A MAYAN AWAKENING – a Mexican adventure by James Barnums

James Botwin, aka “Stream Daddy”, had come to a decision and he was sticking to it.He was leaving behind the USA and all of the wishy-washy flakes in it for an extended period of time. As he watched cold raindrops spatter against the window of his basement apartment on hip and fashionable Northwest 23rd street in Portland, Oregon, he thought ahead toward fantasies of warm tropical sunshine and beautiful expansive beaches south of the border. Yet he could not keep his mind from focusing on recent events that had led to this situation. Only a month previously, Jim had shared his life and this apartment with a beautiful young blonde named Elisabeth. The two of them had enjoyed a whirlwind five year relationship, which had taken them to some of the most exotic corners of the globe together. Just a little over a single lunar cycle before this particular rainy day, they had both been very happy with their new reasonably priced apartment in this nice neighborhood. Their shared plans had involved finding jobs, getting back into college, and sticking out the dreary Oregon rainy season. That was all behind them now, thus James lived and felt very much alone. The problem was that the two previous lovebirds could travel and take vacations together while remaining harmonious and positive, but when it came to building a nest and dealing with the day-to-day doldrums of financial survival, they quickly found themselves in foul moods, with short tempers and aggravated toward each other. To be honest, a large portion of the problem could be described by the old adage “opposites attract”. What that old saying failed to mention was that while it’s true that opposites attract, over time they can eventually repel each other in a major way.

James was the kind of guy that definitely enjoyed an adult beverage on occasion, of which there was certainly no shortage among all of the brew pubs and bars of trendy NW 23rd street. He was known by his many friends and few enemies as a boisterous fellow, who could occasionally get rowdy. James had obtained the nickname “Stream Daddy” when he was 20 years old and hitchhiking around the United States. Part of his method of financing those endeavors had been to post up on street corners near large universities and recite “highly experimental original poetry” for spare change. He was brandished with the moniker “Stream” by the kids on the street because his psychedelic stream of consciousness style of writing was very fluid in nature. Jimmy moved “permanently” to Oregon in 1999 from his home state of North Carolina, preferring the herb of exceptional quality, abundant hot springs, and open minded liberals to the dirt weed smoking rednecks in the Bible Belt. 2002 was undoubtedly a benchmark year for the young poet. During that summer, he found work in the seasonal high paying position of wild land firefighter. For the first time in his life, he was afforded a bit of monetary freedom so he decided to make the most of it. First, he and some like-minded individuals formed an organization known as “Paranormal Productions”. This group aimed to take throwing underground psychedelic music festivals in the wilderness to a whole new level. Their first event, “The Phantasmagorical Fall Ball”, in the autumn of 2002 was a wonderful experience, if not a financial success. Much fun was had by all when a few hundred people ventured miles into the forest and were entertained by multiple stages of wild live music (and a separate DJ electronica area) nonstop around the clock for 72 hours. The Paranormal Productions crew was so high on a smorgasbord of psychotropic substances that they never even considered charging money for the gig. Following this big event, Jimmy embarked on his first international trip to Central America. Even though he had hitchhiked to 47 of the 48 continental states, he had never been out of the country, so this was the culmination of a 27 year old vagabond’s lifetime dream. His experiences were so amazing during this 3 month jaunt through southern Mexico, Guatemala, and Belize, that they only served to whet his appetite for world travel, which would become his primary passion. In 2004, Jim and Elisabeth got together in what seemed like a perfect match. The lone adventurer had united with his other half and for quite some time, all was well in his universe.

Elisabeth, on the other hand, was of a different breed altogether. She had been raised on the outskirts of New York City and being so close to the influences of this major metropolis, her formative years had been pretty wild. She got involved with booze and drugs (mostly ecstasy and cocaine) at an early age. The African American gangster culture made a big impact on the pretty young teen, causing her to adopt a hard persona for a while. Luckily, she had enough sense to realize that she was heading down a dark path so she asked her parents to have her removed from the large public school where she had fallen in with the wrong crowd and enrolled in a smaller private school. She hooked up with a hippie Deadhead boyfriend there who helped her become more interested in pot and acid and give up the gangster identity (along with the large amounts of coke that came with it) for once and for all. Eventually, she dropped out of art school and took to the road in a camper van until she landed in California. Prior to hooking up with James in 2004, she had been living a “spiritual lifestyle” in Santa Cruz wherein she had sworn off alcohol and synthetic substances. She had even given up smoking herb, since as a natural blonde, she was already pretty spacey. Hence, she felt more at home in a yoga class than at a keg party. When she and Jim first met, she had just gotten out of a relationship with a preachy New Age dickhead that had tried to control her. Since he was of the opinion that alcohol and drugs were bad, neither of them partook of mind altering substances for several years. So she experienced a dramatic backlash against her former oppressor, which may have contributed to her shacking up with a well-known party animal like Stream Daddy. During most of their relationship, she was off the wagon. Yet ultimately, the hedonistic lifestyle could not provide the fulfillment of the spiritual path. To give James a little credit, he mellowed considerably during their 5 years together and was nowhere near as wild as he had been. Thus things reached a boiling point when Elisabeth had decided to go back to her straight edge spiritual ways and Jim came home in an intoxicated state to their Portland apartment one evening. An argument ensued that caused Jim to do some yelling and fling beer around the room. A week later, their plans for a life together had been cancelled and Elisabeth moved out.

At first, James had considered keeping the place and trying to make rent on his own because he really appreciated the area. This development had come out of left field so fast that he really did not know what else to do. The fire season of 2009 had been one of the weakest on record for the Pacific Northwest so Jim’s bank account was practically empty. When he pondered getting a “real job” and paying the $650 a month rent through the wet and crappy Oregon winter, it did not seem so appealing. It was then that the idea of taking an excursion to Southern Mexico had first materialized. He had friends and contacts down there from previous trips and knew a remote village in the high mountains of the state of Oaxaca where he could rent a small house for very little money. The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. Even though he did not have much money, he had some good friends with the Paranormal Productions crew (which had expanded and grown more successful over the years) who he could hit up for a Western Union if the need was dire. Also, Jimmy had a separate agenda in mind for the voyage. This involved what he liked to think of in his abstract thoughts as a “cosmic mission”. For years, he had been fascinated with ancient cultures, particularly the Mayan people of Meso-America. In fact, this had been part of his initial motivation in 2002 to visit the region. As he became more educated on their beliefs through personal research, he began to feel that some major occurrence was really going to happen on December 21, 2012- the end of the Mayan calendar. He did not buy into the Hollywood media hype that this would be the end of the world but believed rather that some evolutionary leap or trans dimensional shift was probable. Jim had wanted to expand Paranormal Productions to an international level for quite some time and this appeared to be a perfect opportunity. If he could scout out a suitable remote Mayan pyramid site, the Paranormal crew could tie in with the local Mayan people for a psychedelic ceremony of epic proportions on December 21, 2012. Basically, it was the thought that this would be for a greater cause and could benefit many people that finally sealed the deal. Jim purchased a one way plane ticket from Portland, Oregon to Mexico City for a December 3rd departure. Now, he just had to wait out the goddamned rain until that day came about.

The sound of the Chinese people walking around on the floor above brought him back from inner contemplation. His basement apartment was beneath “The Golden Needle” acupuncture clinic and Jim just did not understand how such small people could make so much noise. Shit! He had gotten sidetracked reflecting on what had led him to this situation and was neglecting the matter at hand. He needed to pack his backpack and get the last few items out of the apartment so that he could turn the key over to Dr. Qin. His flight was booked for 6:30am the following morning so he had to get it together and fast. The day of liberation had finally come! Adios, all of you assholes in the USA with your petty problems and perpetual hang ups. He was headed to where the sun was always shining and people knew how to smile. Some time spent in the lovely land of fiestas and siestas would be exactly what he needed to calm his sense of discontent and maybe even mend a broken heart.

Surprisingly, Jim had more trouble making connections and obtaining his luggage through the airport scene than he ever had before. He thought he was immune to such difficulties after he had flown around the world to such far flung locations as Taipei, Bangkok, and Calcutta several times in recent years without hassle. The ganja oatmeal bars he had munched, along with the complimentary Tecate cervezas offered on the plane, had something to do with his disorientation but mostly it was just a typical case of American Airlines not having their shit together. Because he had purchased the absolute lowest fare possible, he had to take three different flights to make it to Mexico City. His early morningflight from PDX to Dallas/Fort Worth went off without a hitch but then there was a 3 hour delay flying out of Texas. When he finally landed in Monterey, Mexico, he had to switch over to a Mexican airline from American. No one had bothered to tell him that he needed to pick up his large backpack there and transfer it himself, or what gate his new flight to Mexico City would be leaving from, or how he was to go about obtaining a new ticket since the old one was suddenly invalid. He wandered around both terminals several times in search of an American Airlines ticket counter, only to discover that even though they ran flights in and out of this airport, one did not exist. Eventually, he found someone to help him and barely made the flight by running full tilt boogie through the entire building. By the time he reached the airport of the largest city in the world, this routine of constant hang ups was growing rather tiresome but it was not over yet. When he got off the plane at Gate 12, he followed the signs toward the baggage claim, not realizing that he was supposed to take an escalator downstairs at his arrival gate. Instead, he wound up walking all across this massive facility and got stuck in a long line for Immigration again (after already having been through this process in Monterrey) until eventually he realized that he had to go back to where he had started from the other side of the airport. By the time he found the correct baggage claim, all of the other passengers from his flight were long gone and his backpack was nowhere in sight. His extremely rusty Spanish did not help when he approached random people with questions about a large blue backpack. Finally, he was pointed toward a remote corner of the baggage claim area. The backpack was sitting there all by itself. It had not been stolen or lost forever, much to his delight. Moments later, he was in an authorized taxi en route to the Southern bus station. His plan was to buy a ticket to Oaxaca and get the hell out of this insane megalopolis with an extreme urgency.

The luxury first class bus pulled into Oaxaca at about 4am so James spent close to two hours sitting on a bench in a plaza near the Basilica de Guadalupe, awaiting the crack of dawn and a reasonable check in time at his favorite place for lodgings, Hostel Santa Isabel. When, at last, his tired body hit the mattress, he slipped into a long and restful sleep. When he awoke that afternoon and entered the Hostel’s colorful courtyard, the first thing that he noticed was a very attractive young white girl reading a book alone. She glanced up at him with big beautiful blue eyes and smiled. Her long wavy brown hair fell down upon an ample bosom, causing immediate interest in our protagonist. He walked over and said “Hola” and got to know Laura from Switzerland, who spoke very little English but was quite functional with Spanish. Here was some immediate incentive for him to get his Espanol back up to par. Their conversation was brief but stimulating and ended with a promise to see each other later. Jimmy left the hostel and took a stroll down to the zocalo (large public plaza) to re-familiarize with the beauty of this colonial city.

What had started as an honest desire to see cathedrals and courtyards quickly turned into a visit to a local botana bar for beers and complimentary snacks. Jimmy guzzled brews in this location until nightfall, when he made his way over to a rock n roll club and moved onto mescal. By the time he stumbled back to the hostel, he was pretty hammered. He had another brief discussion with the Swiss beauty but could hardly speak Spanish in his intoxicated state, so he quickly excused himself and went to bed. He woke up on the following morning with a bad hangover and vowed that this would be a day without booze. Most of that day was spent sipping coffee and writing essays and poetry in the zocalo. Shortly after dusk, he was reading a book in the hostel’s common area and considering making an early move toward bed that night since he was still haggard from the previous evening. It was then that Swiss Laura appeared once more and asked if he would like to go out for a drink. He was tempted to turn down the offer because he was already tired and felt like shit but knew that he would be kicking himself later if he were to pass up such a golden opportunity. Fifteen minutes later, the two of them were sitting in La Casa de Mescal sipping on Bohemia Obscura (dark beer) and trying to talk over the blaring Mexican cantina music. They moved on to a more sedate establishment, where they played billiards for an hour or so. The fact that Laura did not speak English forced Jim to make progress speaking Spanish. Slowly but surely, it was coming back to him. Even though he found this to be a bit of a pain in the ass (in this current haggard state), he knew that having to work on it more than he wanted to at the time would pay off through improved communication in the long run. Just as their conversation was reaching a lull, the house band took the stage and launched right into some Doors cover tunes. The place was mostly empty on this Tuesday night but suddenly two hot traveler chicks busted into the joint and started getting down on the dance floor. The proverbial “hair of the dog” had laid his hangover to rest so he and Laura joined in the dance party. The two young girls introduced themselves as Aussies and had the wild flair to prove it. Much fun was had by all while they laughed, danced, and drank the night away. As the band was about to end, Laura and Jim staggered out the door with a major case of drunken munchies. They purchased some tortas (Mexican sandwiches) from a street vendor, practically inhaled them, and then made their way back to the hostel. They said “Buenos Noches” to one another, causing Jim to disappointedly stroll toward the dormitorio since it looked like he wasn’t going to be getting any action. Just as he was about to open the room to the dorm area, Laura spoke up and suggested that he come take a look at a painting in progress that she was working on and had previously mentioned. Jim happily complied and followed the lovely lady to her room. Whereas Jim had taken the cheapskate route and paid 70 pesos for a bunk bed in the dorm, she had spent 100 pesos for her own small private room. They looked at the colorful watercolor landscape on her palette for about a minute before Jim pulled her into his arms and kissed her passionately. She did not pull away but instead declared “Besa me otra vez, carino (Kiss me again, baby). The perpetually horny American was more than happy to oblige.

