start his new journey all on his own becoming the greatest Time Master. That was the dream.

“Captain? Would you like the details?”

“Yes, of course. Thank you-”

“Gideon,” the AI provided.

Rip grinned. “Where are we headed?”

“According to my calculations, I believe the timeline was originally altered in 2013 Central City.”

“The goal?”

“To prevent Leonard Snart from joining a group of criminals from the future.”

Rip’s grin widened, “Set the course.”

Rip jumped in his chair and pulled the lever.

“This is gonna be a long ride!”

___________________________________________ ___________________________________________

Alright. That’s all i have for now… Thanks for reading! Ask really nicely and I might continue this, thats assuming anyone likes this lol.

[johnmuffus]

eCommerce Paradise Academy Review

eCommerce Paradise Academy Review (Trevor Fenner Course)

eCommerce Paradise is a course by Trevor Fenner, and it’s available for $997. Today, we’ll take a look at the content it offers and whether or not it’s the course that will take you to eCom success. I’ll provide a detailed overview of the content provided in all modules, and I’ll give you my final verdict at the end of the article. The idea is to give you an outline of what you should do if you’re thinking about to buy this course.

This is a high ticket course, and it aims to give you the knowledge necessary to build and launch an online dropshipping store you can then scale after seeing success. As you read, the course focuses around high ticket items, so there are a few considerations.

Let me list them below before you dive in.

Course overview

eCommerce Paradise is a program aiming to teach you the in’s and out’s of high ticket dropshipping. You’ll learn how you can build and scale a successful store, selling high-price items with larger profit margins. The chosen platform here is Shopify.

It focuses on USA dropshipping with local suppliers, which is a disadvantage for students outside the US. The majority of suppliers will require a reselling ID, and you need a US-based venture to get one.

The course also recommends using credit cards, which some people outside the US or Canada might have trouble with. Entrepreneurship for US individuals tends to employ approach that don’t work for foreigners.

Outside of that, the actual content inside the course is impressive; there’s access to many modules and a remarkable amount of videos. People with a substantial budget can also opt to have the course team set up their store and team for them. There are other services like conversion optimization and Google and email marketing.

Who’s the author?

Trevor Fenner is what’s known as a digital nomad, and he’s currently living in SE Asia, after moving to establish himself as an eCommerce owner. Besides his ventures, he also has a blog under the same name as the course. He uses it for documenting his experiences in life and business.

I’ve been hearing about this blog from acquaintances for a while now, so he’s definitely not a newcomer. He claims his experience spans 10 years in eCommerce.

He started out with regular low priced items, but he then scaled to high ticket after finding the larger profit margins offered. He has a bit of a motto on this: find an expensive product that people want to buy and sell it for a lot more, and that’s his approach to high ticket dropshipping.

Trevor has both bought and sold several stores, claiming to have cultivated several stores into 6 and 7 figures as he did so. He also spends time on YouTube when he’s not working on his course, blogging, or working on his ventures. He has a fairly small number of subscribers, but he still delivers interesting content.

He has a personal blog as well, and it’s more varied in terms of content. There’s your usual entrepreneurship advice, but he also shares his traveling experience as a digital nomad, and there’s even skateboarding stuff here.

As for his main income stream, right now seems to be consulting and instruction for people looking to start a course. At least that’s what his Instagram shows.

About eCommerce Paradise

eCommerce Paradise is hosted on Teachables, and it’s available for purchase for $997. Besides the course itself, there are several upsells with it, including additional coaching and done-for-you stores and strategies.

For Europe or Australia based students, there’s a possible VAT on that price around 10% or 25%, which means at least nearly $100 extra for the course. If you haven’t registered for VAT or GST where you live, it can be an even more expensive course.

Right now, the course spans 220 different videos spread on 27 modules. While 3 of those modules are introductory content, it’s still an immense course, and it’s among the largest we’ve reviewed here.

The modules themselves are varied length-wise. Some have a few videos and are fairly short, but others can last for over an hour. Still, you won’t escape your mindset videos in this course.

Important considerations

The course has a money back guarantee for 30 days, but you have to show you actually applied the concepts taught and tried to start a business. This is a course for people striving to take action, so don’t expect to go through it and expect your money back if you decided it’s not what you wanted.

However, you can still get a full refund. Just note that accessing the bonuses will forbid you from getting one, so think twice before taking a look at the reports and templates if you aren’t finding success with it.

You also need a startup capital between $500 and $1,000 to apply the lessons, so remember to add that to the course’s starting price. Conveniently, Trevor does recommend you to have a stable income to pay for any costs that might arise unexpectedly and have a safety net.

International students and eCommerce Paradise

As already stated, this course has a significant handicap for international members since the local suppliers advised here won’t work with people overseas without the proper ID’s. They need some form of proof that the dropshipper is a legitimate individual.

If you need local suppliers, and you’re based in the US; Canada, UK, Ireland, or Australia, then you can research local suppliers in your area.

If you’re an outsider, then you might run into the same difficulties other dropshippers (myself included) have met when trying to follow these types of approaches. One solution is to start an off-shore firm in Delaware, but that’s a bit out of reach for some people, to say the least; even if you can, you still have a lot to learn on the legal side of business.

Before you decide to go through with something like that, consider hiring advice from an expert on the subject, especially with tax law knowledge. If you have a local accountant, you can ask him, but he probably won’t have the necessary knowledge, so consider a professional. Understanding US taxation and how it impacts your home taxes is the main hurdle.

That’s why it’s recommended to start with low ticket dropshipping available with local suppliers in whichever country you live or with sources like AliExpress that are open to anyone.

Reviewing eCommerce Paradise Academy

Starting out

The first 3 modules are about starting out your business.

The first module goes into welcoming you to the course itself. You learn how you can access the private group, create a new email specifically for your business, and the necessary knowledge for venturing into the internet industry.

The second module is the mindset section. It offers 5 videos explaining you how to reach this mindset, and while some people don’t really like this type of content, you do learn how to set goals, plan your future, and ethics, which is entertaining at the very least.

Even if some people might find these topics boring, Trevor does show quite the interest on the topics themselves, and it’s a good sign of how genuine he is.

The 3rd and final starters module is an introduction and explanation of the dropshipping model and which products are best for you. You’ll also learn why Trevor uses Shopify, a few tools, and a bit about niche research before showing you some success stories.

Finding your niche

This is a nice module, especially because Trevor dedicates a lot of time explaining niche selection, and most dropshipping courses fall short in this section. There are 9 lessons totaling the module, and they cover the process the author uses.

It begins with a good video detailing how to research niches and categories. The next one is about how to price for a profit and finding your best target market. There’s a lesson on using generic and branded products.

You also learn about handling search volumes, finding the best trends, and understanding seasonality. He finally explains how to find suppliers who can agree to dropshipping and how you can come up with new approaches for working with your suppliers.

Market research

The 5th module is one of the most extensive modules both in the course and in general market research content. Trevor definitely intends to help you find amazing products and which niches you can target.

I can’t really cover everything here because it would be both spoiling the content and impossible to really explain everything that Trevor covers here.

You’ll learn how to research your niches, and it comes accompanied by a spreadsheet you can use for this task. There’s another video on how you can take advantage of your competitors to increase your market knowledge.

Some videos cover extracting categories, how to determine the average prices in the market, checking out which keywords are being searched the most in Google, and which categories you probably want to avoid depending on trends and seasons.

You also learn how you can revers engineer the competition to discover which suppliers they’re using for you to keep them for yourself. There’s also content on how to use MAP policies and customer reviews to filter your possible suppliers.

You’ll learn how you can use different tools for understanding your audience better and knowing the best markets you can target. After that, the module turns into more business-oriented content.

There’s content on how shipping works and some basic concepts like the different industries and competitiveness. There’s also an explanation on 2 approaches you can take to the market: business to business (B2B) or business to consumer (B2C). Each approach has different targets and methods for you to tackle the market.

There’s a final video explaining how you can understand the difficulty of different products and which ones you should avoid. You can also access bonuses here already done for you, and they include a database with suppliers for you to start right away.

Niche research

The 6th module offers 4 niche reports about different products that have brought success to Trevor himself. You have pitching machines, bathroom stuff, wine coolers, and even electric fireplaces. The videos average between 15 and 30 minutes, and they offer a lot of detail about why these niches are good.

Just keep in mind that every student is accessing the same lessons, so make sure the markets aren’t already saturated before going for one. However, the training is actually very good, and it provides a good foundation for beginners to understand the following module’s training.

Said module goes into how to research niches with 6 lessons providing advanced strategies for those who understood the previous lessons on the same topic. The first ones talk about how to find best-sellers and which upsells and cross-sells you can add to them by looking at accessories or add-ons.

You’re taught how to spot offers from your competitors, the products, and how you can find the best keywords to run some content marketing. You also see how you can find influencers and other content sources that you can use for backlinking to your offers.

Forming your business

The 8th module goes into a US perspective, and it seems this course was aimed primarily at this student base, so international students taking this course will find irrelevant a lot of the things explained in this section.

The good thing is that most countries have similar business structures regarding independent traders and limited liability firms, so not everything is lost. You learn what are the best bank accounts for businesses and how to set them up as well as acquiring your credit card (if possible).

There’s also content on how to create a PayPal for businesses and hiring an accountant, which applies to any region, and the last videos explains how you can determine whether or not you need a virtual office, usually offering telephone contact.

Shopify setup

This topic occupies the 9th and 10th modules, and it’s a huge section with more than 40 videos detailing everything. Obviously, I can’t really go into every video, unless you want to read a 10,000-word review.

But let me give you an idea of what’s included here.

It starts off with 10 videos with your basic Shopify setup content: what is Shopify, which apps you should get, how to create your pages and blog posts, menus, and which themes are better for high ticket businesses. Trevor suggests Shoptimized.

After that, it goes into rarely visited territory. You learn how you edit the template’s code, how to install Google tracking codes, using Shopify analytics, adding discounts, masking domains, staff accounts, and URL redirections. Trevor explains it all with great detail, and you can add other pixels to the tracking codes (Google’s) like Facebook, and he does explain that later.

That’s it for module 9. Module 10 extends that knowledge by telling you how to find a suitable domain name and the links. You also create an email with GSuite, and you then add your logo and phone number (but this number is for US citizens, an 1800).

This module then goes into homepage banners, demo products, collections, and a refreshment on module 9 content with a bit more detail. Trevor also added a few templates you can use for your about pages and videos.

You’re recommended supporting a charitable course to help your sales, and he goes into creating a contact, satisfaction guarantee, shipping policy and warranties page. As with the previous ones, you have downloadable templates for all of these. Just make sure to not use them as is; edit them a bit before posting them as all students also have access to them.

The last lessons on creating pages close it by telling you how you can create pages for your terms and conditions, financing, privacy policies, and branding. They’re all critical to running a high ticket business.

