CROSS THE STRIPE – THOUSAND NAMES


portada cruza la raya

<< What can I tell them? I do not know any construction of more than seven thousand years. The wise man says fifteen … no, seventeen thousand, years! >>. Without any answer and impotent, I am left with the only thing that ignorance grants: emptiness. In the silence, discouragement and sadness begin to fall on us like an unsustainable burden, visible in their dismayed and unbelieving faces, and felt in my soul.

The wise man breaks mutism somewhat regretfully:

–It cannot be, so much work for nothing, disappeared! Our goal is to leave traces of our passage through the Earth, any detail can be decisive … –touch his earrings, and at the same time he looks at me, I think to point out that even that of which I had laughed, is important- … The purpose of our works is to leave information for the future! It may be… that part of us perishes and those that remain are persecuted. They want to make disappear most of science, the knowledge that can guide the future race, so that forgetting the origin of science forget their own origin. It cannot be, there must have been some work left! Everything will become very difficult. They will use our knowledge and our works in their own favor and for their exaltation, but everything, not… cannot disappear…

Their glances, mired in sorrow, still betraying pain, await a response that leaves in the air a hope for the future of their work. While I watch their eyes with expectant glances, fixed on mine, one of them leaves the meeting slowly and silently, leaving with his head sunk between his shoulders, with heavy movements; reveals leaving behind part of his hopes.

 

 

Shirley will be the name with which I will call the first person who communicated with me and on more occasions, patient and kind, she tried to give me valuable information; her courage and trust deserve a special thanks from me. She really reminds me of a woman of this time, that’s why I give her a feminine name.

 

 

–They have made many constructions around the earth; of great importance and difficulty –Shirley’s optimism springs up vividly; try to awaken my memories.

I glean in my memory, I try to find some referent or similarity in my scarce knowledge of ancient history, there must be something to alleviate the pain that is causing the vacuum, some detail; a spark of light that makes me remember or relate this place with familiar stories.

 

 

At that time it occurred to me to ask her what her name was since we spoke as friends but without previous presentation: although memorizing names and less in the first encounter, it is not something that happens to me as a general rule, hence the need to use the nickname: Shirley, as it is impossible for me to remember the name of the companion. In that position she diligently gave the protagonism and emphasized the name of the wise, of which I had only a vague memory: it could be something similar to Pahtahahtahath. I was not even able to pronounce it correctly in several attempts, nor with the patient help of Shirley; between the laughter of his companion, and of the same wise man, who also tried to make me reproduce those strange names, until I decided to cease the effort, and so the four of us ended up in laughter, of strange resonances; but it helped us to release the tension that the encounter and the contribution of information on their part, and the lack of data for mine, accumulated in that circle that formed such a peculiar congress.

 

 

Unusual oddities and unusual circumstances crowd together. Sounds strange to my “ear” in an unrecognizable place, with faces, clothes, aptitudes, a whole unknown world. I want to offer them a halo of hope and only find a void in the memory. The frustration that ignorance imposes faces the uneasy desire to discover the enigmatic world that I have before me, in a blind struggle, without a glimpse of the destiny to which it will lead me… << But I will not stop trying to discover what is offered to me even if I do not know why, the other reality is also like that, as here; the answers arrive after a process of assimilation and maturity >>.

 

 

Little or nothing I knew about ancient history or archeology, and as an eyewitness, I was stuck in a living document, in a magnificent construction where transcendental events took place, and all this originated me strong emotions in escalations and almost uncontrollable descents, endured, with high cost of my energy.

 

 

<< I will not continue with the names, I cannot even reproduce them, and I do not know if my memory will be able to register them. It is not a dream – I repeat to myself – this is another reality! I have to capture as many details as possible, memorize; I do not know what this means but there may be a lot at stake. If I go back to the future I will have to decipher it “I alone”. Once again I see myself on the “lonely” path of the search for myself; in one of those dreams that guide us the direction to follow, in another of the subtle crosses that make up life. And now a succession of examples that link past and future are configured in a dream, becoming the endless present >>.

Facing my thoughts flying in all directions, I observe something in the sage who draws my attention in an imperious way.

<< What object do he has between his hands? >>. When I notice my interest focused on what he holds with reverence, like a kind of small and thick book, he squeezes the object against himself, as if he showed, with a certain reserve, to be protecting something very valuable. I let the detail go by without making any comment, for fear of provoking mistrust, or coming to seem insidious for lack of diplomacy.

–Viracochas. That’s what they’re called in this area –Shirley, tenacious, tries to help me remember with names.

–Viracocha’s?