Jim’s original plan had been to leave the following day for the mountains and rendezvous with his old friend Scotty but the presence of an eager nymphomaniac in his life changed things a bit. He woke up that morning in her bed, made sweet love to her again, and then decided that the mountains would have to wait for at least one more day. The two young lovers left the hostel for breakfast and dinner at cafes near the zocalo but spent most of the day locked inside Laura’s room, satisfying their every carnal delight together with playful abandon. During their brief breaks from the sexual marathon, they toked on some weed that Laura had acquired from a fellow classmate. She was residing in Oaxaca City longer term, due to the fact that she was involved in a three month language course. When she shared this tidbit of knowledge, Jim was slightly disappointed because he had entertained thoughts of taking the sexpot to the mountains with him. However, he realized that this was probably for the best as he had a lot of soul searching to do at this time in his life and that could be best accomplished alone. Also, the aspiring writer had several story ideas roaming around in his head and did not need any distraction from the commencement of his craft. At least, Laura’s involvement with the Spanish language course explained her superior skills with Espanol. When she told him that this was her first trip to Mexico, he had felt like a bit of a dumbass because this was his fifth excursion south of the Border and she handled the language so much better than him. He made a mental note that after he accomplished his “cosmic mission” in Chiapas, he would have to enroll in such a course and enhance his own Spanish skills. So Laura and Jim stayed sober and up late for their last amorous night together. They exchanged e mail addresses and promised to keep in touch. James was already looking forward to his next trip to Ciudad de Oaxaca even before he left. He laid a big kiss on her early the next morning, grabbed his backpack, and headed off to the second class bus station.

The slow bus ride to the high Sierra Madre del Sur Mountains was the usual stop and go affair of a vehicle over packed with indigenous Zapotec and Mixtec people. They were adorned in colorful tribal attire and even brought their chickens and turkeys on the bus with them. Eventually, they made it to the little spot by the highway which was the turn off for San Miguel de Allende, the small village where Scotty and some of his other ex-patriot friends resided. James got off the bus and began the 10 kilometer hike down the dirt road to San Miguel but was fortunately picked up by a collectivo (pickup truck taxi) less than 2 km into the long walk. He got out in front of Scotty’s rustic adobe house and snuck up to the front door. He pushed it open and shouted “Surprise”, since Scotty had no idea that he was coming. Being early afternoon, Scotty had just started his day and was very pleased at the arrival of his old friend. “Si, si, bueno. You’ve come down for another winter. Fucking A!!” Scotty said in his customary Spanglish. Scotty aka “The Hip Crip” had been paralyzed in a car crash in the early 1980’s thus he was in a wheelchair for life. Beyond just being happy about a reunion with an old friend, he could use whatever help he could get running errands and getting pushed about in his manual wheelchair through the streets of this steep mountain village. Immediately upon arrival, Jim put in an order for some weed, hash, and opium. These sacraments were highly valued by the local tribal people and were readily available at high quality for cheap prices. Within an hour, the goods were delivered by a local to Scotty’s cabana and the process of getting highly altered was underway. “So how long are you staying for this time around?” Scotty questioned. “I am really not sure”, James answered and went on to explain the nature of his cosmic mission in Chiapas. “Sounds like a hell of a good plan to me”, Scotty commented between puffs on his humongous cigar-sized joint. “Shit, you know that I will be there with bells on. It has been ten years since I have been in Chiapas. Looks like I am overdue for a visit.” Jim filled the old lunatic in on recent occurrences in the States including his breakup with Elisabeth and financial woes. “Well, you came to the right place to live cheap and get a fresh start”, Scotty provided a bit of encouragement. “Within no time, you’ll put that behind you down here and be feeling great. Life in paradise has that effect. As far as money goes, I just picked up my monthly check in Miahuatlan and with the current exchange rate, I am now getting 13,000 pesos a month instead of the previous 10,000, so we can live on that. I figure that the peso is so tied to the dollar, the lower the dollar sinks, the better off I am. Hopefully, the motherfucker will crash all together and I’ll be loaded!” Jim laughed and said, “I don’t know, man. The recession is already hitting hard back home. If the dollar tanked completely, everyone there would be screwed.” The proud attendant of the Woodstock festival in 69 inhaled deeply on the mega-joint once more and continued, “Hey, that is why they call me an EX-patriot. I don’t give a shit about the USA anymore. All that they ever did was try to draft me and then throw me in prison just for having pot. No, I am gonna sit right here and get by and stay high until I die!” Jim chuckled as the memory of Scotty’s typical cynicism came back to him. “Speaking of which”, he suggested, “let’s pack some opium into that pipe and get really lifted!”

James enjoyed a week in San Miguel, during which he reunited with some other friends he had not seen in a long time, took walks in the mountains, wrote essays, poetry, and stories and got stoned. He felt as if he could have stayed there indefinitely and considered renting a cabana next to Scotty’s for 300 pesos a month (about $25) but the cosmic Mayan mission was gnawing at the back of his mind. He made the decision that the trip to Chiapas would make more sense during the early portion of this international adventure rather than the latter. He could always return to the cheap rent in San Miguel and mooch off Scotty’s monthly stipend later, if that was necessary. So he said farewell to the mountain crew and embarked for the beautiful Oaxaca coastline. As the second class bus dropped in elevation, pine forests gave way to twisty jungle hardwoods. The temperature and humidity spiked dramatically, causing the lone traveler to break out in a serious sweat. Fortunately, the soothing waters of the Pacific awaited him.

James checked into his usual budget accommodations for 70 pesos a night just off the beach at beautiful Playa Mazunte. The family that ran the establishment was happy to see him after years of his absence. Jim dropped his backpack in the room and bolted directly to the beach for a swim. The warm water felt absolutely fantastic. As he swam in the gentle rolling waves, he thought to himself how much better this was than the rainy season in Oregon. This was the right way to bring in December, without a doubt! Playa Mazunte is particularly noteworthy for its extremely swimmable waters. Its two principal beaches are at the edge of a calm lagoon, which makes the waves very manageable. In fact, one can actually swim in the clear lovely water as if they were in an Olympic swimming pool rather than the ocean. What makes this so exceptional is the nature of the other beaches that surround Mazunte. Puerto Escondido, to the West, is well known for its massive waves. It’s location along the Mexican pipeline has earned it the honor of being the site for the World Surfing Championship each year. Playa Zipolite, to the East, is literally translated as “beach of the dead” because so many people have drowned in the incessantly churning waters. Its giant waves and extreme undertow make this a place to swim with caution, if at all. Smack in the middle of all this danger lies tranquil Mazunte, one of the most beautiful beaches to be found anywhere in the world. Once Jim had thoroughly cooled off and relaxed from his swim, he decided to hike out to Punta Cometa for a picture perfect sunset. Punta Cometa, the southernmost point in the state of Oaxaca, is a jagged rocky outcropping that juts out into the Pacific Ocean. This point allows breathtaking panoramic vistas in all directions. Sunsets observed from Punta Cometa can provide prismatic colors and exceptional scope. After twilight, James returned to his room to get cleaned up and ready for the evening. He enjoyed a big fish fillet seasoned with garlic for an extremely reasonable price at a little place along the beach. It was at this restaurant that he encountered four beautiful young girls from Vancouver, BC, Canada. He took a liking to one in particular named Hannah, who was ridiculously cute. During their conversation, James and Hannah developed some good chemistry. She displayed a genuine interest in his involvement with Paranormal Productions and his cosmic mission to scout remote pyramids in Chiapas. She gave him her e- mail address and requested that he keep her informed of his progress because she wanted to attend the 2012 event. The Canadian girls informed Jim that there was a 3 day jazz festival going on in Mazunte that weekend. Jazz was one of Jim’s favorite types of music so he was very happy to receive the news. The festival was held in the center of town on a big stage at the basketball courts and featured bands from all over Mexico. Hundreds of people turned out for the grand fiesta. Many beers were guzzled, lots of herb was smoked, and a great time was had by everyone in attendance. It turned out that the BC girls, like most white chicks that vacation in Mexico alone, had already found Mexican boyfriends so nothing ever developed from the chemistry between Hannah and James. He had more important matters to concern himself with anyway. Following four wonderful nights spent in the coastal paradise, Jim purchased a bus ticket for San Cristobal de las Casas in Chiapas. The time had come for him to shift his focus onto matters of cosmic significance.

Even though James had visited Oaxaca four times previously, he had only ever been to the enigmatic state of Chiapas once before and that had been on his first trip to Mexico seven years prior. Thus the colonial charm of the highland city of San Cristobal greeted him almost like it was his first time there all over again. The cobblestone streets, expansive courtyards, and beautiful cathedrals served as a refreshing reminder of the beauty of San Cristobal. These factors combined with a happening nightlife, an amazing diversity of fine eateries, and a thriving international music and art scene made the quaint town a very desirable location. About the only downside worth mentioning were the chilly nights when temperatures dropped and people on the streets bundled up in excessive amounts of clothing. However, the nights were contrasted by lovely mild days in which short sleeves were suitable but the weather never really got hot. After living in Oregon for ten years, this was the kind of mild weather that James preferred. Thus our protagonist was lured into procrastination once more. Chiapas is well known worldwide for its high quality organic coffee. James, a fanatic lover of good stimulating beans, passed many an hour sipping inexpensive cappuccinos and cafe con leche in a variety of different establishments. However, his favorite and the one where he lounged at longest was beneath the bandstand in the center of the public plaza. This location provided for outstanding people watching and there was almost always a live band playing within earshot. During these languid days, Jim got more serious about his writing than he had been in years. He authored several short stories, one of which was entitled “Just Say No To Drugs (Even the Good Ones)”. He felt that with the racy sex, drugs, and crime subject matter of this tale, it would be highly suitable for publications such as Playboy or Penthouse. While he was relaxing on a bench in the main plaza on one fine afternoon, a beautiful Mexican girl came up from out of nowhere. She approached him and said that if he did not mind, she would like to practice her English. They spoke in English for about an hour. Jim was impressed with her considerable skill in speaking the language of the world. Even though she was only 24 years old, she worked in a nearby clinic as a doctor. She was the daughter of a farmer from a small town near the Chiapas/Guatemala border but had spent years at a university and medical school in Mexico City. Her name was some long unpronounceable word which she shortened to Mara for the sake of convenience. Just as their conversation was picking up, she hurriedly announced that she had to rush back to work. Jim inquired as to whether she was free that evening. She informed him that she would be more than happy to have dinner with him and would meet him at the same spot when she got off work. At 7:15pm, they rendezvoused and went to a nice place called “La Cattrina” for a few beers and some good food. James was trying to keep his spending within a tight budget but he paid the entire tab anyway, since it was the gentlemanly thing to do. They seemed to be really hitting it off so Jim suggested that they check out some live music after dinner. Mara readily agreed to the plan and they took to the streets in search of entertainment at one of the many nearby bars that featured bands. As they were strolling around looking for the proper venue, Mara suddenly announced that she was living with some relatives way out on the edge of town and since the hour was already so late (9:30pm, Wow !); it would be best for her to reschedule on the entertainment and take a taxi home immediately. This perturbed Jim a bit but there was nothing that he could do about it so he hailed her a cab. They shared a quick kiss, she promised to come visit him at his (hotel) posada (yet she did not really know where it was located), and the cab whisked her away into the night. Following this rather abrupt departure, Jim determined that she had no real interest in him and just wanted a free meal. Once she had gotten what she wanted, she had quickly cut and run. It was either that or in typical flighty female fashion, she had not taken the necessary steps to solidify future plans together. An old assertion that he had made several years earlier came back to his thoughts wherein he had decided to always make the plans himself when it came to spending time with ladies because they were usually so indecisive regarding specifics. Nevertheless, it had been a pleasant evening overall and when traveling alone, even a temporary diversion was quite rewarding. He purchased a bus ticket to Frontera Corozal, a remote small town in the lowland jungle near the Guatemala border, which was the closest place to Bonampak and Yaxchilan, the pyramid complexes that he had been researching. It was with a bit of reluctance that he said “Adios” to lovely San Cristobal de las Casas. If all went well, he would return in a short time to this wonderful city. Of course, he could not have known it thenbut there was more hardship and adversity waiting in the Lancondon Jungle than he could have ever imagined.

The rickety old bus that took him several hours to the remote outpost of Frontera Corazol made his previous second class bus accommodations seem luxurious. This old jalopy was literally falling apart. The latter portion of the journey was conducted over dirt roads that were riddled with massive potholes. Due to the lack of functional shocks and the well-worn seats that had last seen padding perhaps ten to twenty years earlier, Jim’s back and ass could feel the painful impact of every bump along the way. At one point, when the bus collided with a particularly gigantic pothole; the front right fender actually fell off the bus and the driver had to get out and manhandle it back on. As the bus got further and further away from the usual tourist destinations, the locals began to stare at James with strange expressions on their faces. Some of the men looked downright mean in their consternation. Jimmy reminded himself that he was very close to the Guatemala border and less than a decade previously, a massive Civil War and genocide had taken place here so this was not the friendliest of locations. He avoided eye contact with the mean-mugging men, knowing that looking at them directly in the eyes could be misconstrued as a challenge. Shortly after the bus came down from the highlands and reached lower elevation, Jim started sweating profusely. God, it was hot and muggy down here! The thick hot air served as quite the contrast from the mild weather in San Cristobal. At least in lowland Oaxaca, there had been the refreshing ocean to jump into and a nice sea breeze to cool one down. Neither of those amenities existed here. Jim had recollections of seven years earlier when he had visited huge and impressive ruins at Palenque/Tikal (Chiapas/Northern Guatemala). The heat had been so unbearable then that everything had to be accomplished early in the morning or late in the evening because it was almost impossible to move (much less work) during the middle portion of the day. Being from muggy Eastern North Carolina, he should have been able to adapt and deal with it. Though truth be told, he had not spent a summer in NC in well over ten years. As he tossed his large backpack on his back on Main Street (a dirt road) in Frontera Corazol, rivulets of sweat ran down his face and body. The locals stared at this ostentatious display of perspiration as if he were part of a freak show. They were as cool as cucumbers, shaded beneath their sombreros and at ease in the land of their birth.

