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#del starved to death long ago

delcat177 · 3 years

Text

Anyway I finally did what I should have done years ago and broke Canon Slapfight down into individual frames

As much as it’s an infinite loop, it was storyboarded as a linear interaction! And it’s exactly the one you’d expect!

WARNING FOR BRIGHT FLASHING GIF

ALSO WARNING FOR YARDS OF NERD RAMBLING, AT LEAST SIX SUBURBAN ONES AND A COUPLE BACK ACRES BESIDES

OG:

Ad infinitum. But who started it?

Who ALWAYS starts it? We have exactly one frame that says everything it needs to about why this is happening: Maxwell is directly misdirecting Wilson, because that’s what he does. There is a 3% chance that Maxwell’s pretending to wave to mislead him, but given all reason, I’m going with the 97% probability that the caption to this is Wilson’s response to “say pal wanna see a magic trick”, because Maxwell is bored and Wilson is gullible. It’s the foundation of their relationship, canonically, all slash mischief aside. “Nothing up my sleeve...”

...and because of that canon, the trick is faking him out to torment him, because, again, Maxwell is bored. Don’t let Maxwells get bored. They can’t help themselves.

It’s just teasing him, but since Wilson is (justifiably) on edge about maybe getting murdered after being betrayed once and dying.......more than once

he loses his chill, and even as Maxwell pulls back and looks genuinely concerned and/or at least “c’mon it’s just a joke”

he escalates the situation

"ahahahhhh...ha?”

aaand no longer bored, Maxwell goes full into the slapfight, overjoyed and triumphant (ha ha oh I made myself sad)

which Wilson leaps into with vigor, because we all, myself included, forget that he is also a smug bastard, they are both absolute manchildren, they are playground flirting fighting

There are, of course, more actual animatic frames, a lot of tweens, I think it explodes into 500+, but that’s the story here. And it’s beautiful because it is the story here. “Maxwell gets bored, Wilson reacts, Maxwell leaps on attention like Ophelia into an open grave, Wilson has to punch his smug stupid face” until the last star burns out.

That’s it. That’s my Nerds. It takes six seconds to view the full animation. It says EVERYTHING.

And behind the curtains, it says everything else.

I’m gonna take the two seconds and pat myself on the back for this being the only time I ever found Klei ARG tracks by myself, because nothing they do is without purpose, even if these two ancient thinbos are doing it. This dropped shortly after they found each other in the DST chronology, when Klei was just beginning to hint at the plot for that quantum leg of this trip, just a gif on a blank black page. If you think to check the source code...

...you find this text hidden in it...

SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! KaPOW! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! CRUnCH! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! KeR-POW! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! wHAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! CrACK! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! KeR-POW! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! BiFF! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! BANg! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! CLAnK!

...which seems like another gag until you go “why clank?” and then realize you should be reading between the lines.

I know people don’t quite get why I’m so into characters from a game where “you just run around and survive, right?”, and I give them that entirely. The magic/science of Don’t Starve is that it’s intensely story-first in drive, it just hides it all to be stumbled on by people who are running around surviving.

Anything that is arbitrary can be made into a connection. It’s a fantastic takeaway for anyone building a world. It’s important that the connections aren’t made all the time, that you pick your lode-bearing coincidences well or you’re risking pretention, but once you internalize it, you can weave remarkable things into a story.

You can come out and tell your readers, your players, your viewers, what have you, just about anything if you leave out just the right frame of perspective for viewing the context until you want them to have it.

I mean, provided you’re into the kind of misery that is thinking fifteen moves ahead at any given moment, putting the long hours into making that context matter, the writing, the problem-solving, the worldbuilding, following the arcs to their possible trajectories, having a plan of action for impact regardless of what the players in the great dramedy might do.

Where I come from, there’s a name for that kind of person.

We call them GMs.

I’m so glad ours are so clever 🦊🍵📆

ok break it up you two, remember he’s only got 80 HP, Wilson, probably bruises like a ripe peach even with your little whiff-mittens

#don't starve #don't starve together #underlining things in photoshop #photosensitive warning #gif warning #flashing lights #del starves #del starved to death long ago #tswu #fandom essay #worldbuilding #writing #Doing the Thing #whatever it may be #jeff agala #i think #xiaodanart #thanks for the gif #clambake

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agustaviolin · 3 years

Text

i am in love with you

i hate to be the bringer

of such devastating news

four and a half years

you wouldn’t believe it

i had my first in a rich neighbourhood

so far away from you

i hated it

had my second in a dorm

just like yours

only you weren’t there

same as the last four and a half years

she laid herself out like a feast

the third

but it wasn’t what i wanted

because it wasn’t with you

for whom i was made

oh, with you

into a golden universe

i am in love with you

and you found someone

before i could tell you that

that my life was made to die with yours

my body made to die with yours

on your bed, somewhere, anywhere

i walked down a hill

in that sleepy coastal city

i was on my way to weatherspoons

to meet your namesake

carrying a heavy bag after class

end of january, i had met you for the first time

and thought to myself

i have found her

it was astronomical

the refrain of the almost free

saw you walking behind that woman we both knew

you were asking her about the bible

it’s a vivid picture

i almost followed you

i had a question for you, too

a few days later

i was traversing the pavement

and upon the hill, a flicker of light

much like a cross

you were standing there

with some girls, some boys

and i was a magnet to your ism

said hi, we talked, you’d just got a new haircut

and i could’ve pressed my lips against every strand of your hair

in a sacred prelude, but i didn’t

have it in me to even tell you how beautiful you looked

better than the birth of venus

we stood there for a while

i said come ‘round the catholic church, please

there’s free lunch on sundays

it made you laugh

then you said

we ought to have a cup of tea

earl grey, your favourite

tea

and with it all the kindness of life

tea

and within me i immortalised you

i immortalise you

and i meant to tell you that

one month before we met

i met someone from your hometown

they took me ‘round the bay and i took a picture of the church

right where you grew up

the foundation was laid

for a house never built

i fell in love with the streets and the lamp posts and trains and cliffs that made you