You also get an affiliate link from Trevor for purchasing Shoptimized with a nice discount.

The module closes with some basic SEO like how to create meta descriptions and titles as well as integrating your Google webmaster tools.

Overall, the videos offer a lot of detail and insight. Beginners will leave this section with a great-looking Shopify store, and even more advanced users have something to learn.

Onboarding suppliers

Again a 2-module section, the first module tells you how you can find suppliers and the ones you should actually go with. You learn how to reach out to them either via phone or email.  Trevor adds a script here you can follow, but again, try to edit them and give a personal touch.

Then there’s how you fill out applications with these suppliers as well as what information you need from them and how to attain it. However, many international students will find issues in this module.

The 2nd module in this section talks about onboarding your suppliers and how you can list their products on your store. Think about using third-party integrations for your stock list to avoid overselling stuff that your supplier currently doesn’t have in stock or products with changed prices.

You also learn to add product tags that integrate with the premium theme you’re using and how to have all your image sizes equal so that your theme has no issues loading. On that topic, you then learn how you compress images to optimize your page loading times; this is also good for your SEO rankings.

You have videos about how to create branding collections and targeting long tailed keywords to match your products. That lets you add supplier products sales taxes to your sales taxes. If you don’t understand why you would want to do this, US dropshipping requires you to charge the sales tax on every order shipping within a state.

Let me explain that with an example: if someone in Texas purchase a product from you, and your supplier is also in Texas, they must pay the sales tax. If one of the two is in a different state, then it’s not required. Yes, that’s US-oriented content.

Optimizing conversions

The 13th module covers how to optimize your conversion rates, and you might be used to then little detail offered in other courses, but this is an actually solid section.

It starts off by taking a look at the apps you can integrate for encouraging client interaction by showcasing reviews. Trevor also tells you how you can create gift offers. Another app helps you to recover abandoned carts, and that’s before apps including Conversion plus and smart and instant searching integrations.

The last app recommended is Lucky Orange for tracking your visitors’ behavior live through heat maps.

The section closes with how you can optimize your checkout pages, which is a neat hack not many courses mention.

Social Media Marketing

This is one of the more basic modules in this course; luckily, most people already have experience at least using these platforms. The module opens up by creating your pages on Facebook, Instagram, and Pinterest.

You learn how you set up buffers to automate your posts on social media, which saves you both time and money. Another lesson is about setting up your IFTTT; it’s a syndication process used in social media to get backlinks for your website.

With another tip great for SEO, you’ll quickly notice how this is also one of the most extensive courses in terms of SEO as well. You receive an InstaZoo recommendation to automate your engagement on Instagram.

Email marketing

The email marketing module offers a video spanning 2 hours, and it explains how you can set up and start using Klaviyo. It’s an email marketing, eCommerce-focused platform you can use to automate your emails and provide your customers with promotions, abandoned cart recovery, and new products listing.

Trevor also included several email templates, so you don’t have to go ahead and trial-and-error your way to a successful email marketing approach. However, the same applies here as with all templates: edit them before you use them.

Paid ads

This is another 2-module section about, and it starts with a short lesson on the 16th module about an app you can use for dynamic retargeting. After that, Trevor hits you with 11 videos on how to set up your paid ads with Google and Bing.

It might be strange not to see a Facebook Ads lesson or similar platforms, but they’re not really effective for high ticket dropshipping. Most high ticket entrepreneurs with success will tell you that Google Ads and Shopping is the best channel to reach people actually looking to buy your products.

There’s a lesson about installing your Google Shopping feed for your venture and how to release your first advertisement for free. After that, you learn about adding different pixels for your store and how to optimize the ads.

After Google’s done, he applies the same approach to Bing. However, this is a fairly short lesson, which was fairly disappointing. It’s not bad content, but for almost $1,000, you’d expect stronger content.

Optimizing conversions (advanced)

The 18th module builds on the previous conversion optimization content, and it mostly adds to it with more apps you can integrate to your business. There are great recommendations here, and I’ll admit I didn’t even know a couple of these apps existed.

The module kicks off with an app for product reviews, and it then mentions Clearsale to help you spot frauds. The next recommendation is Klarna to help your financing (and if it’s available for your store) and Norton’s “Shopping Guarantee”, which you can integrate to aid your trust flow.

There are many other apps like Trust Guard and Clyde, for insurance and some warranty upsells. Verge’s JSON-LD and Shopper Reviews are mentioned as well, and Trevor even offers an app to protect your content so that thieves can’t steal it; this is followed by a watermark-adding app to protect your images as well.

The last videos are page optimization for your different sections, mainly your sales, collections, thank you’s and upsells.

YouTube

Luckily, Trevor isn’t like other eCommerce gurus on YouTube without a single video about the platform on their courses. While you only get 5 videos, it does provide you a good grasp on the basics like how to set up your channel and optimizing it, creating your intro, and sales videos.

As for optimizing the videos themselves, Trevor recommends TubeBuddy. The last video is how you can create unboxing and reviewing videos, but these may not work for the niche you’re using.

How would you unbox playgrounds or gym machines? Sure, the review side of the lesson would work, but perhaps a video on how to install would’ve been more appropriate since it applies to virtually all high-ticket products.

Store management

Store management takes 2 modules, 20 and 21. The first one tells you how you can create an eBay store and list your products there. However, that’s the only mention of eBay in the entire course, so this feels slightly out of place and awkward.

The 21st module is about general store management: including how to fulfill orders all the way to how to overcome frauds and debts.

There’s a nice app called Aftership he recommends, and you can integrate it with Klaviyo; it sends notifications to your customers about their shipment tracking, and it’s a great way to reduce disputes opened with the payment provider you chose.

You also learn how to create a blog on Shopify and processing your orders, including how to deal with your returns and refunds. That’s one of the main problems with high ticket dropshipping, but Trevor does provide good advice to survive these issues.

There are other videos about handling orders out of stock or customers receiving defective items in any way. The module closes with how to use follow-ups, payments stuck “on hold”, and coming up with professional quotes to offer business customers.

The module offers a lot of detail, and you’ll surely learn a lot.

Fulfilling orders

Module 22 offers just 3 videos on how to fulfill orders, but the previous module did cover a lot about this topic.

This module covers how to set up your account with a freight worker, which ensures great shipping costs. Sadly, this is US-only. Still, there are some cool lessons like how to guide your customers to the best shipping choice and how to create lading bills.

Outsource and scale

Modules 23 and 24 cover this topic. The first one goes into hiring a virtual assistant and the different platforms you can use for that. OnlineJobs.ph gets a mention, and since Filipinos are English speakers secondly, it’s among the best places to find affordable English-speaking VA’s.

On the process, you’re taught how to post your listing, interviewing your candidates, onboarding, paying, and general management.

Trevor mentions PatLive for setting up a receptionist and answering calls to offer better customer service. You then receive the details of whoever called for calling them back. You can even have the call be directed to you.

The 24th module is the overall process to scale to 7 figures.

Buying/selling stores

This section covers 2 more modules, and it explains how you can sell a store as well as preparing yourself for it, how to value your venture, and transferring the assets.

It also goes into buying a high ticket store, teaching you how to spot good and bad deals, paying deposits, what questions you should ask, and how to value others’ stores.

He recommends EmpireFlippers, a famous website marketplace, and you also have a case study of a site purchase for you to follow.

Bonuses

There are 3 bonuses in the extra module, and they encompass some coaching calls for your niche research, a session with the author to discuss advanced emailing strategies, and extra training on sales with a friend from Trevor, Ryan Garrido.

There’s a private Facebook group, and while it’s fairly small, with just 93 members, you can still find daily posts and discussions.

Is there a discount?

Yes, Trevor offers a mini course for free, and taking it gives you the best price offer for this course. There are no other offers or discount available, so don’t fall for people selling them.

Is it worth the money?

In short, yes, there’s a lot of content being offered for the price. You have dozens of courses selling for the same price and not even reaching the 50-video mark, but Trevor offers 4 times that content.

You even get plenty of bonuses, and while they’re not really worth the $15,000 claimed by the Author, they do add value.

The content inside the course is also better than other courses, besides the amount. Trevor is very knowledgeable and has a lot of experience, and that translates to most of the course.

Should you go with high ticket dropshipping?

If you’re in the US or other countries with willing suppliers, you’re on the right foot. Otherwise, you’ll have a hard time finding a supplier who will accept your offer.

Other than that, with higher profit margins comes higher risk. Imagine you sell something for $4,000 and the customer asks for a refund. That’s coming for your pocket.

If you’re starting out, it’s better to go with low ticket and look at high ticket as part of scaling your business.

Final Verdict

Is It Worth It? Final Verdict

It’s a great course, so if you have the leisure money, you can pay for a great package. It will give you the results you want if you try.

There are only 3 issues depending on the student:

Supplier-related content is mostly US-exclusive.

The price tag can be unreachable for some.

High ticket isn’t the best idea for beginners.

If you are in the US (or don’t mind researching a little on your own) and have enough leisure money, then go for it.

Also, high ticket dropshipping doesn’t have any specific processes, so a general dropshipping course does the trick. For $800 less, you can get eCom Elites, save $800 for a theme and ads, and still get enough knowledge to run any dropshipping store.

I’d recommend starting with low ticket and then using the same knowledge to scale to high ticket.

I hope you found this review useful and if you have any questions, please comment down below. I’ll be more than happy to assist you.

Once again, thanks for reading my eCommerce Paradise Academy Review and I wish you the best of luck.

The post eCommerce Paradise Academy Review appeared first on Only Genuine Reviews.

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[davidaolson]

This fifth sun, the sun of movement, illuminated the Toltecs and illuminates the Aztecs. It has claws and feeds on human hearts. ~Aztec Theology

Dead Hearts Walking

We are a steady stream pushing ourselves up the steep stairs one by one. They walk without difficulty. I am winded by the exertion, gasp for oxygen in the thin air. With step 248, we reach the summit of the Temple of the Sun, the largest pyramid in the Americas. Each of my companions, a devotee has a cleanly sliced, horizontal hole in their chests just left of center, slicing through the nipple region. The ghosts walking the street do not have the hole. Only those ascending the pyramid do. There must have been a ghost priest near the base performing the ritual.

In their right hands, each holds a beating heart, their own beating heart dripping phantom blood. The drops are low luminance red. They contain too much pigment to be transparent, not enough to be opaque. Translucent blood, translucent as the mixed-blood people inhabiting a society happy to push them to the margins. Out of sight. Out of mind. Translucent. Preferred invisible.

They search for the Sun Stone to offer their hearts, a sacrifice to propitiate the starving Aztec Gods, drinkers of human blood. Once the gods’ thirst is satiated, they will reward the people and resurrect the lost empire and the Aztec will reign again.