First thing first, the weary traveler was hungry. His guts needed fuel if he was going to follow through with his plans to wander out into the jungle. As he was searching for some cheap eats along the main dusty strip, he noticed a small hardware store with something invaluable hanging on the wall. There, he saw a big machete (almost a meter long) with a nice sharp blade and a wooden handle. He purchased it for 80 pesos (about 6 bucks) and got his 20 peso change back from a 100 note from the elderly shopkeeper. Only a couple of doors down from the machete shop, he saw a large sign that read “COMIDA ECONOMICA”, which was exactly what he was looking for. He entered and immediately noticed that he was the only one in the place. He took a seat and was quickly tended to by a friendly Senora. When he asked to see a menu, she informed him that they had “Asajo con verduras” (Pork with vegetables) and that was the menu. James was familiar with this type of place from rural Oaxaca that offered only one item. The food was generally flavorful home-style cooking and the portions quite large, at least, by Southern Mexican standards. So he ordered up the days featured dish and a bottle of Coca Cola. He rationalized the frivolous beverage expenditure by telling himself that he was about to spend days in the wild with nothing but water to drink (he had a top-of-the-line water purifier and filter), so he might as well live a little. He wrote in his journal for the customary twenty minutes that it takes to actually receive your food after ordering in an establishment like this so far south of the border. Nobody was in a rush down here and that was a big part of what he dug about the place. Now that he was seated in the shade, sipping a semi-cold Coke in a glass bottle (like they had in the States when he was a kid but have since become unavailable in the USA), with a fan blowing on him; his sense of optimism and purpose returned. Even though the task at hand was nothing less than daunting, he felt that he was well equipped for it. He had the machete, insect repellent, first aid and snake bite kit, water purifier, leather boots, a high dollar tent (which should be impenetrable by jungle critters), as well as a sleeping bag of the same top notch variety. He had printed maps of the Lancondon Jungle from the internet and photocopied them from various texts so he felt confident that he would not get lost. “Everything is going to work out. I have got my shit together for this adventure”, he wrote in his journal as the nice Senora placed a plate of very appetizing food in front of him. If I have not mentioned this to you before, I will emphatically tell you now. James Botwin was a virtual master of self- deception.

The “asajo con verduras” turned out to be the best meal that Jim had eaten in a very long time. A generous portion of ultra-tender pork was served in a stew with green beans, potatoes, carrots, onions, and hot chili peppers. The meat was so good that it fell off the bone and melted flavorfully in his mouth. This reminded him of one of the better pot roasts that his parents had cooked for him back in NC. A sizable amount of well-seasoned black beans and rice, along with the obligatory tortillas, perfectly rounded out this exquisite meal. He had to sit at the table, reading a book and digesting for half an hour before he was ready to move onward. When the pleasant lady told him that the cost of the meal was 25 pesos (a little more than 2 bucks), he smiled and gave her a 10 peso tip. Bonampak, the first pyramid site that he wanted to research was about 15km away via a dirt road through the jungle. Eventually, he put the heavy pack on his back, grabbed his machete and started the trek.

James was somewhat surprised when he walked the entire 15km without seeing a vehicle going in his (or any) direction. The lack of traffic was reassuring that this could be the type of not-too-visited site that he was looking for. It was Sunday afternoon so Jim figured that people were more interested in family festivities than visiting the ruins on this hot and sultry day. He was sweating his ass off when he finally saw a rustic sign marked Bonampak and knew that he was approaching the location. The first thing that he noticed was a small guard booth near the front gate with a bored looking young boy sitting in it. His research had told him that this was not a site where money was required for admittance so he figured that this building must be where one was required to sign a registry. The official operational hours of the pyramid complex were from 9am-5pm but he intended to hide out inside overnight so he breezed right by the front entrance, as if he were en route to some other place (yet there was really nowhere else to go this far out in the jungle). The young boy took no notice of Jim. Moments later, he hopped a rustic fence and was inside the sacred grounds. The first step involved with “outlaw commando camping” (as Jim liked to call it) was finding a proper stash spot for his larger pack so that he would not have to carry that burden around all of the time. The man-on-a-mission got down on his hands and knees and crawled on all fours into some dense thorny shrubbery near the edge of a creek. He shoved the backpack up against the base of a twisty tree and was satisfied. The main consideration when stashing your shit under such circumstances is that if you put it in a place that is not only difficult but also painful to get to, then no one will even bother. He kept a smaller book bag on his back, with a bottle of water, some oranges, his journal, passport, money and other important items. He stacked some rocks to mark the spot where his gear was hidden and then strolled off down the jungle path. The naïve adventurer was extremely anxious to lay eyes on the ruins and ascertain whether or not this was the proper site for a grand ceremony.

The ruins of the Mayan city known as Bonampak were extremely impressive. James found it hard to believe that so few travelers ever visited this place. During his afternoon strolling about the grounds, he encountered only two other people- a local couple in their early 20’s sharing a picnic at the base of a pyramid. By contrast, Palenque, which is near a major town and highway, sees hundreds of visitors each day. Even though Bonampak is a much smaller site than mighty Palenque, it remains quite remarkable. Because of its setting amid deep jungle, it was unknown to the outside world and archaeological community until 1946 when a Lancondon jungle native led two Americans to the site. This recent discovery of the location lends to a mystique not associated with many of the larger pyramid complexes. Jim could understand why this place had a unique reputation as he looked out across the Gran Plaza. Magnificent pyramids and other similar stepped monuments, which had been built by one of the most bizarre cultures that the world has ever known some 1400 years earlier, awaited his inspired glare. As he took in the beauty of ancient creation, he was warmed by a feeling that he was doing the right thing. This cosmic cause that he was obsessed with, which seemed almost ludicrous on the surface, contained an inner depth and higher purpose that was more significant than he was aware of. He moved on from the Gran Plaza to the amazing fresco paintings within the Templo de los Pinturas (Temple of Paintings). This artwork from a different millennia is what gives Bonampak its name, meaning literally “Painted Walls” in Yucatecan Maya. James was particularly fascinated by some of the more bloodthirsty scenes including warriors clad with jaguar pelts torturing captives by ripping out their fingernails. Also, there were graphic depictions of decapitation, human sacrifice, and a bloodletting ritual wherein women punctured their tongues. The ancient Mayans were definitely the kind of hardcore people that you would not want to fuck with. Jim just hoped that he could make a lasting connection with their xenophobic descendants that still reside in the Lancondon jungle. He knew that local cooperation would be required for his master plan, even if it did take place in such a remote location.

Jim encountered the serendipitous good fortune that his camping excursion coincided with the period of the full moon. As he looked at the massive craggy near-perfect sphere in the sky, he ascertained that the evening of the actual full moon was but one night away. The picnicking couple had departed about an hour before twilight, leaving him completely alone within the sacred walls. Shortly after dark, he came to the conclusion that the entire place was his for the night so he decided to make the most of it. He pitched his tent atop Bonampak’s highest pyramid. Its location overlooking the acropolis and the overall site provided for a stunningly surreal view amidst the moon’s lovely luminescence. This was exactly how he had pictured the experience in previous fantasies. He had chosen to travel clean from Oaxaca to Chiapas so he had no THC products at his disposal. Yet at the moment, he did not need them. It appeared that this location alone provided a very potent natural high. He found himself grinning from ear to ear while meditating outside of his tent, atop the tallest pyramid. Not only did this location provide an amazing view, it kept him away from the many snakes and insects of the jungle. Still, the machete was only a few feet away, should he need it. Groups of howler monkeys emitted the spectacularly loud call that they are named for but they seemed to be far off in the distance. Just as Jim was reaching a very blissful moment of meditation with his eyes closed, he thought to himself ‘Is this really the right place for 2012- A Mayan Awakening?’ His eyes popped open in that instant and a celestial flash appeared before them in the night sky. The biggest and brightest shooting star that he had ever seen in his life suddenly filled his field of vision. There was absolutely no doubt in his mind that witnessing this stellar spectacle was a very promising sign indeed.

He awoke early the next morning shortly after dawn, feeling better than he had in a very long time. His hours of sleep had been deep and restful yet there was also a unique feeling within him that is hard to describe. It was as if by becoming One with this mythical location, he was experiencing a cleansing of the soul. The tent was taken down and packed away quickly, due to the fact that the arrival of early morning workers was likely. The large backpack was returned to its hidden spot inside the bushes, safe from prying eyes and hands. Jim removed his journal and wrote some poetry regarding the grandeur of beautiful Bonampak. This was truly an inspiring place for his inner muse; hence the verse that he scribbled was both profound and skillfully crafted. An hour or more was spent reviewing and revising a wealth of material that had been composed since his departure from the States. He looked over multiple notebooks filled with dozens of hand printed pages with a pleasant sense of satisfaction. Embarking on this Mexican adventure had heralded his most prolific literary period in years. One of the greatest hopes within his inner being was that he would eventually be able to turn all of that hard work into some form of lucrative success. However, it was matters of much more immediate importance that dominated his thoughts by mid-morning. His stomach had begun to grumble and the oranges and cookies from his backpack were no longer cutting it. It was time to make a move towards some freshly cooked hot food. If the young poet had his way, the dish that awaited him would have plenty of meat in it.

One problem that James noticed during his long hike into the site was that the nearest comedor or eating establishment was at least halfway back to town. He had spotted a small ramshackle hut with a sign that said “Comida” over the door about 8km down the dirt road. At least, the walk would be much easier without the heavy gear on his back. This would also give him something to do for most of the day when he did not want to generate attention among possible workers or security personnel at Bonampak. The hike back to the tiny restaurant was hot and uneventful. Once again, not a single vehicle was encountered going in either direction. A few scruffy mongrel dogs increased Jim’s pulse rate a bit by barking loudly and running toward him with bare fangs. Luckily, he knew an old Third World trick. By merely bending over and acting like you are picking something up from the ground, most aggressive dogs will turn around and run for it in fear of the rock hurling toward their head that must be surely following. This is a fortunate by product of the unfortunate fact that rowdy children like to throw stones at mutts in paradise. From his experience in Central America and Asia, he had been astounded to discover that this technique worked well all over the Developing World. After about two hours of trudging along surrounded by jungle and little else, he reached the little Mom and Pops eatery and eagerly placed an order.

The featured item of the day happened to be pollo con mole (chicken in a complex and delicious sauce), one of Jim’s personal favorites. The brown mole was lighter and sweeter than Oaxaca’s signature negra mole sauce that he was most accustomed to. Even though the meal was undoubtedly tasty and fulfilling to his empty stomach, it could not compare to the “asajo” that he had enjoyed on the previous day. Just as he was about to settle his tab and depart, two men boisterously entered the restaurant. The fact that they were well into a day of drinking was obvious. They were surprised to see a goofy gringo sitting there alone and immediately joined him at the table. “Cervezas, Senora! (Beers, Mam!)” the elder of the two shouted to the matronly owner. He appeared to be in his mid-50s and had a massive beer belly indicative of a lifetime love affair with the brew. He wore a large floppy straw hat and his clothing, mannerisms, and style of speaking were all that of a campesino farmer. These campesinos make up a large portion of the population in such rural areas. “Me llamo es Danny (My name is Danny)” he offered as an introduction but he pronounced it “Dan-eeee” with a colorful flair. Three lukewarm cans of Sol brand cerveza appeared in front of them. “Salud! (Cheers!)” Danny bellowed as they tapped the cans together and took their first sip. The other guy was young and quiet. He mumbled that his name was “Enoch” in a low voice. For the most part, he was content to let Danny and Jim do the talking. The conversation was conducted mostly in Jimmy’s usual present tense half-assed Spanish. He explained that he was down from Oregon by way of Oaxaca and that he found Chiapas to be extremely beautiful. “Aqui no es Mexico. Eso es Chiapas! (This is not Mexico. This is Chiapas!)” Danny said, expressing the independent state of mind for which the region is known. Jim was less than halfway through his first beer when Danny ordered all of them another round. He made a mental note to drink faster in the present company. “Vamanos Estados Unidos juntos! Tengo un camioneta! (Let’s go to the USA together! I have a truck!)” Danny suggested from out of the blue. Jim could tell that the light hearted drunk was joking and played along. “Si, yo tengo amigos cerca la frontera que vende papeles por Ustedes entrada. (Yes, I have friends near the border that will sell you papers to enter)” he egged Danny on. The campesino took another big gulp from his can of beer and responded, “Si no tenemos papeles para entrada frontera, esta bien. Yo se como nadar! (If we don’t have the papers to cross the border, it’s okay. I know how to swim!)” The three men at the table all erupted with laughter. Even the slightly stoic Senora cracked a smile.