–So they call to the wises. And Viracocha to the instructor god.

I continue in the attempt to identify the names, or at least collect them in the memory to be able to identify them someday, assuming my return to the starting point, to that time that corresponds to me to live. In this moment, take shape in my mind the figure of Jesus, another man god. << Why does Viracocha remind me, an instructor god, to another teacher of the world, with the powerful repercussion that the figure of Jesus came projected into history during … almost two thousand years ago? An almost perfect place… With a god included here nearby: you cannot ask for more >>. I think it a bit incredulous as well as intrigued.

 

 

What I saw, my impressions and information, I was leaving stored by a conscious procedure, and considering that I would not have “time”, and without threshing, I just kept everything in memory. A name was authentically alive and clear in my retentive: “Viracocha”. The first time I heard him pronounce it seemed insulting to me, contemptuous of the sound similarity of the ending, “cocha” (female name in Spanish, female pig). These details helped mechanically, and relative, to set names in the memory of someone like me with great ease to forget them, in addition, his rank was that of “a god” nothing more and nothing less, how to forget it!

Another name that I did not like because of the memory he brought me was “Pacal”; it was not so long ago that I had seen a movie (American of the eighties, bad, maybe premiere on television, but I saw it until the end because we had only two channels at the time) in which the bad guy was called that. They did not seem like names to a god; but in me grew a great curiosity for him and for knowing the role and position that he occupied in that fascinating place. Another name sounded to me like kukuxklan and that’s why today I can remember “kukulcam”, which I did not like because of its sound similarity with a fanatical segregationist group.

 

 

While the Sage and Shirley repeat different names, the companion observes me attentively with candid expressivity, without blinking.

–Very far from here they know him as” Quetztzantlcoatl –or something like Shirley said. (I insist on my difficulty to assimilate these names with unknown “sounds”).

They do not remind me of any historical personality. Although the latter seems similar to a well-known Central American character, but I do not think he can be the same and I do not know enough about him, barely anything, to waste time on conjecture. At times my mind becomes entangled with time and history without letting me out, my mind is blocked and an inner storm overwhelms my emotional part and disturbs my state of mind; I sink in sadness because I cannot give a hopeful answer.

I try not to show the pain and the impotence that invades me, that mercilessly wastes my energy, and above all, I try to hide the intrigue generated by the divine character and the position that he exercises in this enigmatic place; and I question who these wise men are. << Is there always someone who directs others, supposedly inferior? I think it would be better to go tactfully to get to know something true, and especially, about someone of such high status, as Viracocha >>.

Submerged in elucidating the unknowns suspended over the group, suddenly, there is a transformation; quick crossings of looks begin; and in this, the sudden and resolute decision of the wise man.

–This will have to find out the “boss”!

Without understanding his expressive tone very well, it makes me feel like I’m a naughty girl.

<< Well, I’m not here to look for a whim; also, if this wise person is not the boss, it’s time for him to know what is happening here >>.

With ease and decision he turns on himself. Surprise me again, greatly. The wise move, without touching the ground! As at a height of four palms, literally, he leaves, flying. His black cloak snagged on the front of his neck, falling on his shoulders, waves as he moves behind him, and its reverse appears as immaculate snow; the harmonious movement of the cape reminds me of a manta ray plowing the depths of the sea. It accelerates the flight, in progression, until it reaches a lot of speed, and it disappears in the same direction that I came from.

What I just witnessed is an undeniable exhibition, made on purpose for me to contemplate. The reverse side of the cloak, like its inner tunic, is identical to the “material” of the unique model worn by the countless “spiritual technicians”: to call them in some way.

<< All this deserves the consuming effort of my energy, which I notice decreasing at times, and although the pain produced by uncertainty can corrode, I will also leave it parked for another moment, like the unsolved mysteries. How far can this go? What more can be asked of a dream that searches in memory, a faded time in the historical records!? This has to be an answer, which I may not be able to complete here; I will most likely have to link with the other reality; when I wake up. I have to remember this. Record it in memory. Remember when I wake up.

Remember. Remember … I will resist until I finish with my strength; I hope, do not wake up yet. Although, I know, that this is not a simple dream >>.

 

 

They followed and they continued arriving at my mind endless questions with such speed that definitively, did not know by which to begin. I could not with so much … But I had to be able. My ignorance could not be so great as to abandon such a book of wisdom. The experiences showed me in events more and more unsuspected, how the magic became real, visible, in a time that seemed more advanced than mine, and yet, there were thousands of years to get to the “now”.

 

 

Next chapter: SHIRLEY’S TESTIMONY

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