But the sacred Stone is missing. It was stolen by Spanish invaders for its gold inlay then thrown in a worthless heap until it was rediscovered and placed behind bars in a museum. Why behind bars? The scientists have heard the stories. They know power lives within and blood will set it free. They fear the power, fear losing their own exalted place in society. So, the people are kept at bay lest they sprinkle their own claret juice and resurrect the ancient gods.

The original thieves failed to comprehend the sacred stone’s significance. Without it, connection to the Gods is severed. The passage from life to resurrection and final death blocked. The sacrifice cannot be made, neither resurrection for the empire nor final passage for the people is attainable. As this realization sets in, that they are trapped in the between world, my companions let loose a howl accompanied by a torrent of tears.

They cram still gasping hearts back into emaciated chests. Heads droop low, unshoed feet drag on sharp rocks. They descend the steps leaving a trail of ghost blood. Some stumble. Others, distraught, hoping for final death and freedom from the curse, jump from the top of the 216 foot Sun Pyramid bouncing off the sides, rolling over the angled walls, come to rest at the pyramid base mangled, crushed. Death eludes them, still. They remain bound to the misery infecting the empire when their leaders turned their backs on Lord Sun instead prostrating before the furry-faced man on the great white horse they believed to be a God incarnate. But Cortés was merely a killer, an invading demon.

With bodies broken, spirits crushed, they rejoin their brothers and sisters walking Avenida del Muerto, the Way of the Dead, the main road connecting the pyramids in Teotihuacán. The wanderers slowly fall into a procession, a line of spirits walking, single file along the Avenue of the dead from the Sun to the Moon to the distant Pyramid of the Feathered Serpent and back to the Sun Temple where they again pull their hearts from their chests and trudge up the 248 steps hoping, in vain, to end their purgatory. The Church came to bring heaven to the Americas but condemned the natives to perpetual perdition.

Sun Temple

Sun Temple

Sun Temple

Moon Temple

Avenue of the Dead

The line of spirits is endless with multitudes streaming toward the ancient city. They cover the land, a thick blanket of locusts, on their way to join the procession. Even the dead harbor misplaced hope in Gods.

My wife, and I suspect the other tourists, cannot see the ghosts, are not aware of the shadow people wandering in the crowds who slide through the living as light pierces a pane of crystal glass.

Are the locals aware? Probably. The ancient blood runs through their veins so I believe they have genetic knowledge. I hear the vendors speaking to each other but not in Spanish. My guess, it is Nahuatl, the language of the Aztecs. If their knowledge of the language lives, I’m sure they know of these shadow people, can see the shadow people. I would like to ask them but believe, even if we could speak a common language, they would not reveal ancient secrets to an outsiderf, especially a gringo.

When I visited almost two years ago, I did not see the shadow people. But that was before I met Grandfather, a spirit, a ghost. An ancient who is as old as the Americas themselves, possibly older. I encountered him twice within a year, both times in New Mexico at distinct locations connected by a common theme. Petroglyphs made by some of the earliest aboriginals in what is now known as the Americas.

The first time I also met and had a conversation with a Rattlesnake spirit. Between those encounters, I met and received a message from the Tukó spirit in the Philippines. Three extra-worldly experiences in one year are enough to put anyone off their nut. All things considered, I am not surprised to be walking with shadow beings at Teotihuacán, archaeological ruins of what was a major city in the Aztecan empire. Nor do I harbor any fear.

Grandfather passed a vision into my head through touch when we met in Albuquerque foretelling of an upcoming encounter. I am in Old México for a break from the cold Chicago winter and, if Grandfather was real, as I believe him to be, to meet my next teacher, Puma. In the vision, though, Los Muertos talked to me. I have tried conversing with these shadows but they act like I don’t exist. Are they aware of me?

Ah well, I know where Puma lives in these ruins. I saw the mural on my previous visit and that is where we are headed next. My only problem, how do I get rid of my wife and away from the crowds. In all my previous spirit encounters, I was alone. It seems to be a prerequisite. No witnesses. No one to validate my experiences. No one to assure me I don’t wander in and out of schizophrenia.

Miztli (Puma)

Miztli (Puma) Miural

We stop to admire the Puma mural which is a short bit along the avenue on the way to the Temple of the Moon. It is tawny with absurdly long claws. Red waves in the background make it look like it’s walking on water.

I need to be rid of the wife. Time for my sob story.

“The mother-freaker Sun Temple was tall. The rise between those steps is long. I thought the Aztec were littler people like five and a half feet tall. How did they manage those steps? And the steepness is scary. I was worried I would take a tumble on the way down. I bet a few of ’em were accidentally sacrificed to the gods just from falling while trying to get to the top. You are smaller than them. You must be tired from the climb up and down.”

“Nope. I’m ok. I’m feeling good. The altitude isn’t bothering me at all.”

“Really? You are definitely better fit than me.” Shameless schmoozing. “I guess the personal trainer is paying off. I should probably find one too because I’m feeling a bit winded and my cough is tickling at the back of my throat up…”

“…and you want to rest for a bit so I should just go ahead?”

“Ummm…”

“Can’t you come up with a different lie? You told me almost the exact same story a few weeks ago in New Mexico. Practically a duplicate word for word except for the added trainer part. Trying to play to my ego, are you?”

Sheepishly “Ok. I’m feeling a strong need to be solo for a short time. It is the only way I can connect with the spiri…er…the landscape. I don’t want you to feel I am abandoning you.”

“Listen. I’m an introvert. I understand the soul’s drive for alone time to rejuvenate. And, please, no more of this spirit seeing vision shit. If you are going to create a magical realism story cool. I like reading your stuff. Just quit pretending it’s real.”

“Sorry…” not sorry. Did my hypocrisy show through in my intonation? Probably for her next words were, “I’m going to the moon temple. Meet me there when you are ready.” And she walked away without waiting for my response angry footsteps pounding the trodden grass.

It is going to take some mighty fast talking to smooth this over but that’s a problem for later. In the meantime, I need to learn from Puma. I would kneel but the ground is pebbly and my knees are wretched. Prostrating is out with so many people milling about. So I whisper using the few Nahuatl words I learned specifically for this occasion. I hope Puma can hear my prayer over the din.

Miztli (Puma), achtontli (ancestor) icniuhtli (friend). I call you friend knowing very well we may be distant brothers of a common ancestor in a blessed cihtli (grandmother). I saw you in a vision gifted to be my…by our…our Grandfather. I am here because Grandfather foretold you would reveal a cochitlehua, a seeing dream showing my next destiny.

No acknowledgment.

Do not fear me, I am not tlacatecolotl, an afternoon owl bringing evil to either you or the ghosts wandering this ancient city. I seek your toltecal, your wisdom that I may understand the huitzitzilin, the hummingbird journey leading me from flower to flower.

Miztli still appears not to hear me. It remains stoically perched on the wall not flexing any of it’s taught, tawny amber muscles. Nor do I sense it recognizes my presence. If it had, a bridge should form connecting our spirits, enabling communication.

I turn around to think and discover I am surrounded by a semicircle of ghost people with me at the locus. They stand, quiet, focused in my direction. I cannot tell if they are actually looking at me because their eyes are vacant, gray orbs. I slide a few steps to my left, they shift left. I return the three steps to the right, they follow again.

On the pyramid climb, they were oblivious to my presence. If not oblivious then consciously chose to ignore me. Now, they are definitely focused on me. Was hearing their own language the impetus for the change?

“Miztli,” I say testing my hypothesis. They lean closer, the ancient language a magnet pulling them toward me. The words must have pierced the wall between the living and the wandering dead diverting them from their mourner’s path toward me.

“¿Tlen?” I say which translates as what. I need to know what they want from me. Perhaps, they have insight and can help bridge me into Puma’s world.

In unison, they respond, “Meztli.”

Using my thumb, I point over my shoulder toward the Puma mural hoping it is not a rude gesture in their Aztec culture. I ask, “¿Miztli?”. I’m too fearful to point with pursed lips which would require turning my back on the phantoms, the growing legion of phantoms. I sense an uneasiness in the crowd. Again they say in booming unison, “Meztli.” This time looking left and pointing with pursed lips to the North.

It is then I realize my mistake. I thought they had said miztli which means puma but they actually said meztli meaning moon. They are directing me to the Moon Pyramid.

“¿Does Miztli spirit reside at the temple of Meztli?” I don’t expect an answer. A response presupposes people who died hundreds of year ago can understand my English. I pause for a brief eternity allowing ample space for them to speak. No response.

I turn right, begin walking toward the Moon Temple hoping it is where I will find miztli but expecting bubkus, nada, nothing. The phantoms follow close behind. I glance back for one last look at the mural. Puma has vanished from the painting. There is a hole where the wavy red lines were behind the painting. Shit. I missed my chance.

I turn back to the ghosts who have resumed their eternal march. I jump in front of them and wave my arms. The walk around me, through me on their never-ending procession that will eventually route them to the top of the Sun Temple and another attempt to resurrect the old gods, their dispossessed lives. Instead, they exist in an eternal hell. Their purpose had been to distract me so Puma could make an escape. I am disturbed. Why did Miztli choose to avoid me?

Head hanging, I drag my feet to the Moon skirting the ubiquitous vendors selling trinket and blankets and jaguar whistles and graven images. Can they see the ghosts? Do they care?

The steps up the Moon Temple are equally steep as the Sun. These, though, end at a platform less than halfway up the pyramid. Access to the top is prohibited, blocked by a weak fence I could easily circumvent. But the ascent is tricky, the steps crumbled, crumbling. An ascent carries the twin possibilities of success and sacrifice in equal measures. My goat days are long behind me. I opt to play it safe.

I return to the lip of the platform, sit, stare south along the very straight Avenue of the Dead toward the unseeable Temple of the Feathered Serpent. The Aztec were astounding engineers. The most distant temple It is hidden behind polluted air. Beyond that is a mountain range. Further still all of Central and South America with many more ruins to explore before I jump from the physical world to the spirit world. Hopefully, not too soon though.

The tourist count, high when we arrived, is continually increasing. As expected when visiting famous sites during vacation time between Christmas and New Years. Too many people for my liking. The avenue is packed with the colorful living and gray, translucent dead. Is there really a difference between life and death? So often, life feels like hell.

In the midst of the chaos, I spy the tawny rippling muscles and twitching tail of Miztli. Is Puma out for a stroll or a hunt? It looks toward me, at me. Not having the animals sharp vision, I cannot tell if it is looking with disinterestedness or disdain. My soul tells me it’s probably indifference. I’m living. It is spirit. What can I possibly offer a demigod?

My wife sits next to me, “I see you made it.” The angry edge is mostly gone from her voice.

“Yup.”

“You look hot. Your face is pink. Here, drink some water so you stay hydrated. We better get you a hat on the way out.”

I drink, wishing it was colder, wishing it was an elixir that would allow me to exist permanently and simultaneously in both worlds instead of spirit visions occurring haphazardly. Is it haphazard? Grandfather must have some plan, some rationale for bringing me to his side. I wish I knew what it was.