The good humored dialogue and beer drinking continued for well over an hour. When Jim attempted to pay his tab, Danny would not hear of it. He insisted on paying for the 5 beers that Jim had swilled and for his chicken dinner, as well. This seemed a little strange to the American but he just chalked it up to being a case of a very friendly guy who liked to blow some money on occasion. His tiny dwindling bank account contributed to the feeling that the nice gesture was a much appreciated godsend. Jim realized that he needed to return to Bonampak before the official closing time of 5:30pm so that he could get to his gear and set up camp shortly after dark. He was about to bid his newfound friends “Adios” when Danny recommended another idea altogether. “Vamanos a la tienda por tequila! (Let’s go to the store for tequila!)” he said in reference to a little store that was just on the other side of the road. Jim was surprised to hear himself say, “Esta bien. Un tazo perro nada mas. (Okay. One cup but nothing more).”

The lone traveler found himself really enjoying this jovial social interaction and free booze. The tiny tienda blasted lively music on a house stereo, complete with the horns and accordions that typify the local preference. Danny, Enoch, and Jim sat on a bench in the shade, feeling good. “One cup but nothing more” had turned into a few cans of Modelo cerveza and a bottle of tequila split between the three borrachos. Jim tried again to pay for his share but it seemed that his pesos were no good as long as Danny was around. What had started as a mild buzz at the restaurant had escalated to a full-on drunk. As he noticed that the evening light was fading from the sky, Jim realized that closing time at the pyramids had come and gone. It was then that he chose to confide in the others and reveal that he had snuck into the ruins and still had items hidden in the jungle there. They were amused by his predicament but quickly assured him that there was “no problemo”. “Vamanos a mi casa para fiesta grande! (We can go to my house for a big party!)” Danny said to James, whose face showed signs of concern. Danny had previously mentioned that he lived in a house with his wife and children about 3 km from the ruins. When Jim inquired as to how they intended to travel, Danny yelled the words “Moto Taxi!” with a wild look on his face. He took off briskly up a dirt foot trail behind the tienda that led into the dark. Enoch followed closely at his heels. Jim considered his options for a brief moment and then reluctantly stumbled in the same direction.

The “Moto Taxi” that Danny referred to turned out to belong to Javier, an older man that lived near the restaurant and store. Danny went and rousted the man from inside his home to tell him that he wanted to hire his services. The taxi itself was a three wheeled motorcycle with a canvas cover to protect from the elements and a bench seat on the back. It reminded James of a Western style “tuk tuk”, similar to those he had taken in Thailand. Javier and Danny came to an agreement on a price and then they were off into the night together. For an old guy, Javier drove very fast. He had to hold on to his sombrero to keep it from flying away. James was glad that their driver was much more sober than the passengers. Nonetheless, it was quite a wild ride. They sped down the dirt road with a wall of insects flying towards their dim headlights. Considering Danny’s relatively wide ass, the three drunken buddies in the back seat could barely fit on the bench. Jim found himself hanging off the back left corner of the motorcycle on a few different occasions. When he looked down, all that he could see was an abyss below him. Javier seemed to enjoy surfing very close to the edge of various cliffs and embankments. The reality of the craziness of the situation had surfaced within our protagonist’s mind. He reassured himself by focusing on the fact that he was heading in the direction of Bonampak. This was definitely not what he had in mind when he had set out in search of food earlier that day. Eventually, they safely reached their destination, exited the vehicle, and Danny gave Javier the money for the fare plus a considerable tip. Javier pointed at Jim and said something in Spanish that caused Enoch and Danny to laugh heartily but Jim could not understand this statement. A moment later, the moto taxi roared to life again and disappeared down the dirt road. Jim was just glad that he was now only 3km away from the pyramids and his gear that was hidden there.

The fact that he was close to “home” was very good indeed, especially since the time at Danny’s house turned out to be so short lived. Danny lived in a decent sized place with some nice couches, a TV, and a stereo in the main room. No one was there upon their arrival, leading James to ask where the family was that he had been looking forward to meeting. Danny explained that they were out visiting with other relatives but would be back shortly. Jim inquired as to whether or not they had any weed and was informed that while both men preferred coke over the green, neither of them was currently holding. Danny gave Jim a brief tour of the place and when he pointed out an extra bedroom with a big comfortable looking bed, his eyebrows went crazy and his face displayed a strange lecherous expression. This was the first indicator that hit home with Jim that all might not be as it seemed in campesinoland. Surprisingly, they had not immediately resumed drinking upon arrival at Danny’s house, which was Jim’s main reason for being there. “Donde esta la fiesta? (Where is the party?)” Jim curiously questioned his host. In response, Danny stood up from the couch and fully unbuttoned his white cotton collared shirt. He gestured down at his bare brown chest and massive belly. His pants were barely able to hold back the tremendous gut. “La fiesta es aqui! (The party is right here!)”, Danny said as he pointed down at the front of his body. Enoch remained on the couch but provided a salacious grin, similar to that of his much older lover. Suddenly, what was really going on hit Jim like a ton of bricks. This explained all of the free food, booze, and “friendly” pats on the back that had been taking place all afternoon. If he had not been so drunk, Jim would have undoubtedly picked up on the fact earlier. Also, Danny’s traditional local farmer style had gone a long way toward coercing him that the man’s intentions were simply generous and pure. “Quieres sexo? (Do you want sex?)”, Jim asked, as the fact of their real intentions settled into his disturbed state of being. “Si, si (Yes, yes)” , Danny responded with the look of a true pervert on his face. The skeletons had fully slipped out of the closet now. All of the cards had been placed directly in the middle of the table. Jim jumped up from the couch, put his book bag on his back, and swung into action. “Yo voy buscar una chica. Necissito pinocha horrita! (I am going to look for a girl. I need pussy immediately!)”, he said as he walked briskly toward the open door. As he stepped into the night, he said, “Gracias por todo. Buenos Noches, amigos. (Thanks for everything. Good Night, friends)”. Luckily, neither of the two horny homosexuals made an attempt to follow. Jim walked so quickly down the dirt road that it was almost a run. He never bothered looking back.

As Jim got further away from the perverts’ lair, he began to feel better about the situation. The goddess of good fortune had been on his side. He had gotten out of there unscathed but he made a mental note to be more aware in the future. The next time an older man wanted to wine and dine him, he would politely refuse the offer. The recent chaos quickly left his mind, however, as he focused on the immediate task of slipping back into the pyramids. There was no one at the guard booth at the entrance. He took this to be a reassuring sign that anyone who may have been there earlier must have gone home for the night. The pyramids were clearly visible and beautifully bathed in moonlight. Jim’s highly altered state of mind made the place seem that much more surreal. As he approached the spot where his gear was stashed, he started to think that this covert action was turning out to be a proverbial piece of cake. From out of nowhere, the high beam headlights of an oncoming pick-up truck appeared from around a corner along the dirt road. They were coming directly at him. Jim realized that his position was about to be compromised and leapt off the road into the jungle brush below him. The vehicle kept going so Jim sincerely hoped that he had not been spotted. A few moments passed wherein he heard nothing. He resumed his movement towards the hidden backpack. His hope that he was currently the only person within the grounds was abated. Contrary to his previous suspicion that the people in the truck had not seen him, its’ headlights appeared again, headed in Jim’s direction. Evidently, there was a search being conducted for his whereabouts. This time around, he briskly cut down hill on a small foot path. The pick-up stopped and turned sideways, aiming its lights into the forest. James kept moving toward the river with extreme urgency. Since he had put a considerable difference between himself and the road very quickly, the headlights were too far away to reach him. He decided to stick to the light foot path when he resumed in the direction of his gear once more. The dense jungle now covered him in shadows. Yet, he realized that the full moon must have been like a spotlight on his body when he had been up on the road. He made special effort to stroll noiselessly down the trail. Then he noticed lights coming in his direction through the dark forest and heard the faint sound of voices. He was in a tough spot between a steep mountain and the river but he knew he had to act fast. He chose the mountain and scurried up the side as quietly as possible. His long legs got stuck in some bushes about a hundred feet up but they were able to break free after a desperate moment and scramble almost all the way up the embankment. A second later, two men appeared with flashlights below. They cast their beams out through the woods on both sides of the trail in a methodical manner that was conducted to ensure that every inch was covered. Their light came within a mere three feet of Jim’s face as he crouched precariously behind a prickly shrub. He happened to be just a little bit too far up the mountain for the light to reach his hiding place. The guards continued their search along the trail in another section of jungle but Jim did not move from the uncomfortable spot for well over half an hour. During this time, the guards came through on foot again. Yet their efforts proved fruitless at finding the drunken “commando” camper. Finally, they gave up and the jungle was left to the animals. By the time Jim made it to his belongings and pitched the tent in a discreet spot, the full moon had reached its high point in the sky and was beginning to drop toward the horizon. He was completely exhausted as he drifted off into drunken slumber that night. Still, he knew that he would only be able to catch a few hours of rest before he would have to get up and go. It was obvious that he had worn out his welcome. He had no doubt that if he were to be spotted at the pyramids on the following day; he would be recognized as the one who had been chased around by the guards. There just weren’t that many 6 foot 4 bearded white guys around the area. His new plan was to break down camp before dawn and get the hell out of there.

All that Jim had to rely on to wake him up very early that morning was his “mental alarm clock”. Luckily, it seemed to be in perfect working order. Everything had been properly tucked away and he was walking down the dirt road with the large backpack on his back before the first sliver of dawn’s light appeared in the sky. He had a slight hangover but a few ibuprofen pills and plenty of water kept that to a mild annoyance. Regret over his forced abrupt departure from Bonampak loomed predominantly over his thoughts. His hopes had been high that this was the right setting for the grand ceremony in 2012. Yet, he knew that local cooperation would be needed for this master plan so perhaps all was not lost. If he could convey the importance of his message to not only the local indigenous Mayan population but also to officials from the archaeological organization in the area, then there was a chance that Bonampak could still work. He found himself thinking that if things had worked out better with the attractive young doctor named Mara back in San Cristobal, she could have been the perfect spokesperson for Paranormal Productions. Even though his Spanish had improved greatly since his arrival in Mexico, a native speaker would undoubtedly be a major benefit for effective communication. He put his mind at ease by telling himself that this was little more than a mild hiccup in the overall strategy. He had intended all along to scout another site called Yaxchilan, which was about 100 km further into the jungle. The game of hide and seek with the Bonampak guards had only served to expedite the inevitable next leg of his voyage by a few days. Still, the first tiny bit of doubt in the sanity and prudence of the task at hand blossomed in his brain during the long lonely trek back to the border town of Frontera Corazol . The stubborn traveler quickly buried such thoughts deep within the subconscious and turned his focus towards impending travel arrangements. Judging by the extremely early hour of his awakening and the distance that he still had to cover, this was going to be a long and arduous day.

A benefit of the unexpected return to town was the accessibility of good cheap food. Jim fell into a small restaurant and ordered up “Huevos Mexicanos por Desayuno”, a tastylocal breakfast. The meal even came with a cup of high quality organic coffee, which served as a refreshing mental stimulant. Damn, he was tired and his legs were hurting! 16 kilometers before breakfast was nothing to scoff at. The good news for his barking dogs was that Yaxchilan is only accessible by boat up the Umascinta river so there would not be a lot of hiking involved. The mighty Umascinta runs along the Chiapas/Guatemala border and into the heart of the Selva Maya (Mayan Jungle). Jim was about to step his game up to the big leagues and go further away from civilization than he ever had before. The giant tropical rain forest covers over 30,000 square km and extends all the way into Belize and the southern Yucatan peninsula. A unique group of indigenous descendants of the Maya known as Lancondones inhabit portions of this vast Lancondon Jungle. They are not known to be very friendly to outsiders. The Mexican Federale military (or any type of police force for that matter) is practically nonexistent in this remote area, making it the perfect stronghold for guerillas of the Zapatista army. A bit of research informed Jim that he was heading into a region with much more animals than his previous location at Bonampak. Several different varieties of poisonous snakes and spiders would be his neighbors, along with the largest existing population of the biggest feline in the Western Hemisphere- the illusive and legendary jaguar. The remote inaccessible location of Yaxchilan led James to extrapolate that there was very little chance that another game of cat and mouse would occur at this site. It seemed that people wanted to fuck with him at the edge of the jungle, so he would head out into the middle of it where there would hopefully be no one to bother him.

If Jim planned to spend days or weeks in the wilderness, then he would need to bring lots of food. He found a slightly larger and better stocked market just up the street from the boat launch to Yaxchilan. He purchased big bags of rice, beans, and some vegetables of a tougher variety that would not get banged up easily including garlic, onions , hot peppers, and carrots. He also stocked up on oranges and apples. As tempting as the big bundles of bananas looked, he declined to purchase any because the fact that they would be turned into liquid mush before he reached his destination was almost a certainty. The groceries added a lot of weight to his considerable load but would be a necessity so far from civilization. Initial inquiries at the dock regarding the price and frequency of a boat ride to Yaxchilan yielded only confusion until he said, “Pyramidas grande, lejos en la selva. (Big pyramids, far away in the jungle.)” This caused an illuminated light bulb to appear above the head of the fisherman who was being interrogated. “Ah! Yaxchilan!” he exclaimed. His intonation on the vowels and overall pronunciation of the word was vastly different than Jim’s gringo version. “Es un lugar muy savaje (It is a very savage place)”, the fisherman elaborated. He ran over to some men in a boat and spoke with them rapidly in some strange language. Jim thought that he recognized it as an ancient native dialect known as Tzotzil but could not be sure. The helpful fisherman called him over to the boat and explained that the site was four hours away and would cost 300 pesos. They were ready to leave for Yaxchilan as soon as he forked over the money. This was about what Jim had expected so he paid up, tossed his bulky belongings into the boat, and said “Muchas Gracias” to the fisherman. One of the three guys on board fired up an old outboard motor that was extremely loud and belched thick clouds of black smoke. They embarked within moments. The bow of the long wooden boat cut through the dark waters of the Umascinta River as they made their way out of town and into the Lancondon Jungle.

