Bienvenidos! Welcome!

Thanks for visiting Daughter of Corn. I hope you enjoy the essays and thoughts about the journeys of a writer in San Miguel....who ends up in Iowa City!

Saturday, January 22, 2011

Spring Equinox on the Mountain

I left the Casa de los Angeles before the Maya had finished his lengthly talk about sun spots and planetary alignments.  Primarily "A" was interested in forming groups of "human pyramids" to cleanse the planet of its humos, and to prepare for the influx of energy at the end of 2012.  His confidence disturbed yet fascinated me.  Because my year of 2010 wasn't exactly going as planned, I wanted to cling to his prophecy of better energies, better worlds for 2012.  Then there was the contracting feeling in my solar plexus area.  What was that about?  Once I had picked up the dirt at el Chimayo, the holy shrine in New Mexico, and the same thing had happened to me.

Later on in the week I got some emails from a group of people who were part of the Maya's concierge.
Apparently people were gathering from all over North America to prepare for the spring equinox in San Miguel.  Some tribe from Montana or the Dakotas had already arrived and set up camp on a mountain top outside the city.  Others were traveling from Oaxaca and the Yucatan.  I didn't think meditating on a mountain top was quite my style, but I admired their efforts to transform the world.  Driving down the increasingly polluted Salida a Queretaro was enough to make anyone desire ecological reform.  If the humos on that road could be cleared by the Maya's group of followers, I would be entirely happy.  Reflecting on their good-will efforts, I decided to enact a little good-will of my own, by returning to the House of Angels with a couple bags of groceries.  The tribes on the top of the hill needed food to sustain their mystical journey.

Curious as I was about the events which the Maya had planned---labyrinths, healing lodges and musical renderings on pre-hispanic instruments--I made plans to sing at the St. Paul's church as usual on the happening day.  However, suddenly my life became an unexpected venture.  My friend Sierra, the free-lance writer from Canada, called me and urged me to reconsider my plans.

"I would really like to go, wouldn't you?  And you do have a car.  Don't you think it will be quite the thing ?"

For some uncanny reason I agreed.  After the tediousness of my solitary writing life, an adventure through a tunnel to find the mysterious ruins on top of a mountain was quite  appealing.  However, I had discarded the map given to me by the owner of the House of Angels.  I only had this sketchy idea of where to go.

"Sure,"  I replied.  "  I will meet you in front of the church at 10 o'clock."

That gave us two hours to get to our destination, on top of mountain where  the Chichimeca ruins lay.

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