I feel a need to speak, to bridge the gap I created. “This is a great view, I would love to have seen it in its heyday when the pyramids were pristine and all these structures in mint condition. I’m sure it was amazing.”

“Did you find what you were looking for at the Puma grotto?”

“Do you want the truth?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Even if it includes spirits and phantoms?”

“I want truth not figments of your imagination. Save that for your stories.”

“Ok. No. I did not find what I wanted at the grotto. I learned nothing. Maybe, I was supposed to learn nothing.”

“That’s good. Are you about ready to go?”

“Sure. I am feeling a bit lightheaded. The sun is getting to me. It is exasperated by the low humidity. I can hear the moisture being sucked from my body through my pores. I need to get a Coke on the way out. The sugar will do me some good.”

“Are you ready to go now or do you need more rest?”

“I’m ready. Say goodbye Gracie.”

“Gracie?”

“Tag line from an old TV show. Let’s find our driver and get back to Mexico City.”

Cholula

A few days later, we shift ourselves from México City to Puebla via an easy two-hour, first class bus ride. The one drawback, the movie on the overhead screens is in Spanish. My Spanish, other than impolite words, is elementary and that is being generous. I’m unable to understand most of the movie. This lack of Spanish speaking is a deficiency I need to rectify since there are still many Central and South American countries I plan on visiting.

México felt modern. Not as modern as Chicago but still contemporary. Puebla is more old school with great colors on the buildings. The Zocalo is a cozy park surrounded by shops, restaurants, with the focal point a gorgeous cathedral. It feels like an old European town. I could see myself retiring here spending the mornings sipping tea and writing. The evenings would be more difficult because the restaurants lack variety.

For this second half of our trip, we have prearranged a local to guide us, a friend of a Chicago friend. They are a mother and daughter pair. The mother speaks more English than we do Spanish still our ability to communicate with her is limited. The daughter, a teenager, is a self-taught English speaker. She has a strong grasp of the language and is virtually accent-free. This is the first time she’s conversed in English. My wife and I are stunned.

Our first stop, the great pyramid of Cholula, is a touch shorter than the Sun Temple making it the 2nd tallest in the Americas. Most of Cholula is unexcavated. By volume, Cholula is larger than any of the taller Egyptian pyramids. Which begs the question. Which is bigger? Is it the greater height or the greater volume?

When I used to fish, some of my fishing buddies determined bigger by length. I was a weight guy believing a heavier fish would feed more people therefor it was the bigger. We never did reach an agreement. Maybe, if I caught the longer fish I would have shifted to their perspective. I never did catch the largest fish so it was a moot point. The one time I was close, the fish, a four-footer, spit the lure out right at the boat and winked at me as it dove into the darkness.

The side of the pyramid on which we arrive appears to be nothing more than a hill. We can’t see it yet but there is a tiny little church on top desecrating the sacred pyramid. That is bad but the story gets worse. We walk around to the opposite side. Vendors are hawking dried grasshoppers, a local delicacy sold by the bucket full. I am unable to suppress my squeamishness long enough for a sample. Next time, I tell myself knowing very well there is unlikely to be a next time. There are few foods I won’t knowingly try. Insects and balut top that list. My try new food tactic is to have the people I’m with order their favorites for my meal and not tell me what I ate until after I’ve finished. It’s a great way to stretch my palette.

The Aztec were master Engineers creating their cities without the aid of computers or machinery. I expect the pyramid to have sides parallel with the cardinal directions like the sun and moon temples. This is not the case. It isn’t until reaching the top I come up with a logical, to me, rationale. The pyramid is built askance for spiritual purposes. Parallel to one side there is a volcano and another mountain peak. In concert, they are key figures in a local creation story.

The Yellow Church

The ascent is a paved walkway, an ascending road absent steps. I don’t know if it is the original fixed up or a modern addition. The angle of ascent is not insignificant, the pain in my thighs a minor irritation, the 7,000-foot altitude plays a part. We stop twice to catch our breath. I am reminded of the uphill ascent to Parvati temple in Pune India. Both feel similar in distance and inclination.

Stairway to Yellow Church

Yellow Church

At the top sits a small church. I am appalled but not surprised. It was the Spanish invaders’ practice to deprive the indigenous their freedoms and their lives. They also did their best to annihilate their chosen afterlife. This is the underlying reason for the ghosts wandering the Avenue of the Dead at Teotihuacan.

The Aztec were born into a belief system, a system annihilated by the invaders preventing the Aztec from completing their prescribed birth, death, afterlife cycle. They lived and died but were unable to transition from death to final afterlife thus are stuck in a limbo world and will remain trapped until their rituals can be performed. The Spanish tried to supplant the Aztec system with Christianity but the new system is a cycle outside the original. Unless an individual Aztec freely chose to convert, they remained bound under the auspices of the original system.

The Catholic Church, represented by the conquistadors, condemned millions to suffer eternally or until the Stone is returned to the sun temple and the legions adrift can finally crush their own hearts on that altar and be released into the eternal afterlife.

The yellow church perched on the top of the pyramid is named the Shrine of Our Lady of Remedies. It was built by indigenous slaves to transition them from paganism to Christianity. Repurposing religious sites was a common blasphemy conducted by the church patriarchy in their quest to save the savages. Yet another parallel between Catholicism and the ISIS bastards destroying ancient sites. The Catholic Church was the ISIS of the invaded new world.

Upon completion, including gilding the interior with stolen Aztec gold, the natives were forbidden from entering the church. They were allowed to attend mass from the outside looking in through the small church doors but not cross the threshold and sit beneath the roof. Even conversion, an act said to cleanse them in god’s eyes, was not a key allowing them entrance. The spiritual soul saved, physical soul pissed on. WHy? They were not white and not Spanish. Blatant discrimination reflects the Church’s true character. What they truly needed saving from was the invading Church and the depraved Christians.

The Underworld

On our way to the walk-up side of the Great Pyramid, we pass a ticket booth granting access to the soul of the pyramid. The line was long so we opted to bypass for the fee free jaunt to the top. One of our hosts, seeing the steepness of the climb, offered to return and buy tickets so we could enter on the flip trip. Having always wondered what lies beneath these behemoths, we agreed. An added bonus, there are excavated sections of the exterior complex only accessible with the tickets.

Stairway in Cholula Pyramid

The world beneath is spider-webbed with narrow passages. The openings take the form of a gravestone, straight sides with an angled top coming to a point at the peak. The best I can describe is the shadow cast by a short, squat pencil with the tip worn down.

The electric lighting is yellowish casting a jaundiced glow on the brick and mortar walls. Are they adobe? I’m not sure. The construction reminds me of adobe huts and the ruins left by the Anasazi. Rocks slathered with mud hardening sufficiently to endure the ages. I imagine the ancients scurrying the passageways carrying torches, atra, fire flickering on a long stick casting eerie shadows. I look for but do not see any signs of fire soot. Was it cleaned by the excavators? Rinsed away by floods?

My head barely clears the top. A head bobble would have me scraping the sides so I do my best to keep my noggin steady. No quick turns. The narrowness makes it not possible to walk two abreast. Squeezing past someone is impossible without body contact. The Aztec were littler people and would have little difficulty navigating the tunnels.

I feel walled in, claustrophobic. I imagine horrors, tunnels collapsing trapping us in blackness slowly suffocating in the dwindling oxygen. A rush of water slowly filling until we drown. I enjoy exploring the tunnels while simultaneously fighting the urge to flee into the sunlight and blessed open space. Every fiber of my being is at war with the dilemma made worse because I have no idea how long it will take to traverse the maze and emerge on the other side.

I have a strong preference for deserts over forests. Forests are beautiful and awe inspiring but sight lines are limited. In deserts, I can see forever in every direction. I feel free, not trapped by a thousand wooded fence poles. The solid walls in the pyramid depths are infinitely scarier than the densest, deepest forest.

We have no map. There are no mile markers displaying distance covered, distance remaining. I do my best to stuff my growing panic as I used to stuff my emotions. Hopefully, stuffing my panic with have a happier ending instead of exploding when my emotions erupted.

We pass side tunnels. Some on the same level, others descending all blocked by steel gates. Some are lit. Most are pitch. They are obviously still under excavation. One descending into the depths, step by step, has a shallow puddle pool a couple of feet down. Coins are visible in the still pool.

Are the coins an offering to the gods? A superstitious act to dispense good luck? Probably both. The folly of humanity never ceases to amaze me. It was at one such side tunnel that I pull over and let my companions pass. I am much bigger and was probably blocking their view. I also hope, having them in front of me, will add perspective reducing my burgeoning panic to a manageable whimper. And, it will provide moments to study architecture without worrying about holding the others up.

During an extended lollygag, I trace a faint outline, faint like it was scrubbed away by repeated flooding. I can’t really tell what was there because the many gaps force me to fill in the blanks with my imagination but there is a resemblance to the Puma at Teotihuacan. Can it be? Or is it wishful thinking? My own folly. I am still confused about why the encounter with Puma turned sour before a connection was bridged.

I’ve lost track of my companions. There is a turn ahead they must have already passed. I am alone. Alone in this constricted space with thinning air making it hard to breathe. My panic simmers with dainty, little, baby bubbles hiding the churning below. It’s not a raging boil, yet. I need to get out. I need to be free now. My feet move independently, rapidly.

I come to an ascending passageway on my right. There is no gate blocking the way. At the top, there is the glow of light. It’s around a bend so I can’t tell if the tunnel leads to the exterior but the natural looking light is a draw I can’t pass up.

The Up Tunnel

I’m in. No choice, really. The light is a salve to my fear, an elixir to quench my thirst for sun. I begin the upward climb gradually stooping over because the space between the steps and the ceiling is shrinking. Shortly, I am crawling on hands and knees and another phobia kicks in. I am terrified of getting wedged in a tight space in a cave. The next level phobia is getting wedged while scuba diving in caves with my oxygen running out.

I hear voices ahead. The light is bright. The end must be near. The final stretch, what appears to be the final stretch, of the tunnel requires belly crawling. I start and stop. Sweat coats my body, has soaked through my shirt. I can’t muster the courage to continue. I must abandon this route and return to the original. I start inching backward irritated I didn’t have enough courage to fight my irrational fears. My toes splash in a puddle. Oh shit! I’m kneeling in a thin layer of water, a layer slowly rising. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Progress or perish. Going back is not an option.

I reach my arms forward narrowing my body as much as possible wishing I had paid better attention to my weight. The bulging belly adds to the challenge. My fingers feel only slick wall, no finger holes to pull through. I can’t begin to guess how long the passage is. I use my toes to push myself forward, literally, inch by terrifying inch. Every fiber in my being screams in horror. I’m going to die.