The mighty Umascinta is the largest river between the USA and Venezuela. Jim was thoroughly impressed by the size of the rapidly moving waterway. Its’ width far exceeded his expectations at several points along the trip. As they delved further into the jungle, large whirlpools formed that could have easily sucked the boat beneath the water. The driver skillfully navigated the outboard motor in the proper direction to avoid their destruction. The guy sitting on a wooden plank across from Jim grinned and said, “El rio es muy peligroso. (The river is very dangerous.)” His eyes expanded to about twice their normal size while the words were leaving his mouth. Not surprisingly, there were no lifejackets aboard the vessel. The sounds of howler monkeys were at first only heard in the distant forest. However, within an hour of their departure, they were completely surrounded by the beasts. Jim laid eyes on a group of them for the first time and immediately noticed how much bigger they were than monkeys which had been so prevalent in Asia. At close range, their howls were truly deafening. This is not surprising considering that they are the loudest animals on the planet by decibel level. A lone howler can be heard over 4 km away, thus a group creates an absurd amount of noise. The forest along the banks of the river grew increasingly twisty and covered with an abundance of vines. Crocodiles slipped out of them and into the murky fluid. Jim knew all too well that he was beyond the point of no return. At last, the boat pulled up to a flimsy dock. The crew onboard informed Jim that this was it. He could see no sign of any ruins from the place where they stopped. “Yaxchilan?” he questioned. “Si, si” they assured him. While he unloaded his supplies, the men looked at him as if he were very foolish. They said “Adios” and puttered away in the boat, never expecting to see this gringo again. The way they figured it, an ice cube had a better chance in hell than he had of ever making it out of there alive!

Jim quickly surmised that an excess of people at this location was a problem that he was unlikely to encounter. As he familiarized with the vast temple complex, he did not see another living soul, unless spider monkeys were to be accounted for. A rustic old guard booth had been erected at the entrance but it appeared that it had not been utilized for quite some time. Even though it looked as if he had the place completely to himself, he was determined to remain aware and stay on his toes so as not to repeat the mistakes made at Bonampak. He stashed his big backpack and groceries in an out of the way location near the edge of the ruins and strolled about the grounds. Yaxchilan had been a much more powerful city state than Bonampak during its’ peak in power at about 700 AD, thus the site covered a larger area and the ancient structures had been erected on a massive scale. He noted the shield and jaguar symbol on many different structures, which represented the Jaguar dynasty that had ruled for so many centuries. He explored the many dark passages of El Laberinto (The Labyrinth) with his headlamp and was astounded by the hundreds of large bats that had taken shelter beneath the structure’s vast roof. He emerged from this maze-like complex to the rather extensive Gran Plaza. There he admired many magnificent structures, including Edificio 33, the largest and most well preserved pyramid at Yaxchilan. He had no trouble imagining the Paranormal Productions crew beating drums and howling at the moon from atop this mighty Mayan pyramid on December 21, 2012. He thought that his friends and family would be particularly impressed by the long boat ride required to reach the site and its’ dramatic remote location along the Umascinta river. Following about an hour of roaming the grounds, Jim was convinced that this site could definitely suffice for a cosmic ceremony. He pitched his tent about half an hour before dark and started a small fire to cook by. He had brought a standard military mess kit along to cook with but had ascertained that a camp stove was an unnecessary expense , considering how little he would actually need it during his months abroad. The campfire proved sufficient for cooking and also provided light and ambience. A little over an hour after he began boiling water, he was rewarded with a basic meal consisting of rice and vegetables. A dash of green habanero hot sauce provided some much needed spice and flavor. The meal was extremely satisfying, as only simple food prepared in the middle of nowhere can be. He washed out the mess kit after eating and used it to soak some beans for the following day. He barely had enough energy left to brush his teeth, yet he managed to complete the task before falling into a deep state of somnolent slumber.

Days passed wherein Jim lived a tranquil existence filled with awe at his spectacular surroundings. He spent his time exploring the ruins and some of the surrounding jungle, meditating and writing in his journals. The temperature remained extremely hot and muggy but the threat of crocodiles and snakes kept him from swimming in the Umascinta. However, he did use the mess kit to pour water over his head which provided temporary relief. It was so muggy that he made the unwise decision one night to leave the screen door to the tent open so that cool air might pass through. Evidently, some insects were able to pass through the mesh as he quickly discovered when he received a painful stinging bite on his leg just as he was about to fall asleep. Try as he might with the flashlight in the dark, he could not locate the offending critter. He just hoped that it was not a poisonous spider that had delivered the bite. He made a mental note to monitor the spot on his leg closely. If he noticed any abnormality, he would make the return to town immediately. Needless to say, the screen door remained firmly closed during the rest of his stay at Yaxchilan. He never saw another person within the ruins but did witness a few boats going by on the river. He figured that when he was ready to depart, he would hail one of these boats down, which most certainly must be headed toward Frontera Corazol. It was on the morning of the fifth day in the jungle that Jim decided that the time was right to take some LSD. He had dropped several hits of liquid acid onto saltine crackers prior to leaving Oregon. The crackers had been crushed into a fine powder but were contained in a zip-lock bag and should still be effective. His plan was to catch a boat back to town on the following day, so he figured he might as well go out with a bang. The remote and beautiful setting seemed like the perfect place for a psychedelic experience. Since the only mammals that he had laid eyes on in days were of the simian variety, he thought that Yaxchilan would be a delightful place to alter his consciousness without having to worry about being bothered by humanity. Little did he know as he swallowed the LSD early that morning, that monkeys were not the only creatures watching him from the jungle depths. The sinister beings that secretly peered at James Botwin that morning were much more dangerous than any monkey.

The beginning of the acid trip had been extremely pleasurable. The ancient Mayan artwork that adorned the temples took on a vivid animated quality. James found that he could not stop himself from smiling as he took in the surrounding grandeur. He climbed to the top of Edificio 11, which provided a stunning view of the jungles and mountains all the way to Guatemala. The deep green of this vast rolling forest was incredibly beautiful to his lysergic eyes. With the LSD flowing through him, he could literally feel the energy of the ancient pyramids. He daydreamed about what life must have been like when Yaxchilan had been inhabited by thousands of people, the ball games, the ceremonies, the ritual of human sacrifice. He could picture a high priest standing prominently above cheering masses in the Gran Plaza while he devoured a still-beating human heart. In this heightened state of awareness, his fascination with the mysterious culture was enhanced to an even greater level. He felt that the Mayans were right up there with the Egyptians and ancient Chinese as one of the most spectacular civilizations in all of history. As the acid moved from its early phase into the peak, prismatic colors appeared all around him. The trees moved and breathed above while the stone of the pyramids merged with sacred soil. Primal patterns of kaleidoscopic imagery inundated his mind to the point that distinguishing between reality and hallucination was becoming difficult. He gulped over half a liter of water and ate an orange as a means of dealing with this ever increasing intensity. Finally, he decided that as high as he was, there was only one place for him to go. He climbed to the top of the tallest pyramid, Edificio 33, and gazed out upon the psychedelic setting. Howler monkeys surrounded the walls of the ruins. Their carnal calls only served to add to the exotic surrealism of the scene. He closed his eyes and practiced methods of deep yogic breathing while sitting in meditation posture atop the pyramid. He could feel the unity of all living things in the jungle. Millennia long ago combined with an uncertain future to create the moment known as NOW. Time and space ceased to exist within the thoughts of the psychotropic searcher. This was the most perfect moment in history. There was no better place to be than right here in the Universe. He was simply a vessel for all the cosmic power that permeated from the pyramids. Just as he was reaching the zenith of his LSD adventure and felt as if he were knocking on Nirvana’s door, a cold piece of steel abruptly banged against his forehead and interrupted this out of body experience. He opened his eyes and was shocked to see the barrel of a machine gun pointed at his face. At first, he told himself that this could not be real. This must be a part of the hallucinations. However, his vision quickly adjusted to notice that five men clad entirely in black stood on top of the pyramid directly in front of him. They were all pointing machine guns at him and did not look happy. “Buenos Tardes” Jim said to the group as reality settled in. He had left the machete by the campsite, but any attempt to wield it would have been suicidal. “Chenga tu madre, pinche’ gringo (Fuck your mother, fucking gringo)”, one of the men responded. A moment later, he brought the stock end of his gun down with mighty force on Jim’s confused cranium. Our protagonist went from being extremely awake and peaking on LSD to a complete state of unconsciousness within a millisecond. The stars that he saw from the impact were vibrant and multi-colored, in that brief instant before he slipped away.

James had initially thought that the men with the guns were Federale or Policia when he had first encountered them. That was before he had noticed that they were all dressed in black and they had brutally knocked him out. Unfortunately, he was dealing with a different type of monster altogether this far back in the jungle. The EZLN, or Zapatista National Liberation Army, was a ruthless force to be reckoned with. They had first emerged within the public eye fifteen years earlier back in 1994 when they had conducted an armed takeover of San Cristobal de las Casas and several other towns in Chiapas. The goals of this leftist guerilla Army were anti-capitalist and involved the redistribution of wealth and land so that poor indigenous peasants of Chiapas (and all of Mexico) would finally be given a fair chance in life. Within a few days of their insurgency on January 1, 1994, the Mexican military drove the Zapatistas out of the occupied towns and into the Lancondon Jungle. Hundreds would perish in battle during this forced removal. Yet within the vast wilderness that makes up the only real jungle in North America, the squadrons of guerilla soldiers were able to regroup without the interference of Federales. Because of the EZLN training in jungle combat and the ability to slip silently through the forest, the military was at a disadvantage. The woods were so thick that they could not bring in tanks or heavy artillery. It was ultimately agreed upon to patrol areas near the outskirts of the Lancandon. Yet, the EZLN functioned unchecked within its boundaries. Following their relocation, the Zapatistas had waged a propaganda war via the press and internet , while staging the occasional armed raid on police posts nearby. Much of the indigenous population of Chiapas became supporters of the EZLN, causing many wealthy (especially foreign) landowners to surrender their property to these large groups of armed peasants. As James returned to a weary state of consciousness, he had no doubt that his captors were guerilla warriors of the Zapatista army. They were dressed in the characteristic all-black paramilitary attire. He picked up segments of their conversation in Spanish, which were little more than anti-Capitalist and anti-American rants. Every time one of them looked at him, they spat on the ground and mumbled something about “pinche gringos”. Jim’s arms had been duct taped behind his back and he was chained to a tree. He could not see the ruins from their stronghold so he could only assume that he had been moved a considerable distance while unconscious. A few rustic shacks surrounded a large fire in the center of their compound. There were only five soldiers holding him captive but they were in radio communication with others in the area. Jim could hear jubilance in the voice of the men on the radio when they received the news that a gringo prisoner had been taken. He had been sitting alone for a few hours in the dark when one of the men (who seemed to be their leader) came over and asked him, “De donde eres? (Where are you from?)” He knew that the Zapatistas hated Americans for the most part, so he responded, “Soy de Canada (I’m from Canada)”. After all, who could despise the good people of Canada who had never started a war or even hurt a fly for that matter? “Mierda (Shit)” the man angrily said. Evidently, they had already gone through his belongings because a moment later, the man held Jim’s US passport in front of his face. “Pinche gringo Americano! (Fucking American Gringo!)” he shouted as he delivered a combat boot to the desperate traveler’s chest. The man spat a large chunk of mucus into Jim’s face and then kicked him again for good measure. Jim felt like bursting into tears (more out of depression than pain) but fought the urge. He thought that any sign of weakness would probably cause them to go harder on him. He hungrily watched as the five men ate a meal of chicken, beans, and tortillas. Not surprisingly, he was not offered any food (or even water, which he so desperately needed). As the final effects of the LSD faded away, the seriousness of the situation dominated Jim’s mind. He had put his balls on the line by voyaging so deep into the jungle and he was in a world of shit as a result. Eventually, four of the guys retired to a shack while one was left outside to watch the prisoner at gunpoint. Sleep never came for James Botwin that night. He could not stop his mind from racing with thoughts regarding the dire immensity of this predicament.