though i didn’t know you yet

how afraid i was

that’s why i didn’t say

i didn’t know that it was okay to want you

and you were the only one

who didn’t ask where i came from

you just accepted me

and then you offered branches

a bridge between two falling stars

i didn’t understand all the lust bursting out of me

in your vicinity

so i stopped looking at you

and it only made me want you more

and i told our mutual friend

when i was drunk on cheap cider

in may when you were taken

that you must feel like silk

to an intimate observer

and as we walked into the corner shop

on wet cobblestone

i told her that i loved you

said i love her, i love her, i love her

i wonder if she ever told you that

then shame hurt me

and i stopped taking her calls

your scarf, your scarf

autumn or winter upon you

it doesn’t matter

it’s all a golden-red dream

and my nights are full of your perfect movement

your gracious hands and soul

unattainable literary ballerina

purple heart, you sent me one

when i was on the train to paddington

and in the air there was a beginning unreconstructed

you asked if i was okay

because you didn’t see me that day

i should’ve picked up the pace

should’ve told you anything

you would’ve listened

i know you would’ve listened

and lavender was your breath, your scent, your colour

and our friend tried to make plans

on that valentine’s day

plans that fell through

i didn’t know why it wasn’t our turn

but we already merged like waters

a thousand rivers ago

i can feel it

like lana del rey would say

all roads that lead to you as integral to me as arteries

i remember you in your leather jacket

when you sat next to me with a cough

i wanted to nurse you back to health

then we’d sleep inside each other

that’s what freedom would’ve meant

and i saw you in the half-light, perfect under blue skies

at 2 pm in june

fate was still trying to patch it up

bare-faced, you were the last living rose

i restrained myself from hoping

i was slate-grey inside

leaving for the counterfeit summer

you were with somebody then

somebody bolder, somebody to break you, another

it was the last time that i saw you

tried to get back in touch

tried to tell you about it

i never had the words, i’m sorry

and i know i act like we’re close

but trust me, i know

i know it when i see it

and i haven’t seen it since

and maybe you never saw me for who i am

for i was traumatised

i couldn’t be myself

i hope you see me now

i know you want immortality

you wear it like a pearl

the designation to be

remembered by the halls of time

well, that i could’ve given you

i wrote a book of poetry about you

in my mother tongue

it will be published soon

even though they rejected it at first

i wrote three hundred songs about you

at the very least

covered all of my canvases

in colours to beckon you

fixed your name into these walls

at night, when i required you

and that’s when i wanted to ask

never had the chance

but i wanted to ask

is it wrong if the only thing

i want to wear for you

is my skin?

i believe in letters

that’s why i’m telling you this

if you ever ask, like oliver did

whenever i watch that film

i think of you and what could’ve been

my childhood was a prison cage

and i get by in reykjavík these days

without any substances

i don’t know how i get by

there’s a man who watches over me

and still i am alone

i practice my violin four hours per day

and i don’t have any family

and everybody wants to know me

and everybody wants to love me

and everybody wants to fuck me

but some days i feel like i can’t move

i’m blooming, i’m barely living

and i am just as much a man

as i am anything else

and i am starved

to the bone

of you

of every atom in you

it is my calling

to reach into your depths, somehow

i’m twenty-four

i can’t remember your birthday

but something tells me it’s in the pulp of summer

not at the death of it like mine

and time isn’t linear

but i will still need you tomorrow

a habit fastened into me

throughout a thousand days

i didn’t know my name for years

on this frozen island

i couldn’t stand

and then they burned my heart

with a catheter, you know

i had nobody to hold

i was so sick

made my peace with dying young

and living slow

an undue burden

on a life never begun

a wasted garden

strong and alone

i’m doing better now

i was in london

when i almost died

around midnight

it stopped beating

i thought about you every day

and i tried

in my way

it’s okay, it’s okay

i play my violin

and something great awaits me

and nothing measures up

to the idea of you

and it’s not just an idea

but a tangible memory

it’s so simple

it’s scripture

no, i’m not religious

but maybe there’s some merit to it

for it brought me you

they don’t know who you are

and i’ll never tell them

only you know who you are

i heard about the shooting

i might understand what led him to do it

he just needed someone to love

i am in love with you

i don’t know why

i just am

it’s pathetic and strange

but maybe it’s what you’ve been waiting for

all this ever-changing time

it’s taken me long enough

i am in love with you

this is my verdict, my promise

this is all i can say

#poetry #lesbian poem #lesbian poetry #queer poetry #love confessions #confession #i love you poem #Sapphic Poetry #sapphic poem #sapphism #sapphic

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ocean-blue-whump · 2 years

Note

🗝: Handler Dennison, how do you feel about the fact Levi took your precious boy? Do you honestly feel like you could have treated Dex- I mean 497 better? I mean, you did brainwash him after all….

Handler Dennison looks older today. Stress wrinkles have settled in around his eyes, his eyes themselves are glassy. "It's not about Levi," he says, slightly uncertain. "I know my boy...479 would eventually have to leave me. But to Levi Katz?" Dennison shakes his head. "He's an asshole. All of that about making 479 skinnier, it's not right. It's not. There's something messed up going on there. He was obsessed with making sure 479 looked like he was 18 instead of 21. He made us laser all the hair off my boy's body, except for eyebrows and top of his head. That's not right."

Dennison sighs. "Or maybe it wasn't about Levi at all. The truth? I would have found something wrong with every single prospective that wanted 479."

"And the other truth? I don't want to work for WRU anymore."

He's started smoking; he brings his cigarette to his lips and the smoke curls around his head. "I regret it. When I found Dax Del Mar in that bar however long ago that was, I shouldn't have told him. I shouldn't have told him I was a handler. He was so pretty, he looked like a fucking angel blown out on drugs. I knew if I offered to make him a pet, he'd take it and he'd call me and I'd knock all of Dax Del Mar out of his head."

Dennison taps his foot against the floor. "I should have taken away his drink and gotten him in my car, taken him back to my apartment. I should have waited for him to sober up. I would have let him sleep, and the next morning, while I waited, I should have resigned from WRU after being so disgusted with myself over thinking about manipulating a drug-addicted kid into selling himself over. When he woke up, I would have made him some bacon and toast and told him that nothing happened last night between us, but I want something to happen when he was sober, so would he please go on a date with me?"

"That's what I should have done. And even if it was too late, I should have bought him myself. I could have even renamed him Dax." He laughs with no real joy behind it. "I'll see him again. But it'll be in a body bag, because Levi Katz is going to starve my beautiful boy to death."

[Send 🗝 to force my muse to talk about a topic they never want to speak of]

#ask and you shall receive #dennison asks #thank you i had fun with this #drugs tw

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purplesurveys · 3 years

Text

1240

Are you better at cooking dinners or making cakes/biscuits/sweets? I can’t make any dish. I wonder when I’ll get my ass up and start learning...

Have you ever cut someone else’s hair? I wouldn’t dare; I have no skills in that department at all.

Who was the last guest in your house and what were they staying for? Angela and Hans came over so we can watch Sowoozoo.

How many long term relationships have you been in? One.

Do you sleep with all the lights out, or do you leave a lamp or even the television on? My default is lights out, but sometimes I’ll fall asleep with my night lamp still on and that’s fine too.

Who is one person you have forgiven, but still have not “forgotten” what they have done? I don’t really do forgiving.

Are you a fan of Lana Del Rey? No. I’ve tried listening to her songs but I find them too slow for my liking.