The water continues rising forcing me to nose breathe. Mouth breaths would contain more water than air. The water makes the rock slick and toeholds difficult. I concentrate, force them down so the rubber on my shoes can push forward and create propulsion. The one benefit of the water is it acts as a lubricant making forward movement easier. I move a couple of feet when I feel a lip to grasp. The water reaches my nose just as I break through into a chamber.

To shaken to think, I find a rock and sit trying to settle my nerves. No luck. I must move. The chamber is a largish junction between two tunnels. I’m able to stand with a few inches of head clearance same as the original tunnel. My arms, outstretched, reach neither wall. I am disoriented. My internal compass cannot calibrate. Which tunnel do I take?

Holy shit, I realize I can see. There’s light from a burning torch propped in a wall notch. How did this get here? There are no footsteps on the soft ground. I pull it off the wall and step first into one tunnel then the other. I hear nothing but my breathing and a light trickle of water. Do I go with the flow or against the flow? I’ve always been an against the flow kind of guy. No need to deliberate. Water flows downhill. I want to ascend to the surface. I go against the flow.

I turn two bends and see a hole of light in the distance. I pick up my pace, drop the flaming torch, and am nearly running when I break out of the tunnel. I enter a light so forcefully bright, it knocks me flat on my back. I roll over to avoid the searing brightness. The ground is parched, cracked into a mosaic most chunks big as my hand. I pull myself up to my knees. Stunted corn with shriveled yellow-brown stalks extends for as far as I can see. Must be in the middle of a drought.

There is chanting behind me. I whirl around and discover I am kneeling before a stone structure of meticulously inlaid stonework, a man-made puzzle of stunning symmetry. The stones are much smaller than the rocks composing the pyramid but the workmanship is identical. It stands 2ish feet high. Three steps take one to the flat top. It appears to be a miniature of the great pyramid.

The chanting is from a lone priest standing on top. His eyes are dark as teak. They were all pupil and no iris or dilated to consume the pupil. Almost as if he is without a human soul.

He’s wearing a headdress of pheasant tail feathers. Some are natural, light brown bands separated by smaller, dark brown, almost black bands. Others are dyed red, green, and blue. They extend from is head outward similar to a peacock flashing feathers in a mating ritual. There’s an amulet around his neck. I can’t make it out clearly. He’s in an animal skin loincloth. It looks like the hide of a jaguar. The same hide is banded around his ankles to mid-calf. Leather sandals protect his feet.

Miztli with Blue Eyes

Behind him, a golden puma the gold of prairie grasses at sunrise is locked in a cage and pacing nonstop. The cage is built of wood, looks flimsy. Why doesn’t the puma push through the slats? It must have enough strength. It screams occasionally, a raspy scream sounding like the gates of hell have opened and a female demon is being skinned alive while simultaneously roasting on an open flame. Pumas eyes are pale blue, a warm blue with yellow trim and they are fixed on me, fixated on me. They never leave me even when screaming and exposing large canines.

In his right hand, the Priest holds a knife, a long knife of blackest obsidian glinting the sun hanging high in the cloudless, cerulean sky. He stands severe, eyes raised, arms outstretched to the heavens. Is the stone structure on which he stands an altar? If so, where’s the warrior for the sacrifice?

Footsteps approach from behind the patter of lots of footsteps. The priest lowers eyes and arms, looks into the distance over my shoulder. He is sweating yet the air is cool.

Is it the king’s army coming to sacrifice him for failing to summon rain from the gods? A priest unable to persuade the gods to give the gift of rain is not much use for an agrarian society. Perhaps he will be forced to cut his own heart from his chest? Will a priest finally get his comeuppance? It’s high time they paid for their sins.

I have an issue with priests and the organizations perpetuating the defective of the lot. By defectives, I mean those like the pedophile priests so long protected and hidden by the Catholic Church. As if wearing a white clerical collar automatically exempts them from paying for their horrendous crimes. They are men in places of authority and must be held to a higher standard than the laity because of their widespread influence. Instead, the Church chose, still chooses, to ignore the trauma of the children and move the bastard priests to places they could unleash more terror unchecked. Unconscionable. No…EVIL!

It’s not soldiers but common folk, men, women, and children in farmers clothing, little more than loincloths on all. Most are barefooted, a few wear sandals made of what appears to be corn husks. They gather on either side of me, behind me, drop to their knees in reverence when they stop. Some prostrate themselves. They chant, Tlaloc, in unison. Tlaloc, literally he who makes things sprout, is the Aztec rain god. They are petitioning Tlaloc for quiyahuitl, rain.

The priest has pulled on a mask with large round eyes and long fangs. He has become Tlaloc. My answer to who will be sacrificed is soon answered as a family, a husband, wife, and boy child about 5 years old walk to the altar. The family must watch the warrior be sacrificed up close? It seems unusually cruel not to mention traumatic to one so young.

Of course, I view this ancient ritual with modern eyes. My society is individualistic. We are an I society. The rights of the individual are paramount superseding the needs of the group. Others are collective. The needs of society trump the needs of the individual. Rules promote selflessness and sacrificing one to better the all. I have read, it was an honor to be the first warrior sacrificed to the gods by the priests. Who am I to judge how they choose to live.

The father grabs the boys hands, the mother his feet. They pick him up, pull on his limbs until he is parallel, lay him on his back holding tightly so movement from his struggles is minimized. I am horrified to see the priest kneel and raise the knife. The chanting grows louder. Tlaloc, TLALOC, TLALOC. The voices become a frenzy. TLAAAAALOOOOC!

I scream “Noooo” with all the volume I can muster. Either they cannot hear me or I am drowned out by the chanting. I look toward Puma. It is still fixed on me. Why can it see me but these people can’t? I try to stand and run to stop the madness but can’t move. My knees are rooted to the ground, tendrils extend from me into the cracks in the soil.

The priest drops the knife into the child’s chest. TLAAAAALOOOOC! He wiggles it around deftly, then reaches in and pulls out the heart.TLAAAAALOOOOC! He raises it toward the heavens and squeezes. Blood spurts from the severed arteries. TLAAAAALOOOOC! When the blood stops dripping, he takes a bite opening the chambers and turns it over ensuring the last drops of blood are bled. In my disgust, I cannot tell if the priest ate the part he bit off or spit it out. TLAAAAALOOOOC! The priest reaches behind, picks up an axe and lops off the child’s head in one blow. TLAAAAALOOOOC! The parents move the corpse to the side of the altar. They place the opening where the head hangs over the edge allowing the spilling blood to feed the earth. TLAAAAALOOOOC!

My stomach constricts. I feel the acid taste of vomit swelling in my throat. I heave but nothing comes out. I heave and heave. Nothing. I’m forced to swallow the vile liquid stuck in my throat.

Three additional sacrifices are offered in the same manner. One more boy and two petite girls. Are they small because the drought is long and food is scarce? All have been in the 5 to 10 year old range. The crowd has grown quiet. I wonder, is the carnage finished? I hope it is. I pray it is.

Everyone, the people, the priest looks my way. No. They are looking next to me at a family, couple and an infant, kneeling beside me. They stand up. Oh god, No! The infant is a ginger, a redhead with light, almost white skin. I am surprised. I didn’t know gingers existed in the Aztec universe. The mother places the child against her chest, the smiling cherub peers at me over the shoulder.

Holy Fuck! The infant is the spitting image of my childhood photos down to the cornflower, blue eyes. It looks exactly like me. Wait…No, no, NO! It doesn’t just look like me. It IS me. I am an Aztec infant about to be sacrificed. I don’t want to die. Hold on. Hold on! This can’t be me. I’m alive now. If I was killed, I couldn’t be alive. But Grandfather did say I had blood ties in the ancient New World. Could this be an ancestor? He also said I have many destinies. Could he be one of my manifestations? Is it a he or a she? too young to tell. Or did Grandfather say I have had many destinies? Or was the conversation about destinies past and future? I can’t recall.

The infant is outstretched on the altar. The parents are stoic. Are they drugged? Why aren’t they in agony? I would be fighting tooth and claw to prevent the pending insanity. Why aren’t they crying? How can they let this mad priest sacrifice their child to some mythological being and actually believe it will bring rain? This is fucked up. They are all brainwashed. I try to get up and stop the madness but the roots I have set won’t break free.

The instant the knife hits the child, I feel a stabbing pain in my chest like I am also being sliced open. I grab at the point of pain. My hand is instantly covered in warm pulsing blood. The priest pulls out the heart. I collapse to the ground, sense a void in my chest. He raises the organ to the heavens and the cloudless sky opens releasing a deluge. Rain from a cloudless sky?

The people leap to their feet, arms reaching to the skies shouting quiyahuitl, rain, and, Tlaloc, Tlaloc, Tlaloc. Puma pushes against the cage. The slats bulge. A loud thunderclap echoes, the slats splinter. Puma squeezes through. Miztli is free. The priest raises the ax and severs the infant’s head. Not even Christ had to suffer such an indignity.

The ground is too hard to absorb the water. The deluge becomes a flood, a land river. a mile wide and inches deep. My vision fades to a tunnel, a shrinking tunnel. I can’t move. My body rises with the swelling water, floats with the stream. What happened to my roots? A shadow hovers over me. Teeth grip my neck with just enough force to control my movement while not breaking the skin. I am being pulled. Am I going to be eaten? My vision goes black.

The River Cave

I come to consciousness in a cave. No idea how long I’ve been unconscious. My legs lay in a shallow rivulet. I sweep my mouth. No gold coin. I’m not dead. This is not the river Styx or maybe it is and Charon is waiting in the wings for death to complete its task then ferry me across.

“No, David. You are not dead.”

A voice? Who is talking to me? I look around. There is only Puma and me. It must be Puma that’s talking. I should be surprised but am not. I’ve experienced enough mysteries in the spirit world in the past year or so, an ancient ghost Grandfather, a talking Rattlesnake, a talking Gecko. And who knows how many spirits I failed to recognize. I seriously doubt anything can surprise me anymore. I don’t want to be rude here. “What shall I call you?”

“You may call me Puma or Cougar or Miztli whichever. You don’t really need to call me anything. We can easily communicate with our spirit minds. Words are unnecessary.” Puma is sitting stoically exuding the regal air of royalty.

“Spirit mind? I have a spirit mind? That means I am a spirit? Doesn’t that mean I am dead?”

“You have died many times. In this moment, you are alive. I can’t speak for future moments.”

“Alive in the earthly sense?”

“Yes, alive in the earthly sense. You are a living human being.”

“If it is all the same with you, I prefer we talk with words. I don’t want you wandering inside my mind. Hell, I get uncomfortable wandering inside my mind. I wouldn’t want to put that suffering on you.”

“As you wish. I will stay out of your mind. I, however, may revert to spirit mind. I have trouble correctly pronouncing words in your language. Thoughts are easier because they live outside the restricted confines of language.”