The proverbial “world of shit” that James had entered was not to improve for a very long time. In fact, it was to become much worse. His initial hope was that the guerillas would tire of him within a few days and let him go. He had less than $100 US in pesos when he was captured, along with an ATM card with which he could access the measly few hundred dollars that he had left in the bank. However, money did not seem to be their main concern. As the long and miserable days passed into weeks, hope for a quick release faded. During the brutal (mostly sleepless) nights that he spent chained to a tree, Jim listened to the Zapatistas discussing his fate. Even though he could not comprehend much of what was said, he ascertained that they were deliberating between immediate execution and using him as a sort of “human shield” during a planned upcoming action against the Federales. Neither of these options seemed enticing to the young American. He found himself wishing that he had been in closer contact with friends and family in the States before he had gotten on that boat in Frontera Corazol. He had sent out a group e mail from San Cristobal that stated that he was en route to “remote jungle locations near the Guatemala border.” Had he been more specific, a possible rescue mission could have been feasible but with the vague information that he had provided to the outside world, the chances were slim to none that anyone would bother looking for him. During these evening discussions, Jim realized that the man known as “Carlos” was clearly the leader and was calling the shots. Following a few days without food and water, James felt as if he were going to die. The hot and humid afternoons were horrible. The lonely bug filled nights were even more terrible. During the first week of captivity, he was never once unchained from the tree but was instead left to stew in his own excrement. On one particularly hot day, Jim was so weak that he was convinced that he was mere moments away from meeting his maker. He was barely able to muster up enough energy to mutter the phrase “Necissito Agua (I need water) ” as two of the Zapatistas walked by him. He had managed to eat a few bugs as they crawled on his face but because his hands were taped behind his back, an insect had to actually crawl across his mouth to provide him with much needed protein. Yet not so much as a drop of moisture had wet his lips in over 100 hours. The two guards came over and inspected him after hearing the pathetic request for water. When Carlos realized that their prisoner was on the verge of dying, he ordered that James be given a few cups of water and a bowl of beans a day. It was amazing how much difference even this tiny bit of rations made for Jim’s health. Following the implementation of this new policy, he began to feel almost like a human being again. They started unchaining him once a day and allowed him to go shit in the woods. This was a big overall improvement. He entertained notions of possible escape scenarios during the daily bathroom breaks but because he always had several Armalite AR-15 assault rifles (the civilian version of an M-16 which the EZLN had thousands of) pointed at him, he wisely never made a move. During the first few weeks of captivity, James was subjected to several brutal interrogation sessions. They were mostly conducted in Spanish but Carlos actually knew a bit of the “capitalist pig” language known as English. The Zapatistas refused to believe Jim’s assertion that he was simply an archaeology buff who was in the Lancondon Jungle to study the ruins. Evidently they had been watching him for days before his capture, since they found his sneaky hidden campsite near Yaxchilan to be suspicious. When he refused to admit to being a CIA agent , they beat him with the stock ends of their rifles. He was kicked in the chest and midsection so many times that he lost count as to how often this form of punishment occurred. Jim realized that a sense of self-importance was what drove their insistence that he must be a US federal agent seeking intelligence on the EZLN. He refused to give a false confession no matter how much they beat him because he figured doing so would be as good as signing his own death certificate. Finally when the five men had kicked and beaten so much that their arms and legs were exhausted, they removed a large red hot coal from the fire pit and burned a permanent golf ball sized hole into the left side of Jim’s face. He continued to scream with pain and despair while the Zapatistas chuckled and made small talk over dinner. This most brutal of beatings had reduced Jim to little more than a bloody pulp, chained to a tree in the unforgiving jungle.

Months passed with very little change in this retched daily routine. At one point, three different Zapatista soldiers came to visit the small jungle camp. They stared curiously at the weary prisoner but remained uninvolved. A few of the original five left for short stints but always returned within a few days. James lost a lot of weight and took on a gaunt appearance. His unwashed unkempt hair formed into big chunky dreadlocks. His red-tinted beard grew so long as to be of mountain man proportion. This was not necessarily pleasant in the hot jungle. The highlight of his first year in captivity had been when Carlos had randomly decided to bring the prisoner to the fireside and allow him a cigarette. James did not usually smoke but wasn’t about to refuse the offer. Evidently, this was done out of boredom since the five men only had so much to say to one another. Thus began the humanization process that slowly granted James a few more basic rights. While our protagonist took a seat on a log beside the fire, Carlos held his passport in his hands and read from it. “Your name is…J…James…Bot…Bot…Botwin” he said with a bit of trouble pronouncing the English name. “Yes” Jim agreed, “but my friends call me Arroyo “(the Spanish word for “Stream”). The soldiers laughed heartily at this statement. Apparently, there was a joke there that Jim did not understand. Yet the Zapatistas never referred to him again as anything but “Arroyo” or “Pinche Gringo”. They preferred the street moniker to his birth name of James, which they found hard to pronounce. Carlos questioned the prisoner casually by the glow of soft orange flames regarding his background. When he explained that he was from a working class family and worked as a firefighter, they seemed mildly impressed, even though they did not entirely believe him. In their minds, all Americans were rich and were employed as either bankers or lawyers. Jimmy followed up the biographical info with an anti-government, anti-Big Brother, “Fuck George Bush and the Republican Party” tirade. He explained that he had been involved with a leftist anarchist organization in the States known as “Refuse and Resist”, which had protested against the war in Iraq, hated Vicente Fox and the PAN party (Mexico’s former president and his corrupt political party, which were the biggest enemies of the EZLN) and had committed acts of “eco-terrorism” to preserve old growth forest in Oregon. The armed guerillas realized that they had captured a sympathizer to their cause but did not know if he was telling the whole truth. Regardless, he was not one of them. He was a fucking capitalist gringo and nothing he said would ever set him free. All that this casual banter ever gained for him was a few more cigarettes shared with the troops by the evening fire. Still, any opportunity to have the massive chain removed from his neck was much appreciated. They had fortunately run out of duct tape early on in his captivity, thus the painful binding of the arms behind the back had been done away with. After about a year and a half, Carlos noticed that Jim’s weight loss was so drastic that it could be life threatening. His rations were bumped up to three bowls of beans each day. This seemed like a miracle from Heaven to the famished prisoner. It was well into Jim’s second year with the Zapatistas, when Carlos announced that he would be moved to a new location on the following day. Jim asked Carlos where he would be going and received the surprising answer of “La Realidad”. He knew from previous research that this was the EZLN’s command post headquarters and was in an ultra-secret location somewhere in the heart of the Lancandon. The weary victim’s greatest hope was that finally being moved to a new place was the first step on the road to freedom and that he was not destined to become fodder for a firing squad at “La Realidad”.

Jim found it difficult to breathe with his head inside a burlap sack during the long hot trip to La Realidad. The journey involved hiking, boats, trucks, and then another long trek through the jungle. Finally, he reached the well-fortified walls and had no idea where he was. La Realidad was immersed in much more hustle and bustle than the small outpost somewhere near Yaxchilan had ever seen. Jim estimated that there were a few hundred guerilla fighters living and training at the sight when he arrived. He was tossed into a tiny concrete cell that was actually a vast improvement to being chained to a tree. A few vegetables found their way into his few meager rations but meat continued to be non-existent in his diet. This enforced veganism left Jimmy feeling ravenous almost all of the time, even right after a meal. He had only been at La Realidad a few days when Carlos and some troops appeared and placed the burlap sack over his head again. He was dragged by the arms down many long corridors. As he was being forcefully shoved through a doorway, Carlos muttered to him in English under his breath, “This is real important, so don’t fuck up!” When the burlap sack was removed and Jim’s vision returned, he could not believe what he was looking at. Right there in front of him, sitting in a throne-like chair and surrounded by ski-masked men with machine guns, was the head honcho himself, El Comandante Marcos! Jim was in the presence of the Supreme Commander of the Zapatistas. Considering that he was a pasty, white, capitalist gringo; that could not be good.

Comandante Marcos was a very tall Mexican. His formidable torso filled up a large portion of the dark hardwood throne. He puffed tobacco from his trademark Sherlock Holmes style pipe and glared ominously at James. “Do you know who I am?” he asked. Photographs of Marcos without a black ski-mask on were extremely rare but Jim had seen a few in some old anarchist literature. He had no doubt as to whom he was looking at. He even recognized the Sherlock pipe. “Yes”, he answered honestly. “I know who you are. ” “Of course, you know who I am because you are with the CIA and have a file on me. Kill him!” Marcos shouted. Men with AR-15 rifles instantly stepped in to drag Jim away. “No, no” he screamed. “I am not with the CIA or the US government. I hate the fucking US government. That’s why I live in Mexico!” These remarks caused a glimmer of mild interest to appear on Marcos face. “Hold on! Let him speak”, the Commander ordered. “I only know what you look like, Commander, Sir, because I have seen your picture in the history books”, said Jim. He was trying to take Carlos’s advice and implement an “if you can’t beat them, join them” strategy. Apparently it was working because the armed guards unhanded him and moved away. Mild interest morphed into extreme curiosity on the Comandante’s countenance. This was feeding his monstrous ego and he liked it. “What history books are these?” Marcos questioned. “The underground history of North America”, Jim responded, in reference to an obscure leftist text. “Everyone in the USA knows that you are the Savior of Mexico”, he added but instantly regretted it, thinking that might have been schmooze overkill. However, it did not seem to bother Marcos in the slightest. “Is that so?” he inquired. “It’s about time that the word got out there. So you don’t work for the CIA and you hate the US government? Explain.” Jim poured his heart out with the details that he was a poor out-of- work firefighter that simply had an interest in Mayan architecture and had been caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. He did not bother elaborating on the Paranormal Productions 2012 agenda since he figured that such New Age mumbo jumbo would fall on deaf ears in the current company. “Where does your family live? How much money do they have?” were the Comandante’s next questions. James provided the information that his parents in North Carolina were going through tough financial times due to a global recession but Marcos interrupted before he could finish his statement. “Bullshit”, he said. “All Americans have money. Write your Mother’s name and address on this piece of paper.” One of the guards handed Jim a pen and paper. He seriously doubted that they would take out a hit on his Mom so he dutifully scribbled the name and address. Marcos continued, “We are going to let you live…for now! But we have to prove that we don’t fuck around! If your family doesn’t pay up though, we will kill you later so you better convince them on this video.” The words took a few moments to reach comprehension within Jim’s frazzled mind. ‘Video? What video?’ Jim thought. What the hell was he talking about? Before James could consider it any further, Marcos shouted commands at his troops. “Bring me the duct tape and the cattle prods, Ernesto. Felipe, I need the video camera.” The Comandante stared at the dumbfounded prisoner with an insane look in his eyes and burst into maniacal laughter. When this finally calmed, he screamed, “We are going to make a movie for this American’s Mommy that she will never forget!”

On the morning of June 16, 2012 (which ironically happened to be her birthday), Janice Hingley walked to her mailbox on Pine street in Cary, NC and was shocked at what she found there. The 1st class Mex Post parcel that was stamped with a Chiapas postmark provided her with the first ray of hope in a very long time that her son might still be alive. Her obstinate eldest son, James, had disappeared into the jungle over two years earlier, never to be heard from again. Never, that is, until now. She ripped into the package right there in the driveway. It contained a DVD and a small slip of yellow paper with the following words written on them in big capital letters “IF YOU EVER WANT TO SEE YOUR SON AGAIN, YOU WILL FULLY COMPLY WITH OUR DEMANDS!” Tears had already formed in her eyes, by the time she put the DVD in the player in the living room and pressed “Play”. This is what she saw- -Fade in to a wide angle shot of 6 men wearing black paramilitary attire and black ski masks. They stand side by side at military attention without moving a muscle. They each have a large black assault rifle in their arms. Suddenly, a 7th man appears on the screen. He is also dressed in black and wearing a ski mask, but unlike the others, he has a small Uzi in one hand and a large wooden tobacco pipe in the other. He stands front and center of the 6 men in an obvious position of leadership. The camera zooms in on the leader’s face. He casually takes a draw from his pipe, exhales a cloud of smoke, and begins speaking, “Hello, Miss Hingley”, he says in near perfect English with only a hint of an accent. “My name is Subcomandante Marcos and I am the head of the Zapatista Liberation Army. By now, you have probably assumed that your missing son has been dead for quite some time. The good news is that he is still alive and well. However, how long he will remain that way is entirely up to you. We have been feeding your son and keeping him alive for two years now. Please believe me when I tell you that our hospitality is reaching its end. If you follow our orders exactly, you have my assurance that he will be returned to you in a timely manner. If your cooperation is not complete and immediate, we will put a bullet between his eyes and bury him in the jungle. We hate to do this but this is often the fate of prisoners of war. I do not expect you to take my word, here is your son to explain it himself.” Marcos is seen taking another big puff from his pipe and pointing the Uzi at the camera in a threatening manner. The camera pulls away from the armed men and pans over to a different part of the room. -A wide angle shot of a hairy naked man slowly zooms in to reveal that the man has been duct taped to a steel folding chair. As the camera focuses on his face, the look of anguish on his visage becomes apparent. The man’s sickly skinny appearance, long unkempt beard and massive dreadlocks made him almost unrecognizable but his glimmering green eyes and big nose still provide some semblance of his previous identity. When he began speaking with a slight Southern twang combined with a hip West Coast accent, there was no doubt that the shell of a man was James Botwin. “Talk to your mother!” someone shouted from off camera. The camera zoomed in tightly on Jim’s face. The tears at the corners of his weary eyes revealed that he had been experiencing brutal treatment. He cleared his throat and said, “Hi, Mom. I am being held in the Lancondon Jungle by the EZLN army. They have treated me fairly until now but have decided that I will be killed if you don’t send $250,000 in unmarked US currency at once. Please comply with their demands immediately and save my life. I miss you and the family greatly and look forward to seeing you back in the States. I love you. Long live Comandante Marcos and the Zapatista Army. Death to Capitalist Pigs and the American dream!” The camera angle zoomed back and focused on Marcos again as he stepped in front of the prisoner. “Now, Miss Hingley”, he continued. “We must show you that we mean business. Call 252-903-2420 and ask for Fernando, our Carolina operative. He will make the arrangements to receive your money. If you contact the authorities, you will never see Jim again. Only when you have paid the sum in full, will your son be released.” Marcos moved aside and allowed two of the masked guards to approach the naked man in the chair. Their machine guns had been lain aside but they now had what appeared to be massive electrical cattle prods in their hands. Marcos’s distinctive voice was heard again from off camera. “Each of these lethal devices delivers a massive shock in excess of 300 volts. Let’s see how your son likes this experience .” He barked orders to the men with cattle prods. “Go ahead and shock him”, he demanded. The camera zoomed in on Jim’s emaciated upper body. One of the men stuck the long metal wand to the victim’s chest and pulled the trigger. His body writhed and spasmed in the chair for a moment. Then, he screamed in anguish. “Now let’s see how 600 volts treats your boy”, Marcos voice persisted. The two men each placed their wands on Jim’s nipples and shocked him simultaneously. “Oh God, No..No!” he shouted and spasmed harder and longer than he had from the previous shock. Drool spilled down his chin and his head fell forward, as if he did not have the strength to hold it up on his own. He sobbed and mumbled “No more, God, no” pathetically. “So I think by now you can see that we are very serious”, Marcos explained. “We do not want to kill your son, yet. So I will offer just 1 more example, which will prove that you need to pay us.” Then he said “Los huevos” to his brutal soldiers. The camera slowly panned down to Jim’s naked lower body. His flaccid penis dangled limply. Judging by the moisture on his inner thigh, the electrocution had caused him to piss himself. The camera zoomed in on Jim’s bare crotch. The two guards both put the end of their cattle prods to American’s enormous hairy testicles and squeezed the trigger. His entire body trembled violently from head to toe. He bellowed a loud scream. The level of pain was unbelievable, far exceeding anything that he had ever experienced. It was so bad, that he projectile vomited toward the camera. -The final moments of the short film focused on the Comandante’s masked face. He looked intensely into the camera as he spoke. “Miss Hingley, this is merely the beginning of what we can do to your son. If we have to make another video, it will be much, much worse. Your son claims that you don’t have much money. We do not believe him. Sell your car. Sell your house. Do whatever you have to. Call Fernando now and make this payment. Time is very short for your son. Goodbye.” The last thing seen is Marcos pointing the Uzi at the lens and puffing on his pipe. A large cloud of smoke fills the camera’s field of vision and the screen fades to black. Janine Hingley had been crying at the beginning of the DVD. By the end, she could no longer keep her fragile composure and broke down into dramatic sobs.