Do you know your blood type? It’s O but I keep forgetting what specific type.

Do you know your mother’s birthday? Yes.

Have you got your period at the moment? It’s on its last few days.

Have you ever been pregnant? Nopes.

How old were you when you first went on a plane? I was around 10 or 11, can’t remember exactly. But it was in 2009 and we headed to Boracay.

Have you ever had to take out a loan for anything? No. OMG, adult activity I don’t quite understand just yet hfdhfkdjfhdf.

Are both of your blood parents still in your life? Yeah they’re both grumbling right now just outside of my room because the power went out lmfao.

When was the last time you went apple picking? I’ve never done this. Apples don’t grow here.

Someone asked you what you wanted, what would you say? My pay for the last two weeks haha, but that’s not coming until Friday.

Have you ever been drunk at school or work? No, I wouldn’t dare. I’m pretty unpredictable when I get drunk, so I’d rather stay safe haha. I’ve worked while tipsy, but it had been outside of work hours.

How many bedrooms are in your house? 4. One for each kid, then my parents’.

Are you smart about computers? Nah.

Have you ever played Just Dance for Wii? We didn’t have the game on our Wii, but I’ve played Just Dance before, just at other peoples’ houses.

Do you own a Xbox 360? We were a Playstation household.

Would you ever do a sex tape for a million dollars? Erm, sure, whatever.

So, do you need a nap? I think I should be taking one for the sake of my health, but I won’t.

What would you rather be doing? I stumbled upon a Facebook post of this newly-opened store in Greenhills that exclusively sells photocards and I wanna head the fuck over there rn with Angela. That store concept is practically unheard of so it’s a big deal and I wanna go there as I’m 100% sure the BTS ones would sell out pretty fast. But they heightened the stupid COVID protocols yet again and we have to stay at home, so there’s that.

What sport are you the best at? Table tennis.

Do you have a little sister? What’s her name? Yeah but she’s turning 21 this year, so little wouldn’t be accurate anymore. We call her Nina at home but everyone else calls her by her full first name, Janina.

Do you complain a lot? I do complain a lot but I also do the thing that is causing the complaint right after so I can shut myself up lmao.

Would you rather go to an authentic haunted house or an ancient temple? Both sound fun but I’ll probably take the temple. Yay for learning something new about culture!!

Do you like fruity or minty gum? I don’t mind flavor when it comes to gum because they fade out anyway.

Are you looking forward to any day of this month? My company set another mental health break day this upcoming August 27th, so I’ll be thinking about that day throughout the month.

Have you ever gotten detention? We don’t have detention.

Is there a traumatic event that you’ve experienced that’s changed your life? Sure.

Do you buy a majority of your clothes from a certain store, or do you just pick out items of clothing you could see yourself wearing, not caring about the store it came from? The latter. < Same. I can be brand-conscious sometimes, but generally if I find something cute, regardless from where I found it, I’d grab it.

Have any of the artists you’re fond of released new albums recently? Technically yeah. It was a single album.

Would you ever keep your favorite animal as a pet? I already have two of them.

Ever cried so much you threw up? Possibly.

Who is your best guy friend? Hans.

What do you two do when you hang out? We usually eat out and have a drink or two.

What is a movie that you thought you would hate but you ended up loving? Spotlight, just because it looked boring at first glance. It turned out to be very riveting and the screenplay was fascinating as well.

Do you even like horror movies? Yes, but they’re best watched with other people.

Do you live in the country? Nopes.

What is your favorite accent? I don’t have one.

Have you ever had a boyfriend your parents didn’t like? No.

Do you drink Pepsi or Coke? I had the chance to try out Pepsi when we went to Taco Bell two weeks ago - it was my first time to have it and it was...actually pretty good??? The soda-hater in me was scandalized HAHAHA but it was good!!! I think I prefer Pepsi now.

What do you plan to do on your 21st birthday? My 21st birthday started out terribly because Gabie’s family didn’t want her to hang out with me on a Sunday (the day my birthday fell on), so we were in an argument the whole day. Angela saved the day when she planned out an impromptu dinner + arcade date for me, and that was the only good part of the day, really. I’d rather forget the rest of it.

Do you have any person in your family with an addiction to beer? I don’t think so.

Do you take a lot of pictures? I’m starting to, now.

What kind of face wash do you use? Good ol’ water.

Does drama always seem to follow you? Not these days.

Does anybody in your family race? Nope.

Are you closer to your mom or dad? Dad, I guess. But I wouldn’t particularly call myself ‘close’ with either.

How much money did you used to get from the ”tooth fairy?” I never received money from them.

How long do you want to live with your parents? Maybe up until my mid-20s? Late-20s at the latest. I’m not exactly in the position to move out yet. The money I make at the moment would probably just be enough to cover rent, and just rent. I’d end up starving to death hahaha.

Do you have a laptop or desktop? Laptop.

Do you like your parents? Sure.

Do you secretly like someone? I don’t.

Would you ever date your best male friend? No. I also wouldn’t do that to Angela.

What are you currently listening to? Moon by Jin! Such a comfort song.

Do you want to be single? Yes.

Did you go out or stay in last night? I stayed in and was knocked out pretty early since I had been up since 1 AM.

Have you pretended to like someone? No. I don’t see why I would have to that.

How is your heart lately? Just filled with nothing but Bangtan at this point haha. It’s doing well!

Are you wearing socks? No. Socks bother me for the most part; they make my feet feel a bit suffocated.

What do people call you? Robyn.

Do you get stressed out easily? Yeah, I’m quite the overthinker.

Have you ever been taken to the emergency room in an ambulance? No, I’ve never actually been inside an ambulance, whether it came for me or for another person.

What is wrong with you right now? I should probably cut back on the vaping, for one.

Do you own something from Hot Topic? No.

Would you rather sleep with someone else or alone? It’s hard for me to sleep with someone else. Even when I had been in a relationship, I usually only got to fall asleep an hour or so after my partner already dozed off.

Do you still talk to the person you last made out with? No, I cut ties at the start of the year and have been substantially better since then.

Have you ever seen your best friend cry? I honestly don’t think so. I’m the bigger crybaby between us.

Did you get any compliments today? My mom thanked me for covering for Cooper’s shots today since they ended up being quite costly.

Have you ever gone to a beach? Yes, it’s one of my absolute favorite places to be.

What would you say if someone asked you to get high right now? Pass up on the offer.

Do you believe that everything happens for a reason? Yes.

Have you ever done volunteer work just because you wanted to? I’ve never had the ample time to, so no. I’ve always wanted to volunteer at an animal shelter, though.

Do you have long nails? They’re not dramatically long, but they have started to grow out.

Do you like the gender you are? I don't like or dislike it, honestly. I'm just neutral. < Same.