I stand up, move to higher ground, shake the water off my hiking boots. I’m feeling chilled in the cave’s coolness. The water exacerbates the chill. “That’s fine by me. Are you the same Miztli I saw at Teotihuacán?”

“That I am.”

I pat my chest. There is no blood. No wet blood. No crunchy dried blood. No evidence I bled at all. I feel the rhythmic beating of my heart. “Why did you not talk to me then? I tried. You purposely avoided me.”

Puma’s long wheat gold tail flicks in time with our conversation.

“It was neither the time nor the place. The Wanderers abhor sharing their spirit world with Europeans. If I had communicated with you, they would have raised a ruckus. There’s no need to inflame their agony. Five hundred years trying and failing to move to the afterlife has a way of deepening a grudge. They hold a might big grudge against your kind.”

“I wasn’t them. I had no part in the armageddon inflicted on the Aztec empire.”

“In the eyes of the Wanderers, all of you are guilty, all of you carry the spilt blood of the Aztec in your wretched souls. If they had the ability, they would wage a holy war against you not stopping until every white in your world suffered a similar living hell, forever shut outside the door to your heaven.”

“Grandfather said my bloodline runs through the original inhabitants of the Americas. I am one of them.”

“You are and you are not.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You will understand in good time. If not during your visit with me then during another of your destinies.”

“So, I have more destinies?”

“That was an assumption on my part. I am not a future seer like Grandfather.”

“Where are we?”

“We are in the Great Temple of Cholula.”

“I feared so. But, don’t you mean Great Pyramid?”

“To us, it is and always has been a temple. It is only you outsiders that call our temple a pyramid.”

“Why here? I don’t like being stuck in small places.”

“Had I left you outside, in your condition, you would have drowned.”

“Ya, but this is all imaginary existence.” Why can’t he comprehend simple logic? Is he a lesser spirit than Grandfather?

“If you died out there, you would also be dead in what you call ‘real life’ as well. Death does not distinguish between layers of existence. It merely collects.”

“What do you mean, my condition?”

“You were exiting consciousness. You and ancient baby you…”

“Shit! That was me? I thought it looked like. I didn’t think it actually was me.” Why did I lie? There’s no need. I saw into it’s…my…soul. I knew we were one.

“Yes. The two of you, all of the previous yous, current you, and future yous are interconnected by a diaphanous web. What happens in previous lives impacts the next life. And what happens in future lives ripples back altering past lives which, in turn, affects every future life. Neither the future nor the past is set in stone. The further events are separated the less the energy the ripple has to impart change. The distant ends are highly viscous, change is minimal but not null. Your current life is the locus with extremely low viscosity. Think of current you as flowing water history adjusting course with every experience.”

“And when the baby died?”

“When baby you died the two loci were dangerously close. Both were highly fluid. Baby you’s death was flowing into current you’s existence. You felt the pain in your chest. You were moving into unconsciousness and would have died with baby you. If not, then current you would have asphyxiated in the water. I intervened. By pulling you away, I separated the loci allowing both to assume their own destinies. By pulling current you to higher ground and this chamber, I prayed you would not drown before regaining consciousness before the rising waters also filled this chamber.”

“Prayed?”

“As I said, I don’t see into the future like Grandfather. I am here at his behest. His hand has helped guide you since the beginning.”

“Beginning? Beginning of what?”

“The beginning of the beginning. Grandfather is an original.”

“You mean a god?”

“Not a god. An intermediary between the gods and creation.”

“You said before the rising waters also filled this chamber?”

“Yes, the deluge started when baby you died is the storm to end all storms. It is unleashing more water than this land has seen in the combined past twenty-three years.”

“Let’s get out of here!”

“Not possible. The rising waters have already blocked the exits.”

“Then we are going to drown?”

“Not necessarily. Grandfather said, when the time is right, a way will appear. I trust the ancient’s wisdom.”

“So we wait?”

“Yes. We wait. There are no other options.”

Fixated on the conversation, I hadn’t been paying attention to my surroundings. The water is now calf deep. Miztli leaps to a higher ledge with an elegance a prima ballerina could never muster. The tail still slowly flicking from side to side, a metronome keeping time. Time for what?

Conversation exhausted, for now, we dwell in silence. I hear the burble of water flowing over submerged rocks, the plink, plunk of water falling from the ceiling into the pool that is quickly swelling. I am now knee deep. I look for an escape route. There is one low tunnel mostly filled with water, an inlet filling our chamber. Probably the one Miztli dragged me through. I realize there are no lamps on the wall, no overhead holes for outside light to filter in. I wonder out loud, “How the hell am I able to see? And why am I seeing everything in monochrome?”

“David, I am allowing you to see through my eyes. I figured your fear would spiral out of control if you could only see blackness.”

“Very true. Drowning while stuck in a cave is, like, my ultimate nightmare, so, thank you.”

“What is the light cloud I see around you?”

“When you see in color you see the physical person. Monochromatic vision allows one to also perceive a soul. A light cloud indicates a kind aura. A dark gray is the other end of the kind evil spectrum.”

The inflow from the tunnel increases in pressure. The water rises faster. It moves from knee deep to chest deep in a matter of minutes. Puma leaps to the last visible ledge, one so close to the ceiling he or she must move into a crouched pounce position to fit. The tail flicks noticeably faster. His tension is also increasing.

“Miztli, are you male or female?”

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, I am male and female and third gender.”

I would purse the line further but the water has risen to my chin. I tippy toe and angle my head up for the last space of air. Miztli is getting wet too. Half his body is submerged. What to do? What to do? There’s nothing I can do. I’m losing balance in the rising water, I lean against the wall to steady myself. It feels flimsy. I push harder. It flexes ever so slightly. Another, more forceful push, a stone gives way and falls through. The water flows through knocking other stones loose. The hole widens.

“This is our escape,” Miztli says. “When this wall crumbles we will be caught in the torrent. Grab onto my tail with both hands and don’t let go. Let go and you will end.”

“What about you? You could drown, too.”

“I’m spirit. I’ll be ok. I’m not so sure about you. You better grab onto my tail now. The wall will collapse momentarily.”

I grab onto Miztli’s tail. It is softer than I expect and smaller in diameter. Holding onto it is difficult. It begins slipping. I loop it around in a circle tight enough to fit my hands. Miztli screams. Too late to redo my grip. The wall collapses and we are sucked through into a vortex. For one of the few times in my life, I am going with the flow.

Underground River

We are helpless in the rushing torrent. I cannot see, cannot control my body. I reassert my death grip on Miztli’s tail holding as if my life depends upon it because it does. Hopefully, the tail won’t break leaving me careening and bouncing my head off any submerged rocks or the rock walls. We twist and turn with the bends in the frigid river.

I am unsure if Miztli is directing us or has submitted to River intelligence taking us where we are supposed…are destined…to go. Which of my destiny lines are we traveling? Is it my line or Miztli’s line? Could this be an overlap of destinies? Are we on parallel destinies? If so, how long until we separate? I hope it is not until this crazy underground river journey comes to a peaceful end and I can lay under a warm sun to dry off.

Oomph! Damn rocks! I crash into and bounce off another something. Thankfully, most collisions are with surfaces softer than rock. Does that mean we have passed the boundaries of the pyramid? I want to open my eyes but worry the debris hitting my face will slice open my eyeballs. Unforgiving surfaces slam into me causing pain winces. I almost lose my tenuous grip on the tail. Is this what it feels like to go over a waterfall in a barrel? So far, none of the surfaces have felt sharp enough to pierce my flesh. But, I am so disoriented, so pumped with adrenaline I might not feel a gash, might not feel a severed limb.

We have been under for minutes? Longer? I can’t determine the duration. Time has lost meaning. How am I still conscious? I can’t have been under too long. My lungs are not burning from lack of oxygen. Then again, in this messed up between world, oxygen may be irrelevant. Am I spirit? Am I live? Am I Memorex?

The water grows warmer. Tropical. Red shadows play on my eyelids. Why aren’t we stopping? We’re not even slowing down. This would be a fun slip and slide if I were not so terrified. The water cools again, becomes uncomfortably chilly. Darkness embraces me. We slow down. There is smooth gravel beneath me, rocks worn by incessant water polishing their souls. Puma drags me onto a pebbly shore.

“David. You can open your eyes now and let go of my tail.”

I drop the tail. My hands are numb, legs wobbly. I ache all over from the rough and tumble ride. “Ok.” I open my eyes. I think I open my eyes. It’s black as pitch. “I can’t see anything.”

“Ah, yes. Human eyes. I will again allow you to see through mine.”

I pull myself to a sitting position, allow my vision to focus. “I…I can see now. I don’t think I will ever grow used to this monochromatic sight. It’s good for photography when I can adjust for colors but, real life, there aren’t any adjustment knobs. Where are we?”

“We are in a large cave system made by the river running at our feet.”

I smell a whisper of fresh air on the dank odor of the cave. The exit mustn’t be too far ahead. We are on a sandbar, no, a pebble bar. I stand, marveling at the great expanse of the cave’s interior. There are stalactites hanging from the ceiling, stalagmites growing from the floor. There are pillars where the two met. This must be an ancient cave. I cross an ankle-deep rivulet. The flowing water deposits tiny stones in my boots which work their way to the inner sole. I gingerly walk to a ledge along the wall, take a seat, and shake out my boots. There is something familiar about this cave. An undercurrent of fragrance I recognize. But from where?

Yum Kaax, the Maize God

It is then I see the Mayan fetish carved into the cave wall, the one my wife and I saw on our first trip to Belize. I wonder, is it Yum Kaax, the Maize god? We were in the jungle on a tubing trip inside a river caving system. It was the terminus of our route. The place we ate our lunch before the inner tube float back to the cave entryway. The guide told us the history of the fetish, how some Mayans sacrificed their firstborn under the belief their fecundity would soar resulting in the births of many additional children. Sacrifice the one for the many. If we waited here long enough, there was bound to be a tour group and I would be rescued. Did I need to be rescued? Are we really in the cave?

“Miztli, where are we?”

“We are in Yucatan.”

“Yucatan as in southern México?”

“In my world, there is no delineation by country. There is only mother Earth. To orient you, we are in the land you call Belize.”

A hear voices heading our way, voices and the splish splash of a paddle dipping in water. The rocks bounce sound carrying it quickly in these caves. I listen closely to the words. They are not Spanish or any other language I recognize.

“Miztli, what language are those people speaking?”

“They are speaking K’iche’, one of the Mayan languages.”

“Do you speak k’iche’?”

“As I told you, I am spirit. I have no need of language.”

I think I may have asked Miztli the wrong question. It is not where that is important. “Miztli, when are we?”

“We are in the time before the invasion of the Americas.”

“Is this before or after the sacrifices outside Cholula?”