It took Jim quite a while to get over what he would thereafter always think of as the “cattle prod incident”. As a result of the excessive shock his genitalia had received, his testicles swelled up to the size of baseballs. His scrotum retained a large amount of fluid for several weeks. The psychological damage, however, proved to be much more enduring than any physical problems. He experienced recurrent nightmares wherein he was strapped to the steel chair again and forced to relive the brutal torture. Every time he heard someone walking by his dismal cell, his paranoid mind wondered if they were coming to give him another high voltage jolt. During the ransom video, Subcomandante Marcos had provided the assertion that if a quarter of a million dollars was not forked over immediately, James would face certain execution. This was the first time that Jim had been told that he would be killed. This news alarmed him greatly because he knew that his family did not have that kind of money. Following over two years of living in captivity, he had convinced himself that the EZLN did not want to kill him. In fact, he had even entertained notions that they might decide to train him as a soldier and utilize his size and skills as a guerilla fighter. These delusions had all been tossed out the window after the cattle prod incident. His days were numbered and he knew it. He expected every morning to be his last. Each night, before he slowly slipped into restless slumber, he thanked God that he had been granted another day of life on Planet Earth.

The lonely American had plenty of time to think over 2 ½ years of imprisonment. He looked back with sorrow at how things had ended with his ex-girlfriend Elisabeth. He wished that he had had a chance to apologize for being a drunken fool during their final days together. Alas, he could not prevent his mind from pouring over the litany of mistakes that had brought him to this sad state of affairs. He had nonchalantly bitten off way more than he could chew and had spent the last 2 ½ years choking on it. He surmised that his recent experiences in Asia had made him cocky and over confident. Less than a year prior to his departure for this trip to Southern Mexico, he and Elisabeth had gone on a five month Asian adventure together. Part of this trip had involved the culmination of a lifelong dream wherein the couple had hiked over 250 km (140 miles) during a two week trek through the Annapurna circuit in the high Himalayan mountains of Nepal. This grueling physical endeavor had led them over a 5,500 meter pass (18,000 feet) at subzero temperatures with considerable weight on their backs. Following this commendable accomplishment, both had walked away with a heightened sense of what they were capable of. James had been left with a level of exaltation after this epic journey that bordered on a sense of invincibility. Looking back on it from the tiny barren cell, he could not help equating his situation with that of the main character in “Into The Wild”, a book by Oregon journalist Jon Krakaeur, that he had read a few years earlier. The delusional protagonist of this tale ultimately perished from starvation in the Alaskan wilderness. He had entered the wilds of Alaska at the beginning of winter with little more than a big bag of rice and a low caliber .22 rifle. This confused young man had been convinced that he could survive unscathed in the wilderness because he had successfully navigated a remote river in Northern Mexico alone in a canoe. Just as one should not base their planning in Alaskan wilderness on achievements made on a Mexican canoe trip, the Lancandon Jungle is literally a world away from the Himalayas. Even though there had been some Maoist turbulence in the remote regions of Nepal while they were there, Jim and Elisabeth had not encountered malevolent armed forces on their trek. Jim had known the risks involved when he had wandered into the jungle but had hoped that his typical good luck would pull him through. As he sobbed bitter tears of regret, he knew that his chances of ever making it out alive or seeing his loved ones again hovered somewhere between slim to none.

During the months that followed the cattle prod incident, the Zapatistas treatment of their prisoner improved mildly. His meager rations were bumped to almost normal portion size. He was allowed short exercise breaks and permitted a daily stroll around the compound. Of course, he remained under close armed supervision at all times. He could tell by the way that the guards treated him that though resentment continued towards him, it was really nothing personal. He was merely a capitalist gringo that would hopefully land the EZLN a big payday. No one ever came to discuss with him whether or not the ransom had been sent. He could only assume that his family had been unable to raise the money as of yet but that the Zapatistas still had hopes that the ransom would eventually be paid. Fortunately, his captors showed no desire to implement further torture techniques during this period. It is quite ironic that sometimes in life, a very bad occurrence can somehow lead to an overall improvement. Every cloud may have its silver lining, but often one has to search very hard to find it. However, had Jim been told then that being bitten by a poisonous spider was the event that would lead to a turning of the tides, he would never have believed it.

James awoke on the floor of his miserable little cell one morning just as dawn’s light appeared in the sky. Something moving on his leg had startled him awake. Within a moment of the opening of his eyes, Jim thought ‘What the hell is on my leg?’ The sudden sharp painful bite that he experienced in the next instant all but answered the question for him. He looked down and saw a large spider about the size of a baseball on his right calf. “Fuck” he screamed and kicked at the menacing creature. The rapid movement of his body caused the arachnid to scurry across the floor and out through the small crack beneath the cell door but not before he got a good look at it. It was dark brown with short hairs all over its legs and body. He was almost positive from the momentary glimpse that it was a brown recluse. He had seen plenty of the venomous critters as a child in NC but had never been bitten by one. The bite immediately started swelling and the skin around it turned a deep purple. The pain was astounding. He felt the venom spreading out from the point where the fangs had entered and it was not a pleasant sensation. He got up, limped over to the cell door, and yelled out “Ayuda, ayuda, por favor.” Following a few minutes of screaming, a guard appeared. “Yo tengo un mordita de un arana peligroso”, Jim explained. The guard laughed and walked away. Jim was left alone to suffer. After all that he had been through, it looked as if a fucking bug might be the thing that would drive the nails into his coffin.

By the following morning, Jim’s right leg had turned completely black below the knee. It had swollen to the point that it looked more like a balloon than a leg. He realized that if he did not receive medical attention immediately, death would be imminent. He was so feverish that it felt like his brain was boiling inside his skull. The high fever also caused rather unpleasant hallucinations. Unfortunately, these consisted of imaginary spiders crawling over the floor, walls, and his body. This did little to ease his troubled state of consciousness. He yelled at the cell door for a ridiculous length of time and finally found a guard that was a bit more interested in his situation than the slouch that he had spoken with on the previous day. “Necissito un doctor horrita! (I need a doctor right now!)” he exclaimed. He tried not to get too worked up because he knew that if he did so, it would cause the venom to pulse through his veins that much faster. “Tengo un mordita peligrosa (I have a dangerous bite)” he elaborated as he pointed at the deformed and discolored leg. When the “doctor” entered the cell 45 minutes later, James was quite concerned by his appearance. He was a very old Lancondon Mayan man dressed in a white sack-like gown. There were brightly colored stones and beads hanging around his neck. Jim thought to himself that he should have known that when he called for a doctor in the middle of the jungle, they would come up with a “witchdoctor”! Regardless of the man’s questionable medical training, he sprang into immediate action when he saw Jim’s dire situation. He started by pouring a dark and bitter liquid down the patient’s throat from a hollowed out gourd. The fluid was so pungent that Jim came very close to regurgitating it but somehow forced himself to hold it down. “Que es este (What is this?)” he questioned the Mayan. “Yerbas por salud y dormir (Herbs for health and sleep)” , the old man explained. Then he applied a topical salve to the infected leg with the tender touch of a true healer. Jim noticed an immediate effect in that the extreme burning and stinging sensation that tormented him was mildly alleviated. “Muchas gracias, Senor”, he said in earnest to this generous soul. He could see the look of kindness on the man’s lined and wrinkled countenance. Evidently, there had been some opium in the bitter brew that he had swallowed because he began to feel rather floaty. Shortly thereafter, he drifted into a euphoric state of slumber. His last thought before going under was that he hoped that this concoction had not been designed to put him out of his misery forever. He would be grateful if he ever woke up again.

The first thing that Jim noticed when he finally awoke was that he was not lying on the cold concrete floor of the cell that he had come to know and despise all too well. He had no idea if he had slept for hours or days but saw that it was dark outside. He was propped up on a relatively comfortable make shift bed that was a vast improvement over the previous amenities. He groggily gazed around at the surroundings and ascertained that he had been relocated to a rustic tribal hut. A small fire crackled in the corner, creating a pleasant natural ambience throughout the room. An older indigenous lady stood by the fire and gazed intently at the red and blue sparkling hues. She was adorned in a floral print gown that Jim recognized as being the traditional style of Lancandon Mayan women. When the old lady surmised that Jim had returned to consciousness, she stepped out of the hut and spoke rapidly with someone in the Mayan Tzotzil language. The shaman/doctor that had previously treated Jim appeared a moment later and went about the process of inspecting his newly revived patient. “Como tu siente? (How do you feel?) ” he inquired of James in Spanish. “Mucho mejor (Much better) ” the weak American replied. The old curandero pulled back the blankets that covered Jim’s infected right leg so that he could take a look at the progress. Even in the dim firelight, Jim could see that the swelling had gone down considerably and that normal skin tone was returning. “Tienes vida (You have life)” the tribal elder said and smiled. “Muchas gracias para su ayuda (Thank you very much for your help)” Jim responded with profound thanks to this benevolent being. There was not a doubt in his mind that he surely would have perished without the knowledge and assistance of the herbal healer. “Donde estamos? (Where are we?)” Jim curiously questioned. He saw no armed guards or Zapatistas at all within his field of vision. He found this to be quite shocking since he had never expected to step foot outside of the EZLN compound again. “A mi casa, cerca La Realidad (At my house, near La Realidad)” the elderly gentleman responded. Before Jimmy could fire off another question, the Mayan brought a small bowl of beans over and insisted that he eat them. James happily complied due to an appetite that was most ravenous. It was going to take a lot of beans to build his strength and get him feeling anywhere near normal again.

Many days were spent idly during the long recovery process from this near death experience. On doctor’s orders, Jim remained in bed for over a week before he attempted to walk. He got to know the family that had saved his life very well over the course of his recuperation from the poisonous bite. The shaman’s name was Kayon (a Tzotzil tribal name) and his pleasant wife was introduced as Maria. Kayon continued to treat the wound topically with his herbal salve and administered two cups of the opium laced tea to his patient daily. Jim felt no pain after drinking the concoction and always found himself in a floaty euphoric state from the effects of the bitter brew. He considered the fact that the tea could lead to an addiction but ascertained that Kayon had only put a small amount of poppy scrapings into the blend. Due to the fact that Kayon had undoubtedly saved his life, Jim had total faith in the indigenous practices and therefore did not worry. His thinking was correct on the matter, as evidenced by the gradually diminishing amount of narcotic that the curandero blended into the tea. Kayon came from a family that was 100 % Mayan and had never been diluted with mestizo blood. However, he spoke Spanish as well as the Lancandon Tzotzil language fluently. In contrast, Maria conducted all of her speech in Tzotzil and seemed to know only a few basic phrases in Espanol. Kayon displayed a genuine interest in Jim’s background and the circumstances that had led to his imprisonment. The amateur Anthropologist adventurer was equally intrigued by Kayon and his ancient tribal way of life. During the course of their conversations, Jim got around to explaining his work with Paranormal Productions and the “cosmic mission” that had led to his foolhardy foray into the jungle. The shaman was the first person that Jim had spoken to about this since his incarceration had begun. He had wisely ascertained that the Zapatistas would not care to hear of his “cosmic philosophy” because they were focused on matters more worldly and pertinent. Layon, on the other hand, expressed great fascination with the American’s esoteric undertaking and was impressed that a white man could think in such a manner. It was through this unlikely circumstance that Jim acquired the first friend and confidant that he had known in a very long time. This was unquestionably the best period of Jim’s imprisonment and he began a gradual return to healthiness and even a bit of happiness. Yet there was no doubt that he was still very much a prisoner. Machine gun carrying Zapatistas arrived every day or two at Kayon’s door to check on his status. Even though he was no longer being kept in a cell or under constant armed supervision, Jim knew that his chances for a successful escape were very slim indeed. He had no idea where he was and a glance around the perimeter of the brujo’s home revealed nothing but an incredibly dense jungle without discernible landmarks. He extrapolated that if he were to make a break for it into the forest (without survival gear), 1 of 2 deplorable options would surely occur. He would either be bitten by another poisonous spider or snake or he would be recaptured by the EZLN and face certain torture. He knew that it was only a matter of time before his reprieve ended and the Zapatistas would force him to return to “La Realidad”. So he was very grateful for everyday that he had the pleasure to remain with the gentle family at the rustic hut. Thus, it was a complete surprise when Kayon announced that Jim would soon accompany the shaman on a mystic journey. Evidently, Kayon was quite influential with Marcos and the Zapatista army because he had finagled a reluctant agreement from them to allow the prisoner to take this expedition. Of course, Kayon had to swear to them that he would see to it personally that the American would not escape and would immediately be returned to La Realidad. The brujo explained all of this to Jim in solemn tones, reflecting the seriousness of the matter. James had been delighted to find out that he would be permitted to go anywhere at all with Kayon. When he discovered the location that they would be traveling to, his sense of delight shifted to one of complete astonishment. Their journey would be to the most mythic and legendary of all the Mayan pyramids, the hidden ancient city of Xiuziutecnaca!