Do you generally look nice in photos? I think this is the case these days, yeah. I’ve started feeling more confident and I think it’s able to translate in photos.

Have you ever had a stick insect as a pet? No.

What colour are your father’s eyes? Dark brown.

If I handed you a concert ticket right now, who would you want to be the performer? BTS DUH

Name three facts about your family? I come from a family of lawyers; many of us are big history buffs; and many are also fantastic cooks so I don’t know where that talent could have possibly gone when it come to my generation hah.

Would you ever get into a long distance relationship? If I’ve reached a certain level of investment in the relationship, I could probably handle it.

What’s the most thoughtful present you’ve ever received? A Punk shirt and Petals For Armor physical CD from Andi this last Christmas.

What’s your favorite hot beverage? Hot chocolate. < Yessssss!

Did you ever play an instrument? If so what? I don’t.

Would you rather carve pumpkins or wrap presents? Carving pumpkins sounds fun, especially since I haven’t tried it before.

Do you think you’re important? Idk. I don’t really like drawing attention to myself though, so that could probably answer your question.

What’s the best compliment you’ve ever received? Andi wrote a letter for me to accompany the aforementioned Christmas gifts they gave, and it remains to be my favorite letter I’ve received. They essentially reminded and affirmed me that I’m stronger than I think I am, and that I’ve been through a lot and have grown a lot, and that that growth is seen by people around me.

Have you been diagnosed with any mental disorders? No.

Have you ever moved to another state or country? If so, how did it feel to be new? Just to different cities, but considering how tiny my country is, the move is quite insignificant lol.

Do you know how to properly eat food with chopsticks? I’m 100% sure I don’t know how to properly hold chopsticks, but I have my own way and it works lol. Fake it til you make it.

Are you more of a leader or a follower? Definitely a follower, but I can step up in certain situations. < Same. I don’t mind leading, especially considering the control freak I can be lolol.

What was the first thing you ate today? I haven’t eaten anything today. I skipped breakfast since I brought Cooper to the vet, and by the time I got back the dining table had already been cleared. It’s fine though, I don’t feel too hungry.

If you could spend the day, doing absolutely anything, with anyone, anywhere, what would it be like? I’d be with Angela, Reena, and Hans at that insane new photocard store I talked about earlier. IDEALLY, we’d probably pick up a photocard or two if the ones we want aren’t sold out yet (lol a rarity), then we’d have some nachos and stuff right after and just talk about all things Bangtan lol with Hans cracking us up the whole time since he is just naturally hilarious.

If I were to ask you how you are doing, and you were only able to answer completely honestly, what would come out? Content. Happy. I feel warm and loved and surrounded by the best people.

What is the one thing that you have been avoiding that you should do? Learning how to cook is one.

Is there anything that you wish you could take back? Not really.

What, in your mind, could make you truly happy? Being in the purple ocean with my best friends.

If you could change one conversation in your life, what would you say differently? Would it have REALLY made any difference? A part of me wishes my final face-to-face conversation with Gabie had been a more solid closure, just so we could finally put a hard stop to that chapter. But at that time I thought we would continue talking, so there had still been some stuff lingering in the air when we called it a day and parted ways. So in a sense we never really got closure when I finally cut ties, which the ESTJ in me remains to be nagged by, but I try not to be bothered by it anymore considering how much better I am doing right now. We didn’t know the future at the time, so it’s okay the way things turned out, ultimately.

When is the next time you’ll change your hairstyle? Will you color it? I have no clue. It’s not really a priority.

Do people normally say you’re a fast typist, or are you rather slow? I’m fast.

Have you ever been considered the ‘smartest person in school?’ Nah.

How many drugs are in your system? Just caffeine.

What’s on your schedule for tomorrow? Werkwerkwerkwerk.

Do you currently have any bite marks/hickeys on your body? Nopes.

Do you call anyone baby? I don’t.

What’s your current mood? I’m prety neutral. I wish I could be out right now, but stupid Covid and stupid quarantine. But I don’t really mind staying at home, either, so. I’m just so-so.

Do you think you are a good person? I hope so.

What were you doing before filling out this survey? I watched Sunday mass with my family.

How late did you stay up last night? Around midnight.

When was the last time you cried really hard? I cried just a few days ago because period hormones, but the last time I cried hard? I’m not sure. April maybe?

Is your hair longer than your shoulders? LOL yes it’s soooooooo long already.

#survey #surveys

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a-dinosaur-a-day · 5 years

Text

Bucorvus

Southern Ground Hornbill by Neil McIntosh, CC BY 2.0

Etymology: Hornbill Crow

First Described By: Lesson, 1830

Classification: Dinosauromorpha, Dinosauriformes, Dracohors, Dinosauria, Saurischia, Eusaurischia, Theropoda, Neotheropoda, Averostra, Tetanurae, Orionides, Avetheropoda, Coelurosauria, Tyrannoraptora, Maniraptoromorpha, Maniraptoriformes, Maniraptora, Pennaraptora, Paraves, Eumaniraptora, Averaptora, Avialae, Euavialae, Avebrevicauda, Pygostaylia, Ornithothoraces, Euornithes, Ornithuromorpha, Ornithurae, Neornithes, Neognathae, Neoaves, Inopinaves, Telluraves, Afroaves, Coraciimorphae, Cavitaves, Eucavitaves, Picocoraciae, Bucerotiformes, Buceroti, Bucorvidae

Referred Species: B. brailloni, B. leadbeateri (Southern Ground Hornbill), B. abyssinicus (Abyssinian/Northern Ground Hornbill)

Status: Extinct - Extant, Vulnerable

Time and Place: From about 12 million years ago, in the Serravallian of the Miocene, through today

Ground Hornbills are known from across the entire African continent

Physical Description: Ground Hornbills are truly impressive living dinosaurs, large in body and bulky in form. They can reach up to 100 centimeters in length, weighing as much as 6 kilograms. They are black over most of their bodies (leading to their being named for crows and ravens, which they are not closely related to at all), with grey legs and grey bills. They also have grey crests on the tops of their heads. Their heads feature bright coloration which is distinguished from the rest of the body - red patches, blue patches, yellow bits, and wattles, which vary from species to species. The undersides of their wings are white, and they have short and thin tails. Called hornbills for their very large, pointed beaks, these bills make up a major chunk of their heads. They also, interestingly enough, have eyelashes on their eyes to aid in protecting them. The juveniles are somewhat brown, and they become more black in color as they age.

Northern Ground Hornbills by Rod Waddington, CC BY-SA 2.0

Diet: Ground Hornbills primarily feed upon arthropods such as insects, spiders, and scorpions. They also feed upon other invertebrates like snails, and larger prey such as snakes, lizards, small mammals, and carrion. Though they have been recorded feeding upon berries, they are primarily carnivorous.