“It is hard to say. Time in the spirit world is nonlinear. Before and after are irrelevant concepts. We exist at all points in time. I can’t accurately say if we are before or after Cholula. To me, they are the same time.”

I can see a halo from a torch bouncing off the cave walls and ceiling. The rhythmical splish splash of the oar grows louder, the voices clearer. Correction. The voice clearer. Only one person is speaking. The voice sings a repetition of sounds as if…as if…chanting?

A shallow dugout canoe paddled by a man slides onto the gently sloping sand and pebble shore. They are all standing in the canoe. How do they maintain balance with such ease? The chanter, who would turn out to be a priest, has a dark aura and stands in the front, the paddler, in the middle, and the woman in the rear both emit mid tone auras. I guess they, like most, beings are a mixture of good and bad.

The priest wears a plumed headdress of orange feathers standing in a half moon, vertical halo. Green feathers extended backward reminding me of a high knotted ponytail. He carries a staff. The top is carved into an animal, a demented jaguar or some other totem fetish I can’t figure out. A gold and turquoise pendant attached to what looks to be a deer hide lanyard hangs around his neck resting in the middle of his chest. It is exquisitely blue and polished to a sheen.

The priest exists first followed by the man and the woman who first bends down to gather a bundle. Food, I hope but, based on my Cholula experience, fear otherwise. The evidence confirming my fears was soon plain. The bundle was surrounded by an aura so light it appeared white. There was an innocent in the mix.

The woman is wearing a just past the knee length white skirt with a deeply notches circling the hem. The notches stop just before a horizontal golden band. Red lines crosshatch the dress forming a diamond pattern. He is in a white kilt with a red band just below the waist.

All three have strong Mayan noses, Roman in profile, tattoos. They are short by Western standards. The priest has raven’s whiskers tattooed on his face. The men are around five and a half feet, the woman under five. When they speak, they reveal teeth filed to points. It looks like two rows of jagged mountains with the peaks touching. Even in the torchlight, the whiteness is astounding.

The priest builds a fire. They must have brought the wood in the boat for there is no timber in the cave. The woman places the bundle on the natural rock shelf. There are corn stalks, ears of corn, and a baby, a very young baby. She picks him up. When she turns toward the fire, I realize he, too looks like me. I assume also a ginger but can’t tell in this colorblind state. Not again! But it may not even be me. I need to know so I inch closer. They are oblivious to my presence. I move closer yet for a better look. The torch throws a nimbus around the baby’s head. Shit! It is the spitting image of me. I twirl toward Miztli.

“Yes, David. This firstborn is you.”

“Firstborn? Wasn’t I also a first born in Cholula?”

“You have always been a firstborn, David.”

Another sacrifice? To what fucked up purpose? Absurd attempts to bend the gods wills to human wills? Assinine attempts to appease omnipotent deities? Are they to brainwashed to comprehend with omnipotence comes anything the god’s want? There is no need to trade a current life for rain or the potential for future children. Madness, all this, madness. Is ancient baby me nothing more than an oblation to appease a hungry god? Were my sacrificed lives atonements for the sins of others? None of this is right nor makes any logical sense. Religion and sensibility? Antonyms. Mutually exclusive concepts people hold in their heads denying the impossibility of coexistence.

“How many times, Miztli? How many lives have been a child sacrifice?”

“These two you’ve seen. A few more I can see scattered through your many past human manifestations.”

“Why me? Why was I chosen for sacrifice?”

“For reasons, I don’t know for sure. One possiblitity, you always return to life as a ginger. In this land, in all lands, you are an anomaly, a blue eye ginger in an ocean of brown eye ravens. So it has been with gingers through the ages. The people either fear or revere the extremely different. Albinos suffer the same curse. The fearful sacrifice because they are worried, the oddity, if allowed to exist, will bring bad luck upon the people. Better to destroy than risk potential suffering. The reverent trade the choicest diamond for a promise of future blessings.”

The chanting increases in pitch and cadence. I don’t want to look but can’t keep my eyes from watching. The burning fire emits a lovely scent reminding me of countless glorious evenings sitting around a campfire seeing flame reflections in smiling eyes moist from laughter. This may ruin fires for me forever. The priest walks in a circle around the couple waving a censer burning what smells like sweet sage. I have not seen sage in Belize. It must be a trade good from Northern peoples.

“What is the priest saying?”

“The priest is calling on the gods to accept a blood and burnt offering of a first born and return many child blessings on the couple that their line may not disappear from Earth.”

“Craziness!”

“Who can know the minds of the creator gods? What you are witnessing is a corn people’s belief. When an ear of corn dies, the seeds are scattered resulting in many more plants and a bountiful next harvest.”

“I…the baby me…is not corn.”

“No, but life is life is life.”

“What does that mean?”

“Only the gods can create life. All lives are valuable in the gods’ eyes. All lives exist to feed on and be food. In the end, it is simply a circle.”

“There’s no purpose in this insanity.”

“You are blessed with luck.”

“How is it lucky to be sacrificed as an infant?”

“Not all souls find another vessel to inhabit. Many are stuck between. To use your concept, a soul purgatory. You have, so far, been spared the non-existence existence. You have always found a suitable vessel to carry you through the four life cycles described by Grandfather.”

“I remember. He said I was in the fourth cycle, the final cycle before liberation.”

“Few, relative to the population, progress as far as you have. Many get stuck in one cycle for eternity never learning enough to shift. By being sacrificed pure, your soul was given a choice for the next vessel.”

“A choice?”

“Yes, a choice. Those who die after the age when they understand right from wrong must atone for their sins, pay for their crimes against creation.”

“A kind of Karma?”

“Yes. The baby you being sacrificed chose the Aztec vessel sacrificed at Cholula. Both were sacrificed why still sinless allowing the choice of positive energy vessel making phase shifts more likely. The positives have greater knowledge and shift the phases more easily.”

“So, I was sacrificed in Belize followed by Cholula.”

“Time is nonlinear, sometimes circular, frequently erratic. It is just as likely you were sacrificed first in Cholula then Belize. In circular time, you were sacrificed in Cholula before and after Belize and in Belize before and after Cholula. In spirit time, both sacrifices occurred simultaneously.”

“Crazy!”

“Only crazy because you exist in physical life. When you finally finish the fourth phase, transcend to spirit, and exist at every point in time, it will make sense.”

“So I will transcend?”

Miztli smiles, whiskers twitch, says nothing.

“¿Miztli?”

“It is my understanding, you are on your way, that it is one of your possible destinies. Remember, only being a present, past seer, I can’ know for sure. But, Grandfather has given you special attention so I expect you will achieve spirit existence. Or Grandfather likes playing games meaning there is a distinct possibility you are stuck.”

“What is the stuck between, soul purgatory you mentioned?”

“All in good time, David.”

“Is not all time good, Miztli?”

“Yes.”

“Then now is a good a time as any so tell…aah!” A hot pain sears into my chest cavity.

The priest places the heart on top of the Mayan fetish then throws the still twitching corpse into the fire. My eyes burn as if touched by habanero oil. My skin sizzles. Puma grabs me and drags me into the river separating the life ripples between me and baby me from interfering with each other.

The water is thick, tastes of blood. Why couldn’t it be wine? I can’t breathe. Struggling, I grab Miztli by the nape to steady myself, find a way to the surface. A great surge as if a dam has burst slams into us breaking my hold on Miztli. I am thrown about like a rag doll, tumbling head over heels. Blackness engulfs me. I fear my premonitions, my reoccurring dreams that I’m fishing in still waters with my dad, have come true and I am dead again.

Isla de las Muñecas (Island of the Dolls)

After another long body numbing journey rendering me completely disoriented, I surge upward until I’m thrown clear of the waters and crash back down onto a muddy embankment. I lay still dappled by the sun filtering through verdant leaves in what appears to be a jungle. But where exactly am I? And what has happened to Miztli? I scan the area.

There are paths radiating from the pool. They are all too narrow to have been made by humans, probably the natural outcome of small animals sneaking in for water under cover of night. I pick the one lined with the most colorful flowers to explore. I’m thankful for the return of color vision for I love being bedazzled by colors. But wish I still had the ability to detect a person’s aura. I don’t know who I will encounter wherever I am. Knowing if they are bent toward good or evil would be helpful in choosing to trust or flee.

The foliage is canopied 3 feet over the trail. Too low for me without crawling. I force my way through suffering the slapping of tree branches and small cuts on my legs, face, and arms. The sound of scampering feet is in front of me. They stop then start when I get near moving off a short distance. The leaves prevent me from seeing what type of animal I’m spooking. Strange that it would not just flee far, far away. I fight the attacking branches for another fifteen sweaty minutes before breaking into a clearing nearly devoid of leaves. I drop to my knees and plant my head on the cool ground. Oh, that feels good. But it smells musty.

When the coolness of earth seeps into me, I right myself to a kneeling position which doesn’t last long because my knees ache when deeply bent. It’s painful to raise myself from a squat. I grab a thin tree using it to pull myself into a standing position. When fully erect, I’m staring directly into the face of a weathered, plastic doll. It’s naked, bald, pink, and blue-eyed. The left leg is broken off at the knee leaving jagged plastic exposed.

I jump back. There are more. A black hair rag doll above, another plastic doll, headless lower on the tree. I whirl around almost falling in the process. There are dolls in all the trees. Some are tied, others nailed, still, others wedged between branches. Naked dolls. Clothed dolls. A spiderman doll. A construction worker doll. Stuffed animals, too. I want to run but every which way is blocked by this army of grungey dolls.

Doll Island

Doll Island

Doll Island

“Where the HELL am I?” I scream.

“David, you are at one of the Islas de las muñecas.”

“Miztli? Is that you?”

“Yes.”

“Why can’t I see you?”

“We are outside the spirit realm. I’m only visible in the spirit realm.”

“This is real? This is sickening? How is it you can talk? Can you and see me?”

“I can see you.”

“What is this muñecas place?”

“Remember when I told you, you were lucky to find vessels so quickly?”

“Yes.”

“This island is filled with the souls not so lucky as you. This is their purgatory.”

“Purgatory as in the intermediate state after physical death where souls await expiatory purification?” I find it enjoyable showing off my school smarts.

“No. That is another case of organized religion usurping a spiritual state and applying their own irrelevant concepts in an erroneous attempt to explain.”

“Then, please explain it to me.”

“The beings you see here…”

“Beings…you mean they are not dolls?”

“Yes and no. The beings you see here are awaiting suitable conditions for their next birth.”

“This feels like an island of misfit toys.”

“Most are societal misfits. This island is populated primarily with those who committed evil in their previous lives. The vessels they have tried to enter rejected them. Those with a positive aura quickly find a new vessel. The evil must wait.”

“So, the vessels are not simply births yet to be?”