If you’re wondering why you have never heard of Xiuziutecnaca, please allow me to explain. Due to some unique geographical features including massive surrounding canyon walls and the incredible density of the Lancondon jungle at this location, the site has never been explored by Western archaeologists. It is truly the great “lost city” of Mayan cultures. Because archaeologists have never been able to find the site, they provided the explanation that it did not really exist and was simply the stuff of legend, passed down in stories by the Mayans from generation to generation. I am here to tell you in no uncertain terms that contrary to the opinion of the scientific community, Xiuziutecnaca does exist and is everything it is said to be by the Lancondon people. In short, it is a magnificent and powerful ancient Mayan site where no white man (or mestizo) had ever set foot before. That undeniable fact was about to change with the arrival of James Botwin and the psychedelic crew known as Paranormal Productions.

The journey began in an old pick-up truck with Kanyon, Maria, James, and several other Lancondon men who rode in the back. These men had obviously been appointed to watch the prisoner like hawks and make sure that he did not attempt to run for it. Though truth be told, when Jim discovered that Xiuziutecnaca was to be their destination, escape was the last thing on his mind. The adventurer was so in awe of this mythic location that he happily went along for the ride. The miserable years had slipped away over the course of forced incarceration, thus Jim had no idea that December 2012 had arrived until Kayon informed him of the fact. As they bumped along a dirt road in the pick-up, Jim explained his desire to have his friends and family from Paranormal Productions with him at the great ceremony on December 21st. Kayon made it clear that a celestial ceremony was exactly what they were en route to at the sacred pyramids and that hundreds of other tribal people from throughout the Lancandon Jungle would also be in attendance. Kayon was a family oriented man himself so he related to his newfound friend’s desire to share the ceremonial experience with loved ones. While passing through a small town, Jim noticed a building that advertised service for “Interneta” on its rough exterior. It was with some reluctance that Kayon allowed Jim to enter and fire off a single group e mail to his crew in the USA stating that he was alive and well and that the end of the Mayan Calendar ceremony would take place as planned on Dec. 21st at Xiuziutecnaca. Kayon knew that he was likely to take some criticism from his fellow Mayans for extending an invitation to an unknown group of Americans yet he dictated the directions to the site over Jim’s shoulder as the gringo typed them into the computer. Kayon was one of the most important of all Mayan shamen elders so he knew that there was not much that his underlings could do except to bitch and complain about the apparent indiscretion. Also, he had listened to Jim espouse on the merits of Paranormal Productions so much that he genuinely wanted to meet this group of “neo-tribal Americans”. Plus, he had a trick up his sleeve that Jim was unaware of wherein through a process involving psychedelic drugs and hypnosis, he could make the foreigners forget the location of the sacred site or that they had even been there, for that matter. The electronic invitation was sent on Dec. 18, 2012, leaving the Paranormal Productions crew only 3 days to make it to the wilds of Chiapas. Jim sincerely hoped that there would be enough time for at least some of his people to travel South of the Border for this momentous event.

Xiuziutecnaca turned out to be all that Jim had imagined and then some. Following hours in the pick-up truck, hours by boat, and hours of hiking in the jungle, they arrived at this magnificent ancient city. Jim hoped that the Paranormal crew would be able to find the remote location within the depths of the jungle. The directions given to him by Kayon had been extremely specific but he knew that some of his fellow crew members often had a hard time finding their way across town. Regardless, he had done all that he could and it was in the hands of the Universe now. Fate would bring all searchers safely to the site, if it was truly their destiny. The pyramids of Xiuziutecnaca were the tallest and most impressive that Jim had ever seen. The lack of intruders had preserved the location exquisitely. Fabulous paintings and frescoes were untarnished. Golden statues of jaguars and serpents had been left unmolested. They arrived at the site two days before the solstice and there was much to be done in preparation. Firewood was chopped and gathered. A vast amount of water was hauled in from nearby streams in old clay pots. The other Mayans had been very skeptical of Jim’s presence at first, until Kayon made a public announcement that “Arroyo” was his “white son” and had come to work hence he should be treated fairly. Jim proved this point by working practically around-the-clock during the days of preparation and eventually earned respect. He helped to dig latrines, built elaborate geometrical structures, and even assisted the ladies in the kitchen, who found the white man performing “woman’s work” to be particularly amusing, if not overly helpful. Jim sampled tribal culinary delights that had been prepared by these matrons, which he found to be delicious and interesting. Some of them consisted of snakes, lizards, and insects but luckily, chicken was also a standard item on the menu. Our protagonist was delighted when on the morning of the 20th, his brother Stanley came stumbling into the lost city from the depths of the jungle with a machete in hand. He was accompanied by some other key Paranormal crew members as well. Thus the Paranormal Productions reunion was underway. When Jim saw his brother and the others standing before him, he could hardly believe his eyes. “You found it!” was all that he could think of to say. “We found you!” Stanley shouted as he ran forward and swallowed up his long lost older brother with a massive embrace.

Paranormal Productions crew members continued to arrive at the site until sun down on the 20th. The overall crew numbered almost 50 people in the States but about 10 of them had taken the initiative to make the journey to Chiapas. These included Jim’s longtime friends Sharky, Scotty, Fester, his ex-girlfriend Elisabeth, Curly and Moe Meyer. Jim was quite shocked to see his Junior High School buddy, Moe Meyer, who had never left the USA before. “Did you think that I would miss my own birthday party?” Moe questioned and gave his old buddy a hug. His Mother and Father had made the trip. When his Mom laid eyes upon him, she burst into tears and announced, “I am so sorry! We could not raise the money to pay your ransom”. “It’s okay, Mom” he told her, “we are together now. That is all that matters.” He did not have the heart to tell them that he would have to return to La Realidad after the celestial shindig was over. The Paranormal crew pitched their tents near Kayon’s family and proceeded to make merriment together. They laughed, ate and drank, and smoked ganja together. They were all so happy to see him that Jim spent most of the day being hugged by one person or another. Even with his skinny frame, long beard and dreadlocks, and a big coal sized hole burnt into his left cheek, he was a sight for sore eyes. The reunion was most joyous but all involved knew that their purpose for being there was of profound importance. Alas, the clock struck midnight and the day had finally come. A huge group of drummers pounded their instruments together with perfect primal rhythm. The shamen (Kayon included) danced and chanted by the massive bonfires. A Mayan Awakening had begun and no one could have predicted where it would ultimately lead them!

Many vats of ceremonial tea had been brewed for the occasion. The Paranormal crew was quick to discover that a variety of hallucinogenic plants were among the ingredients. A rare and powerful psychedelic mushroom that grew in the Lancandon Jungle was the most potent of these substances. This psychotropic fungus leapt onto the synapses of the cybernautic searchers with the subtlety of a freight train. Within mere moments of ingestion, the drinkers of this tea were bombarded with vibrant colors and ethereal visions unlike anything that they had ever experienced. They joined the Mayan dancers in their jubilation by the fireside. The Americans were definitely viewed as an oddity by the indigenous but they were largely ignored once the ceremony was fully underway. There was just too much other stimuli occurring for the Mayans to take much notice of their unexpected guests. The fact that they were all zonked out of their heads on the special tea also went a long way toward eliminating the previous xenophobia. They were all truly one family beneath the moon and stars on this momentous night. If the Mayans had any apocalyptic notions regarding the end of their calendar, they did not exhibit them. Instead, they shouted, danced, and rejoiced for the occasion. In addition to the drumming and chanting, there were many flutists and people playing strange stringed instruments. All of these sights and sounds combined to create the greatest spectacle that anyone present had ever witnessed. Dancers with beautiful multicolored cloth tapestries waved them like flags as they weaved through the throng of revelers. The passing of time took on that peculiar psychedelic unreal effect so that Jim could not distinguish the difference between minutes and hours. Thus he had no way of knowing how long they had been celebrating when Kayon appeared in front of Jim’s dilated eyes and emphatically stated, “Vamanos! (Let’s go!)” “Vamanos donde? (Where are we going?)” Jim curiously questioned. Kayon pointed his index finger straight up as a response. There could be no confusion as to the place that he was suggesting. His gesturing hand indicated the tallest pyramid of the complex, which stood directly in front of them. It was clear that he had only one place in mind. The moment had arrived to climb to the top of this towering pyramid. If their minds and souls were properly prepared, they would be granted a more complete understanding of the mysteries of creation than any mere mortal Earthling had ever known.

It took Jim only a matter of minutes to gather the Paranormal Productions crew and explain that their presence had been requested atop the mighty pyramid. They slowly made their way to the zenith (Jim and Sharky dragged Scotty up in his wheelchair) along with Kayon and a group of about 20 other Mayans. When they reached the top, the view that awaited them was remarkable in its beauty. They saw the hundreds of dancers and fires burning below, as well as the sparkling moon, stars, and aligned planets above. Jim realized that this astronomical alignment only occurred once every 27,000 years, so the significance of it seeped deep into his bones. He could feel the galactic harmonization beam that the Mayans had predicted would emanate from the center of the galaxy. Its magickal energy swept over them like a tingling blanket of euphoria, forcing all doubt from their minds that this experience was anything but authentic. However, none of them (at least among the Paranormal Productions crew) expected what would happen next. “Arriba, arriba! (Up, up!)” Kayon stopped chanting for a moment to exclaim. All of the other Mayan men and women continued their sacred chant as they gazed up in awe at the ever brightening sky. When Jim saw that the sky was glowing, he at first assumed that sunrise was upon them. Then he ascertained that a heavenly body was moving in their direction and appeared to be accelerating rapidly. His next thought was that all of the apocalyptic hype must be true and that Earth was about to be struck by a giant asteroid. However, as the celestial object approached, he saw that this was no asteroid. His meager mind could barely grasp the true identity of this over bearing source of light. An enormous flying silver disc (quite immeasurable in size) dropped through the sky and hovered above the sacred pyramid. Jim could barely make out the details on the surface of this fantastic ship, due to the intense light that it projected. It was made of some substance that had never been seen before by the denizens of Planet Earth. It appeared to be composed of solids, liquids, and particles of light all at the same time. Needless to say, everyone in attendance at the Mayan Awakening craned their necks as they stared upward at this beautiful chariot from another part of the Universe. Jim snuck a quick peek at the people that surrounded him atop the pyramid and saw that their smiling eager faces were all bathed in the same soft white light. Just as the question formed in his mind as to whether this could really be happening, a massive white beam was emitted from the hovering spacecraft. When that ethereal light touched his skin, he felt himself rise up through the air. The giant ship got closer and closer as the pyramid and the ground got farther away. The last sound that he ever heard on Earth was the cheering of the masses below him. Evidently, the sight of 30 people being beamed up through the air from the top of a pyramid had shocked them out of their silent awe and caused them to shout together with one jubilant voice in recognition of this mind blowing occurrence.

It took a few moments for Jim’s vision to adjust to the reality inside of the ship. Once it did, he saw that everyone who had been atop the pyramid was now on board, along with other bizarre extraterrestrial beings whose appearance defied description. He could hear the thoughts of the Paranormal crew and the Mayans inside his head. At last, he understood true extrasensory communication and would never need to use his mouth to speak again. “We did it! We made the leap!” his father projected. They looked down as Planet Earth dwindled into a tiny ball below them. The blues and greens were truly gorgeous from this perspective but they did not last long since they seemed to be moving upward with amazing speed. “Where are we going?” James projected. He could sense that many of the others were thinking the same thing. “We are going home”, Kayon answered into the group mind. “But Earth is our home” Jim projected, even though he was already doubting that fact. “Humanity was created by our family in another galaxy eons ago”, Kayon explained. “The Maya have always known that in 2012 we would have the chance to voyage home and meet our makers. To be given this opportunity is the ultimate blessing. “Jim looked around at his friends, family, and loved ones. They were all smiling and in a state of total bliss. He found that he could not help but feel the same serene sensation himself. He turned his gaze towards the panoramic window and the vastness of space that enveloped his being. “We will always have Eternity”, he thought. The crew of cosmic travelers telepathically concurred as they made their way ever deeper into the realm of infinity.

THE END – Miahuatlan, Oaxaca, Mexico 1/13/2010 Flow Baby kidzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

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