Southern Ground Hornbill by Francesco Veronesi, CC BY-SA 2.0

Behavior: Ground Hornbills are extremely fascinating creatures, able to fly but spending most of their time on the ground searching for sources of food. They will move slowly and carefully, searching around for prey that then is picked up with their large bill, very carefully and in a picky fashion from the ground. They forage in small groups - with a mate, or with their offspring. They rarely gather in large groups, usually only when food is especially abundant. They’ll even dig into the ground or poop looking for food. When large prey is found, groups will gather and attack it together, dismembering it as a team. These are extremely vocal birds, making low-pitched hoots at each other often at two different pitches. They will make softer hoots when snuggling with each other, and deep alarm grunts. They are often known to call for long periods of time. They do not migrate, but do wander about; juveniles will stay where their parents lived for many years.

Northern Ground Hornbill by Sakari A. Maaranen, CC BY 3.0

The Ground Hornbills are cooperative breeders - the dominant pair will be assisted by juvenile and younger adult helpers, all defending the nesting territory fiercely. Males will prepare their nests in large tree cavities, sometimes in rock holes or baskets - they will line the hole with dry leaves, and not seal the entrance. Two to three eggs are laid and incubated for two months by the dominant female of the group. Upon hatching, the group members will feed the babies together, but usually the second or third eggs don’t survive - either the eggs don’t hatch, or the chicks starve to death. The chicks stay in the nest for three more months, and the juveniles stick with their families for a little while after hatching. They tend to reach sexual maturity between six and seven, but they don’t usually breed for the first time until later. They also tend to breed only once every three years - a rarity for birds. The birds can live for a very long time - in captivity, they’ve been seen living for up to 40 years.

Southern Ground Hornbill by Lip Kee, CC BY-SA 2.0

Ecosystem: Ground Hornbills live in a variety of habitats, across woodland and savanna, as well as grassland patches. The Southern Ground Hornbills live in more moist habitats than the Northern Ground Hornbills. They are often fed upon by large carnivores such as leopards, and can be a host for a wide variety of parasites and diseases.

Northern Ground Hornbill by Bernard Dupont, CC BY-SA 2.0

Other: All living Ground Hornbills are recorded as being vulnerable to extinction at this time. Despite being extremely widespread, they are sparse across their range. This sparseness makes it harder for them to find others of their species and mate with them. They are often hunted and killed, or even murdered as a bringer of bad luck in some cultures. Ground Hornbills also break window panes and are killed for that, in addition to being killed for being a harbinger of drought. Habitat loss also greatly contributes to their decline in population. They do live in several national parks, and there are conservation efforts to aid in its reproduction, using the abandoned eggs to raise more of the birds. Reintroduction, however, is more difficult than anticipated.

Southern Ground Hornbill by Derek Keats, CC BY 2.0

Species Differences: The Northern Ground-Hornbill is known from Central Africa, and features blue patches on its face with a yellow bit in the front. Males have red additions to their throat wattles. The Southern Ground-Hornbill, on the other hand, is all red, with no yellow or blue to be found. They are also found in southern Africa. In addition to all of this, the Northern Ground-Hornbill is somewhat lighter in weight than the Southern Ground-Hornbill. The extinct species, B. brailloni, was from much more north - in Morocco - and was much older, as well as a little smaller, than its living relatives.

Northern Ground Hornbill by Noel Reynolds, CC BY 2.0

~ By Meig Dickson

Sources under the Cut

Gill, Frank; Donsker, David, eds. (2019). "Mousebirds, Cuckoo Roller, trogons, hoopoes, hornbills". World Bird List Version 9.2. International Ornithologists' Union. Retrieved 23 July 2019.

Gonzalez, J.-C.T.; Sheldon, B.C.; Collar, N.J.; Tobias, J.A. (2013). "A comprehensive molecular phylogeny for the hornbills (Aves: Bucerotidae)". Molecular Phylogenetics and Evolution. 67 (2): 468–483.

Jobling, James A. (2010). The Helm Dictionary of Scientific Bird Names. London: Christopher Helm. p. 80.

Kemp, A. C. 1995. The Hornbills. Oxford University Press, Oxford.

Kemp, A.C. & Boesman, P. (2019). Northern Ground-hornbill (Bucorvus abyssinicus). In: del Hoyo, J., Elliott, A., Sargatal, J., Christie, D.A. & de Juana, E. (eds.). Handbook of the Birds of the World Alive. Lynx Edicions, Barcelona.

Kemp, A.C. & Boesman, P. (2019). Southern Ground-hornbill (Bucorvus leadbeateri). In: del Hoyo, J., Elliott, A., Sargatal, J., Christie, D.A. & de Juana, E. (eds.). Handbook of the Birds of the World Alive. Lynx Edicions, Barcelona.

Kinnaird Margaret F. and O‘Brien, Timothy G.; The Ecology and Conservation of Asian Hornbills: Farmers of the Forest; pp. 20-23.

Lesson, René (1830). Traité d'Ornithologie, ou Tableau Méthodique (in French). Paris: F.G. Levrault. p. 256

Peters, James Lee, ed. (1945). Check-list of Birds of the World. Volume 5. Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press. p. 272.

Skutch; Alexander Frank (author) and Gardner, Dana (illustrator) Helpers at birds' nests : a worldwide survey of cooperative breeding and related behavior pp. 69-71. Published 1987 by University of Iowa Press.

Wasser, D. E. and Sherman, P.W.; “Avian longevities and their interpretation under evolutionary theories of senescence” in Journal of Zoology 2 November 2009

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script-a-world · 5 years

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Hey I have a question about creating countries that are made up of islands, but not have seafood as a staple and vegetarianism is the norm among religious adherents and even among common people vegetarianism isn't unheard of. How can that make sense?

Tex: I don’t know how far back you want to look in order to find an island culture that doesn’t eat seafood or any other type of meat, but for the sake of context I’ll be throwing some darts around the map and see what island cultures typically eat.

I’ll start with Pacific Islanders and list a few of the cultures from the Pacific Ocean:

Polynesian region, composed of peoples such as the Samoans, Māori, Tahitians, Native Hawaiians, and Tongans

Micronesian region, composed of peoples such as the Carolinians, Chamorros, Chuukese, and Nauruans

Melanesian region, composed of peoples such as the Papuans, Moluccans, the Austronesian descendants in Vanuatu, and at a stretch the Torres Strait Islanders of Australia

These groups are roughly divided into two ethnolinguistic groups: the Austronesian peoples who speak Oceanic languages, and the Papuan peoples who speak the Papuan languages. For the most part, both groups are from Southeast Asia (the Papuan first wave was from the Malay Archipelago), and their linguistic origins reflect that.