“Correct. Both the vessel and the soul are spirits. They combine to be a new being in birth. Each can reject the other. Vessels look for souls with a pure aura that will, hopefully, enable them to maintain their physical integrity outside senseless violence. Souls are less finicky. They prefer one of the few vessels likely to be born to a life of leisure but will settle for significantly less. You see, it is the soul that determines the goodness or badness of the birthed being. So, a bad soul will choose a substandard vessel with the ultimate goal of achieving power and wealth by whatever means it takes.”

“Freaky!”

“Some of the souls on this isla have, over time, deeply meditated on their ways and migrated away from evil toward goodness so there are some with lighter auras. They are few for a jaguar almost never changes their spots. They are more likely to combine with a vessel. Of course, some revert back to evil so the vessels are leary and play it safe. Some of the souls have dwelt here for ages.”

“Is Cortés here?”

“Yes, along with many of the marauding invaders.”

“And the dolls?”

“The dolls are put up by the locals to trap evil. The souls see the dolls then, thinking they are available vessels, crawl inside and wait for rebirth. If they were not waiting in the vessels they would scour the countrysides looking for a living vessel to steal. There are rare instances when stealing is possible.”

“There does not seem to be enough dolls on the island to hold the world’s evil.”

“This is one of many doll islands in México. Still, you are correct, there are not enough. Evil continually leaks into the physical world. If it’s not leaking then new evil is generating. The nefarious activities of humanity are never-ending. Just when we think America is on a positive path, racists of all colors ooze from their slime committing heinous acts.”

“Yes. I do live in a corrupt world.”

“Do not think you are immune. Every time you look the other way, every time you don’t speak up when you see a person being shamed, you are complicit in creating space for evil to flourish. You are part of the problem, David.”

Ok. This was getting uncomfortable. I knew I wasn’t perfect but am not in the mood to have it thrown in my face. Come to think of it, there’s never a time when I like my foibles given voice. I need to smoothly change the topic. “How do the locals know to put up the dolls?”

“In days long past, there were powerful empaths with insights into the spirit world. They placed straw dolls to fool the souls. There are very few powerful empaths living today but the custom has become deeply rooted and the locals continue the tradition believing the dolls have the power to trap ghosts. The souls are not actually trapped, just fooled into believing birth is imminent. They don’t leave for fear they won’t find another vessel willing to accept them.”

“Why do all souls congregate here?”

“They do not. It’s common practice to put dolls out in yards, on verandas, in windows to catch the ghosts. When they believe one has been caught, the dolls are brought here because souls are unable to cross the water.”

“That’s a silly superstition.”

“No. It is true. The souls are incompatible with water. Once here or any of the islas, they are stuck until they encounter a vessel or hitch a ride on a living empath.”

“I guess, I can’t see the auras because I’m not an empath?”

“Almost correct. You are weak in your empathic abilities, still, stronger than most.”

“Hmmm…you’ve had me in spirit realms twice today. Why can’t you help me see these?”

“I can.”

“But you won’t.”

“This place is laden with evil. Seeing strong evil even in aura form has a way of damaging the human psyche. I’m not sure you have strength enough to protect yourself.”

“I want to try. If I feel any discomfort whatsoever I’ll shut my eyes and you can disconnect from me.”

“I warn you, the damage inflicted can come quick.”

“You will be inside my head. You can use your attuned spirit to protect me.”

“Ok. As you wish. Close our eyes.”

“Close them? But I want to see.”

“Once I have bridged our minds, you may open them. It is easier if you’re not distracted.”

“Gotcha, boss.” I close my eyes and wait one minute, two minutes. I feel nothing. Was Miztli messing with me?

“No, I am not. Open them slowly and remember, if anything feels out of place, slam them shut.”

I open them a sliver but am unable to make out anything beyond the blur of my eyelashes. Fuck it. I open them wide. Color is gone. That’s still a freaky feeling. The dolls have auras. All of them are deep black, black so black all light is absorbed. It feels like my energy is being siphoned out of my body. I become light-headed. I grab onto a tree to keep from falling and close my eyes until balance is restored.”

“Are you ok, David?”

“Um…sure…I’m ok.”

“I reopen my eyes and look around.” They black auras seem to be energized, little sparks light them up. The dolls start moving. “Miztli, the dolls…”

“What about the dolls?”

“They…they are moving.”

“They’re moving. How are they moving?”

“They all turn their heads, the ones that have heads, the ones with eyes are staring at me. I’m getting scared.”

“David, quickly close your eyes.”

I try to shut them but they are stuck like they are propped open with little sticks as in the old cartoons. “I can’t. I CAN’T”

“I’m disengaging from you. Hold on a moment. There. We are separate again.”

I feel a pop like when a wine cork is freed from the bottle. “Um…I can see color and I can see the auras. How can I see both? I thought you said that was not possible.”

Miztli paces frantically keeping himself between me and the closest dolls. “I said it was only possible for very strong empaths. This is not good. Worse. This is bad. You must be stronger than I believed possible.”

“Miztli, the dolls are climbing down from the trees. A couple are hobbling. One without legs is crawling. They are coming toward me!” A zombie apocalypse of dolls is coming for me. Are the flesh eaters? Are they soul eaters? What happens to a soul eaten by evil zombie dolls? Would I too become evil? Would I be stuck on this island until finding a suitable vessel?

Escape

“Listen closely. There must be more to your spirit than I am able to sense. Whatever it is, it has disturbed the souls. They, in turn, have animated the dolls. The only explanation is they see you as a way off this island.”

“Shit!”

“When I tell you, you need to run as fast as possible back to the pool through which we entered. Don’t look back. Don’t stop no matter what you hear or feel. You got that?”

“Y…yes.”

“Dive into the pool and swim down the throat as far as possible. You will come to a lip. Swim horizontally beneath the island until you are past the edge. Then swim upward angled away from the island. You will pop up in the waterways of Xochimilco. There are many boats traveling the canals. One of them will surely take you in.”

“What about you? I can’t leave you behind.”

“I will keep the dolls from following you. I’m spirit not physical. They can’t hurt me. I’ll be ok.”

I run back along the path I took to the clearing. It is easier this time with the branches I broke on the way in. Still, running is a challenge. Roooaarrrr. Miztli is screaming. Is it pain or a diversion. I want to go back and help but She said not to. There are black auras in my peripheral vision. They are coming. How fast can they move? Roooaarrrr. I can’t wait to find out and run faster and longer than I have since my soccer playing days. When I think I can’t take another step the forest clears.

I’m at the pond. My hiking boots won’t do for swimming. I squat and fumble finger the laces until I can kick the boots off. I hate to lose these. The plants are rustling. I consider removing my pants but half nakedness will be hard to explain to anyone rescuing me. The pond is not wide, about my body length. I dove in shallow water as a kid and hit bottom. I was lucky not to break my neck. I dive in. No resistance. I’m in the throat. I should be safe now but can’t be sure. The adrenaline is in high gear driving me into the dark depths.

I cannot see. Navigation requires reaching out to the wall and feeling for the lip. I’m not a strong swimmer. I don’t know how long I can hold out. The wall ends. I turn left and kick like a mad man probing the top with my fingers searching for the end. The bottom of the island is not smooth like the throat through which I descended. Something sharp slices into a finger. I pray its only exposed tree roots and not a colony of snaggle tooth critters with a hankering for warm flesh. I use quick slaps with my knuckles to test if I’m still under the island. The first time, I hit nothing I angle 45 degrees and shoot for the surface.

My lungs are burning. I need oxygen. How much further? Is it possible to die without sucking in lungs full of water? If I don’t breathe will I pass out then float to the surface? No. I will probably inhale and drown. My mind starts fading. I kick frantically, pump my arms doing my best to claw my way to the surface. I break through and suck in fresh air too fast. My mind sees black spots. After that, things get hazy.

I vaguely remember someone calling, “Señor! Señor! ¿Necesitas ayuda?”

I think ayuda means help. “Sí. Sí.” I respond. I am pulled into a colorful boat and throw up before passing out.

Cholula Pyramid

“David.” The voice sounds muffled as if my ears are under water. But, I’m dry. I’m laying on my back on a very hard, uneven surface. The horizon is dimming to red. I don’t smell any water.

Sunset From Cholula Pyramid

Cholula Pyramid Stairs

“What are you doing in there, David? That area is off limits. Didn’t you see the fence?”

I pull myself to a sitting position. Look around. I’m outside Cholula. Cholula? And I’m on the mini-pyramid where the kids…where young David and the kids…were sacrificed to bring rain. How did I get here?

“David. You need to get out of there. It’s off limits. Get out before security throws you out and we all have to leave. I want to see the rest of the temple grounds.

“Uh…Ok.” My boots are next to me. I pull them on, lace ’em up, tie ’em snug. It’s much easier when terror is not running through the fingers. I hop off the pyramid, walk over to my wife and our friends.

“How did you get out here ahead of us? I didn’t see you pass us in the tunnel.”

“I took a different way, the uphill tunnel we saw.” A half-truth. To tell her the whole truth would be received as a full lie. To tell her I had another spirit world experience would do nothing more than raise her ire. I was able to talk her out of an MRI last time. The thought of being in one of those machines is scary. I doubt I could talk her out of it again. She thinks I have cancer.

“But that was gated.”

“The gate wasn’t locked so I took a side excursion.”

“Really?”

“Really.” She’s not good at hiding her feelings. I can see the annoyance in her knitted brow. We are with friends so nothing will be discussed now. She smiles and we continue our excursion.

What’s Next?

The trip did not end here. We visited another Pyramid, spent time walking the Puebla Zocalo. It’s a beautiful, relaxed city. But there was not a sign of Miztli anywhere.

Puebla Street

Puebla Cathedral

Puebla Cathedral

Sign in Puebla Zocalo

Door

Doors

Street: Cinco de Mayo

Yellow Building

Me Against a Wall in Puebla

Puebla Street

Puebla Street

Puebla Street

Puebla Street

Cross On Pyramid Mound

Cross On Pyramid Mound

Pyramid

Pyramide

View from Pyramid

View Up Pyramid

Pyramid & Clouds

Pyramid Stairway

Excavated Pyramid

Murals in Pyramid

Murals in Pyramid

Murals in Pyramid

Murals in Pyramid

Murals in Pyramid

Cinco de Mayo Square

Cinco de Mayo Square

I spent those last days lost. My last experiences in the spirit world concluded with a foretelling of a next step in my destiny of destinies. When I first met, Grandfather in New Mexico, he foretold of a trip to the Philippines. There I met Tukó who informed me I was on a vision quest. When I returned to New Mexico, Grandfather foretold the vision quest would continue with a trip to  New Mexico where I would meet Puma. Puma, though, told me nothing about my future. True, he said he was a past seer, not a future seer so would not have the future sight. So, I wonder, is this the end of my vision quest?

“Rooaar.”

    Puma & Pirámides in Old México This fifth sun, the sun of movement, illuminated the Toltecs and illuminates the Aztecs. It has claws and feeds on human hearts.