up a small mountain on a horseback ride. Clearing a path as we rode the youngest of the group explained they had come across a huge cavern that deep within had a passage sealed with stones and a mound of broken pottery scattered in front of it. They had showed me some of the shards which appeared to be burnt and carried the scars of smoke, and other pieces that looked almost new.
After hours of cutting our way to the top through razor grass and thistle bushes we were rewarded with the sight of a huge lush bowl of green foliage that was bigger than a football field. Being a novice spelunker even I could recognize the markings of a collapsed cave roof that by the height and girth of the trees now growing in it must have fallen in hundreds if not thousands of years ago. I also noticed that the sides of the crater were pot marked with dozens of cave openings as the Mayas led me to one of the remote cave fronts.
I had brought several flashlights because the Indians had told me earlier they had only explored in as far as the daylight allowed them to, and they didn’t have the money for batteries and lights to go any further.
This exploration started out as a Sunday adventure, but by the end of the day it would forever change my definition of primitive. After oohing and aahing at the dripping stalagmites, stalactites, soda-straw crystalline formations, and ducking under the thousands of bats which clung to the low ceilings, we came upon the stacked stones and broken pottery. We gathered many of the larger pieces and two matching pieces proved to be most interesting. One side was covered with ancient soot and the other side was clean. There were also discernible piles of ashes and it quickly became apparent that the pottery had been thrown into a fire as an offering of the artists year’s best work to the gods in the next cave room. The ancient Indians believed the attention of the cave gods could only be gained with fire and smoke, and thus the blessings of the cave’s spirits be received, and the ashes were all that remained of the firewood that had to have been hauled into the barren cave.
As interesting as this discovery was, nothing could have prepared us for the next sight once we removed enough rocks to crawl within. The weekend before the Mayas had removed only enough rocks to allow the hidden cave to breath and thus allow any poisoned air or captured spirits to escape before we entered the room. After a hole big enough was made, the Indians allowed me to enter first either out of superstition that soured spirits still may be within or the fact that I brought the flashlights and candles to see by.
The interior room held pottery jars the size of small barrels and many three-legged bowls containing dried seeds. All of us were truly astounded and I started taking some pictures of the artifacts to preserve the site’s integrity. Hours went by as we continued to examine the red, black and yellow colors of the symbols and signs covering the containers’ clay outer surface. Almost accidentally, the oldest Indian of our expedition, who was named Moses, came upon some smeared paintings in the furthest back reaches of the cavern. The drawings were painted with red ocher and black ash and if you sort of closed one eye and squinted with the other, the childlike sketches appeared to be a Jaguar and hunter that had been depicted about five times each in increasing shadows and definition. It almost looked as if the first attempt was only an outline, and each following and slightly overlapping attempt became clearer in nature and color.
That is until the flashlights started to fail. I only had brought one backup set of batteries, but several thick wicked candles. We still were not ready to leave yet, so I set one of the candles in front of the wall with the drawing so I could still study the ancient sketch. With the Indians standing at my back we all were starring at the symbols when the fast burning candle’s wax melted away from the core. Next the over length wick started to smoke heavily and flicker and strobe in intensity. Our gazing of the figures was abruptly interrupted as Moses first crossed himself and after saying a silent “Hail Mary”, we all also saw what he did.
The intenesity of the candle’s strobe now turned the still life cave drawing into a moving picture. With each flicker of the candle’s wick a portion of the picture moved forward as if trapped in a film’s frame. The Indian depicted in the top right of the picture now repetitively stabbed up and down with a spear into the body of the Jaguar who was drawn dying in the lower left. The still life picture became as animated as any motion picture as our eyes were now as trapped to the ancient drawing as the Jaguar was to the Indian’s spear.
With goose bumps now formed on my arms from my memories, my attention returned to what was being said. Although in the back of my brain I still wondered if this story’s ending was why many tribes’ members still refuse to be photographed. Is it because their ancient folklore stories revealed to them that the images of their spirits and souls could be captured by the cameras? But I would not interrupt this meeting with my daydreaming, although I might share this story with the others tonight around the dinner table or bar.
Andrew’s voice came back to me as I heard him say, “These tribal hunters lived with no priests or churches. They only had their dream-scape. Here time was not linear moving in a straight line; nor backward or forward or even cyclical forever repeating the karma of past or present. The tribal time was always eternal now of the divine creation. They lived in the world of its original condition without encroachments or enfeeblement which mismanages the messages of our supreme ancestors.”
He took a deep breath as he said, “These practiced rituals assured that standards would not slip or be slid aside for the convenience of the congregation of any church. These most ancient rituals continuously recharged the energy of the cosmic bridge which spanned from the dawn of creation into their current selves and energized every aspect of their lives.”
“These cooperative rituals sustained their confidence in the process of nature and they were not blinded to any of nature’s indifference’s. Their powers of perception and observation were totally embedded in the meditation of nature. There was no compartmentalization of their lives. They had no word for art, because everything they did was art. They had no word for religion, because everything they practiced was religious. Everything these people did was either a preparation, prayer or purification to the pursuit of staying oriented to a single cosmos of the divine source.”
“We need to ask ourselves what in the world happened to these ingrained virtues which are missing in our modern day men.” He took a breath and as Andrew slowly exhaled he told us the answer. “Civilization is seductive. Our democratic dogma is to despoil and destroy. We have no planetary partnership or mutual respect for anything but power or money. Our unknowable powers have been lost or looted. We live in but a pale shadow of a reality we cannot return to. Modern man’s original spiritual dimension has escaped and only evil intentions seem to survive.”
He took his glasses off and wiped the bridge of his nose with a freshly pressed monogrammed handkerchief that seemed out of place with his causal attire. “Gentlemen, let me digress for a moment. Some of you know I have a daughter whose birth has radically changed my wife’s and my life. We moved from Los Angeles back to Florida to escape from some of the holy hype and weirdness, and of course, the chaos of constant crime. I survived the cocaine war stories I wrote and even kept my emotional distance during the plane crash stories about the survivors. But this story we are about to impart upon has captured my total attention, and I am in awe about what we are about to attempt to do.” His eyes took in the group as he said, “I write a hard book about hard subjects, but I grew up in a soft life. I was lucky to grow up in a full family atmosphere which was filled with fun and loving. The culmination of my work so far has allowed me to rise early each and every morning to practice my craft while my wife and little girl still sleep peacefully in comfort. My paternal instincts now guide many of my thoughts and actions. I feel a great empathy for crime victims who survive and go on to make good lives for themselves. But best of all I feel actually elated about participating in this adventure which may save my little girl from growing up in a cruel and hard world. So before I continue on, let me say that whatever you might care to label our common work, I consider it a blessing to be part of this project.”
I didn’t hear any hallelujahs or amens, but it was very obvious