It should be noted that none of these people ultimately originated from these island regions - they all came from part of a continent that was close to the Pacific Ocean. Ye olde ages ago did their ancestors decide to strike out and immigrate to new areas, and their diet adapted accordingly. Religions that ban the eating of things like shellfish and animals are a comparatively recent phenomenon, because it meant abstaining from an easily-accessible food source.

I’m going to momentarily branch off and list some island cultures of the Atlantic Ocean so my examples are a little more balanced:

Northern: Faroe Islands (Danish, sort of), Iceland, Baffin Island (Canada)

Eastern: Azores (Portugal), Canary Islands (Spain), Madeira (Portugal), São Tomé and Príncipe (Gulf of Guinea)

Western: Barbados of the Lesser Antilles, Prince Edward Island (Canada, a traditional island of the Miꞌkmaq), and Cuba (native lands of the Guanahatabey, Taíno, and Ciboney)

Antarctic region: Tierra del Fuego (Chile, native land to the Yaghan),

Many of these islands were close to nearby continents, and often traded with each other for resources, so there is cultural precedent of eating things other than marine life. A couple examples would be the Taíno, and the Kalinago peoples, both of whom originate from South America. The Yaghan “traveled by canoes between islands to collect food: the men hunted sea lions, while the women dove to collect shellfish”, so still ate some form of meat.

For a couple of Atlantic island examples that did not have indigenous people: the sailors who visited Ascension Island hunted the local birds and turtles for food, and those whole lived on Saint Helena imported livestock, fruit trees, and vegetables for the purpose of colonization.

Many, if not all, of these Atlantic islanders also ate meat of some sort, be it livestock from a continent, birds, fish, or shellfish. Historically speaking, meat of any sort was a cheaply-obtained food in terms of net caloric gain compared to net calories spent obtaining said food.

While the over-consumption of anything is bad, and red meats in particular are often touted as lending an increased risk for cardiovascular diseases - which a 2016 meta-analysis noted frequently occurred with a lifestyle risk factor (Citation 1) - red meat in moderation is fairly healthy (Citation 2, Citation 3). There is evidence that diet affects the activation of different alleles (phys.org), which is indicative of a population’s change toward agriculture (Citation 4), though in particular an overconsumption of carbohydrates can result in metabolic inflammation and obesity (ScienceDaily).

Humans are omnivorous by default, and require 20 amino acids in order to be healthy. The nine that the human body cannot produce must be consumed from an outside source - MedicalNewsToday does an excellent job of breaking this down and informing readers of viable sources of each of these essential amino acids. Unfortunately for those who might have abstained from meat before the invention of supplements, the healthiest diet for them was made with the addition of dairy products (Citation 5, eggs (The Incredible Egg, Citation 6), and fish (Seafood Health Facts 1, Seafood Health Facts 2, Citation 7)

As I don’t know the level of technology your countries, I cannot make the assumption that non-meat amino acids can be created and distributed to your populace in a relatively inexpensive manner. The nutrient density of meat vs non-meat foods is debatable (Citation 8), so I would hesitate to forgo meat entirely in a culture without some reason as to why an otherwise viable source of nutrition cannot be used.

Human nutrition is plainly a complex topic with many sub-specialities, and would take any one of us a very long time to adequately explain even a portion of it, especially in conjunction with anthropological factors such as geographic origin and developed cultural norms. I’ve added some more things to peruse in the Further Reading section below, but please be aware that all of this only starts to scratch the surface of what you’ve asked. If you would like to return with more precise questions, we’d be more than happy to try answering them.

Citations

PDF - Song M, Fung TT, Hu FB, et al. Association of Animal and Plant Protein Intake With All-Cause and Cause-Specific Mortality. JAMA Intern Med. 2016;176(10):1453–1463. doi:10.1001/jamainternmed.2016.4182

PDF - McAfee, Alison J., et al. "Red meat consumption: An overview of the risks and benefits." Meat science 84.1 (2010): 1-13.

PDF - Wyness, Laura. "The role of red meat in the diet: nutrition and health benefits." Proceedings of the Nutrition Society 75.3 (2016): 227-232.

PDF - Ye, Kaixiong, et al. "Dietary adaptation of FADS genes in Europe varied across time and geography." Nature ecology & evolution 1.7 (2017): 0167.

PDF - Rafiq, Saima et al. “Chemical Composition, Nitrogen Fractions and Amino Acids Profile of Milk from Different Animal Species.” Asian-Australasian journal of animal sciences vol. 29,7 (2015): 1022-8. doi:10.5713/ajas.15.0452

PDF - Hoffman, Jay R., and Michael J. Falvo. "Protein–which is best?." Journal of sports science & medicine 3.3 (2004): 118.

PDF - Ralston, Nicholas VC. "Selenium health benefit values as seafood safety criteria." EcoHealth 5.4 (2008): 442-455.

PDF - Bohrer, Benjamin M. "Nutrient density and nutritional value of meat products and non-meat foods high in protein." Trends in food science & technology 65 (2017): 103-112.

Further reading:

Vertical Ethiopia, Climbing Toward Possibility in the Horn of Africa

Shackleton’s Route, South Georgia Island, South Atlantic/Antarctica

Biggest danger: exposure, crevasses and a very remote location

In the footsteps of legends on South Georgia Island

On 20th May 1916, Sir Ernest Shackleton and two others stumbled into the whaling station on South Georgia Island, starving, exhausted and suffering from extreme exposure. They had just made the first ever crossing of South Georgia Island. Shackleton and his team’s classic story of survival has come to symbolise this period of heroic Antarctic exploration.

Today, guided expeditions retrace one of the most dangerous hikes in the world traversing this treacherous, windswept and mountainous remote island. The trek comes in the form of a “self-contained” expedition where clients must carry their own clothing, food, fuel and tents. No sherpas here!

Further reading: Endurance: Shackleton’s Incredible Voyage

Darién Gap, Panama and Colombia

Biggest danger: unmapped jungle, threat of kidnap and poisonous flora and fauna

Unmapped: the Darién Gap is between 100km and 160km (60-100 miles)

Explorers have always been drawn to the Darién Gap, but the results have mostly been disastrous. The wild tropical forest has defeated travellers for centuries.

Stretching from Alaska to the end of the world in Argentina, the 48,000km (29,800mi) Pan-American Highway holds the record for the world’s longest drive-able road. However, there is a gap in the road where Panama meets Colombia. The gap is between 100km and 160km (60-100 miles) and there is no easy way through. You can take the ferry around it or… you could hike it. But you’ll probably die.

The route is often used for drug and people trafficking and the FARC rebels of Colombia were once active in the region (and possibly still are). The area is also home to some pretty unpleasant wildlife including the poisonous Panamanian golden frog, lethal jungle scorpions and the rather unpleasant black palm tree.

Further reading:

Crossing the Darien Gap: A Daring Journey Through a Forbidding and Enchanting and Roadless Jungle That Is the Only Link by Land Between North America and South America

The Maze, USA

Biggest danger: flash floods, rock falls and disorientation

The Maze in Utah is prone to flash floods

Canyonlands National Park in Utah is home to the rocky labyrinth known as the Maze, the least accessible district of the popular national park. The jumble of colourful canyons are rugged, deep and very easy to get lost in. GPS is often unreliable and the area is prone to flash floods and rock falls – think canyoneer Aron Ralston depicted in the movie 127 Hours. If you’re going, take a penknife with you. Ouch!

Further reading:

Between a Rock and a Hard Place

Mount Hua Shan, China

Biggest danger: rickety wooden platforms, vertical stairways and tricky handholds

It’s estimated that Mount Hua Shan claims 100 lives per year

The western mountain of the Five Great Mountains of China has a long history of religious significance… and death. There are no official statistics on fatalities on Mount Hua Shan, but it has been estimated that the mountain claims around 100 lives per year! The trails up to the highest point of South Peak at 2,154m (7,000ft) involve steep stairways, vertical ascents and “trails” consisting of wooden platforms bolted onto the mountainside.

Further reading:

Celestial Realm: The Yellow Mountains of China

Snowman Trek, Bhutan

Biggest danger: capricious weather, extreme cold and altitude sickness

Gangkhar summit in Bhutan as seen from the Snowman Trek

This is one of the most dangerous hikes in the world as thru-hikers must stay above 4,000m (13,000ft) for a prolonged period of time – about 21 to 30 days. Staying at this altitude for any protracted length of time can lead to acute mountain sickness (AMS) or even high altitude pulmonary edema (HAPE). Additionally, the steep assents, high-level passes (11 in total), remoteness of the locale and ever capricious weather conditions ensure an extremely challenging trek.

Further reading:

Beyond the Sky and the Earth: A Journey into Bhutan

Pacaya Volcano, Guatemala

Biggest danger: molten-hot lava, toxic vapours and crumbling terrain

It can be hot underfoot on Pacaya

After being dormant for over a century, Pacaya Volcano erupted violently in 1965 and has been erupting regularly ever since. The volcano, located just 30km (19mi) southwest of Guatemala City, is a popular tourist destination where guided groups pay a fee to be taken up to a crater. But this is not the most active (or most dangerous) crater on Pacaya.

The original “trail” has been officially closed to tourists although hard-core dedicated trekkers still make the covert hike up to the top of the mountain’s primary cinder cone. It’s best completed at night when the lava flows are more easily spotted.

Further reading:

Silence on the Mountain: Stories of Terror, Betrayal, and Forgetting in Guatemala

Chadar Trek, India

Biggest danger: severe cold and crossing frozen rivers

A hiker alongside the icy River Zanskar

One of India’s toughest treks is also one of the most dangerous hikes in the world. The route requires hikers to cross the frozen River Zanskar where the unnerving sound of gurgling water can be heard just below the ice sheet.

Once across the river, hikers still can’t relax. Much of the remaining route involves shimmying along the slippery rocks that line the riverside. Temperatures average below freezing throughout the trail, falling to -35°C (-30°F) at night when hikers usually sleep in caves below tapering icicles. Expect your nerves to be well and truly shot if you make it to the end.

Further reading:

Trekking in Ladakh

El Caminito del Rey, Spain

Biggest danger: narrow walkways over a 100m (330ft) drop to the river below

A climber below the pathway on El Caminito del Rey

Spain’s answer to Mount Hua Shan in China, El Caminito del Rey (the King’s little pathway), is not the daredevil hike it once was, but it still gets the adrenalin pumping. The 3km (1.8mi) concrete and steel path was built over 100 years ago to serve workers on a local hydroelectric plant.

The walkway fell into disrepair and was officially closed for over a decade. After extensive restoration, it reopened in 2015. Once known as the “world’s most dangerous hike” following five deaths in 1999 and 2000, it is now becoming a popular tourist attraction.

Further reading:

Rick Steves Snapshot Sevilla, Granada & Southern Spain

West Coast Trail, Canada

Biggest danger: steep ladder sections, storms and animal attacks

One of the more “stable” pathways now in place

Despite a relatively low death rate compared to some of the other hikes on this list, the West Coast Trail’s long, almost vertical ladder sections make it a real thrill-seeker’s hiking trail. The terrain is consistently uneven.

Hikers should be equipped to wade through rivers, scramble across steep slopes and be prepared for slippery conditions throughout. Storms regularly damage the trails and structures, making them even more dangerous or often impassable. Oh, and did I mention that one may encounter the odd bear or cougar en route?

Further reading:

Blisters and Bliss: A Trekker’s Guide to the West Coast Trail

Drakensberg Traverse, South Africa

Biggest danger: exposed rock scrambles, shaky chain ladders and bandits

Cathedral peak in the Drakensberg

Up until recently, the ‘only’ thing a hiker had to be concerned about was the terrifying fatality rate for which this hike was famous. Fifty-five people died on the route to year end 1985 – nearly always from falls. For some reason, official figures don’t exist from 1985 onwards, despite deaths being reported almost every year. Because of this, the route through KwaZulu-Natal province, known as ‘the garden province’, is regarded as one of the most dangerous hikes in the world.

To add to the dangers, in May 2016, reports surfaced of hikers being attacked and robbed by bandits wielding clubs and accompanied by fierce dogs. Judging by the comments in some of the reports, it wasn’t an isolated incident, reinforcing the Drakensberg’s place among the most dangerous hikes in the world.

Further reading: Walking in the Drakensberg: 75 walks in the Khahlamba-Drakensberg Park

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her-eyes-looked-so-sad · 5 years

Text

Guilt

I feel like a terrible person.

I feel like I am only making the people around me sad and it would be better off of maybe I wasn’t around.

Today had some happy moments for sure but it was also really hard. I was glad to see my students and see a friend of mine and get some school stuff done, but the rest of it was hard.

Last night my fiancé and I went on a little date to the park by the river. I love it down there and it was lovely ☺️except I got so tired and out of breath just by walking. Then today at work I was out of it again. Could barely concentrate on the kids, do my taxes, or write a paragraph. I feel like I’m doing really bad at my job.

Decided to get a skinny latte instead of tea hoping it would give me some energy for hanging out with Britt and it lifted a little of the fog so I’m thankful for that. I felt guilty drinking it but I kept it down.

I really had the strong urge to avoid Dr J today and I haven’t felt that way in a long time, but I wanted to talk to Dr Del Rosso about some PRSSA stuff and when I went up there I saw her door was shut but heard her voice and she was in Dr J’s office. Good news: I was able to ask about some stuff about this conference I’m interested in (because I’m a nerd and apparently think so highly of myself as to get selected for this scholarship) and got my PRSSA cords for graduation 😊

Bad news: I had to tell Dr J what happened 😞and that there’s really no way (no good or even halfway easy way) for me to go to treatment and that even if I did my insurance cut. And what if I missed graduation? And if I went I would just be angry and totally not eat because I hate myself?

She just seemed so sad and so worried and it was all my fault. I went to treatment exactly a year ago. We agreed that I was doing the same things that I was a year ago. That things were bad. Part of me was like STOP TALKING TO HER ABOUT EVERYTHING because I didn’t want to worry her and part of me COULDNT stop talking and crying like a baby because I was scared. Telling her over and over that I’m sorry and that I’ll do the best I can and I know I’m passing out but I CANT go to treatment. She says she can’t force me, she says it’s a matter of life or death. I, being the baby I am, curl up into a little ball and stare at the floor because I’m sick and annoying and THE WORST.

I needed her to fix it and make it ok, and she wishes she could. She wishes she had some kind of magic cure for this. But once again, Rachel Patterson is curled up in her office crying because eating is too fucking hard. I asked her over and over again if she was mad at me and she said she wasn’t, just worried and wanting me to get better. I would understand if she was mad at me, I mean I am. Everything in me is telling me to curl up and hide so I don’t cause anymore pain in others. So I don’t upset them. I kept telling her I was sorry. I am so, so sorry. She asked me if I was ok because I couldn’t hide that I was still weak and out of breath and in pain and I said I was ok. She knew I wasn’t ok. My heart was beating too fast. I was still lightheaded.

I’ve fainted three times today, luckily none of those times were on campus. What used to be a nice walk from my car to the journalism building is yet again a painful, long journey where I count the steps, rest, try to ignore the dizzying sun and the concrete slamming into my feet as I pound across it, headphones in and cigarette lit. “I’m going to be a grad student” I tell myself. “I’m going to be a professor someday” I tell myself and feel a surge of excitement that propels me to keep going. I’ve got dreams. You can’t starve those out.

The fainting has happened with almost no warning, which as my fiancé pointed out, is unusual. The second time I fainted was completely in front of him, mid-sentence, and slammed against the carpet. I came to but had to rest. He was holding me. I told him I can’t do this much longer. But I’ve got to graduate! And graduate school! And getting married!

But will I make it off of sheer willpower alone?

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davidaolson · 5 years

Text

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

Dead Hearts Walking

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sun Temple

Moon Temple

Avenue of the Dead

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Miztli (Puma)

Miztli (Puma) Miural

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ummm…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

No acknowledgment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

In unison, they respond, “Meztli.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yup.”

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

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

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

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

“Do you want the truth?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Even if it includes spirits and phantoms?”

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m ready. Say goodbye Gracie.”

“Gracie?”

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

Cholula

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Yellow Church

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

Stairway to Yellow Church

Yellow Church

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

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

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

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

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

The Underworld

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

Stairway in Cholula Pyramid

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Up Tunnel

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Miztli with Blue Eyes

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The River Cave

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

“No, David. You are not dead.”

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

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

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

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

“Alive in the earthly sense?”

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

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

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

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

“That I am.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You are and you are not.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

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

“So, I have more destinies?”

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

“Where are we?”

“We are in the Great Temple of Cholula.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean, my condition?”

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

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

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

“And when the baby died?”

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

“Prayed?”

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

“Beginning? Beginning of what?”

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

“You mean a god?”

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

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

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

“Let’s get out of here!”

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

“Then we are going to drown?”

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

“So we wait?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Miztli, are you male or female?”

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Underground River

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yum Kaax, the Maize God

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

“Miztli, where are we?”

“We are in Yucatan.”

“Yucatan as in southern México?”

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

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

“Miztli, what language are those people speaking?”

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

“Do you speak k’iche’?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, David. This firstborn is you.”

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

“You have always been a firstborn, David.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What is the priest saying?”

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

“Craziness!”

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

“I…the baby me…is not corn.”

“No, but life is life is life.”

“What does that mean?”

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

“There’s no purpose in this insanity.”

“You are blessed with luck.”

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

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

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

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

“A choice?”

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

“A kind of Karma?”

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

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

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

“Crazy!”

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

“So I will transcend?”

Miztli smiles, whiskers twitch, says nothing.

“¿Miztli?”

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

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

“All in good time, David.”

“Is not all time good, Miztli?”

“Yes.”

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

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

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

Isla de las Muñecas (Island of the Dolls)

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

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

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

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

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

Doll Island

“Where the HELL am I?” I scream.

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

“Miztli? Is that you?”

“Yes.”

“Why can’t I see you?”

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

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

“I can see you.”

“What is this muñecas place?”

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

“Then, please explain it to me.”

“The beings you see here…”

“Beings…you mean they are not dolls?”

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

“This feels like an island of misfit toys.”

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

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

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

“Freaky!”

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

“Is Cortés here?”

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

“And the dolls?”

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

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

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

“Yes. I do live in a corrupt world.”

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

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

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

“Why do all souls congregate here?”

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

“That’s a silly superstition.”

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

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

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

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

“I can.”

“But you won’t.”

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

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

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

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

“Ok. As you wish. Close our eyes.”

“Close them? But I want to see.”

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

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

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

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

“Are you ok, David?”

“Um…sure…I’m ok.”

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

“What about the dolls?”

“They…they are moving.”

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

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

“David, quickly close your eyes.”

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

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

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

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

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

Escape

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

“Shit!”

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

“Y…yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cholula Pyramid

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

Sunset From Cholula Pyramid

Cholula Pyramid Stairs

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But that was gated.”

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

“Really?”

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

What’s Next?

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

Puebla Street

Puebla Cathedral

Door

Doors

Street: Cinco de Mayo

Yellow Building

Me Against a Wall in Puebla

Puebla Street

Cross On Pyramid Mound

Pyramid

Pyramide

View from Pyramid

View Up Pyramid

Pyramid & Clouds

Pyramid Stairway

Excavated Pyramid

Murals in Pyramid

Cinco de Mayo Square

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

“Rooaar.”

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

#Aztec #Maya #Puma #sacrifice

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originalmemorieshere · 7 years

Text

Major Turning Points for Me

Major Turning Points for Me There are so many points in our life that really are monumental - even if we don’t recognize it at the time. When was that pivotal point in your life when you began to gain weight (if you are overweight)? When I was a little girl I was so thin that everyone called me Boney Maroney. Yep- that was my nickname. That and Not Quite. There was a song called Boney Maroney about a girl as skinny as a piece of macaroni - that was me. My brother Del used to pronounce my name as Sure. My dad said I wasn’t big enough to be sure of anything, so they started out calling me Not Quite Sure and it evolved to Not Quite because I was so petite and skinny. My first major food problem developed when I was seven. My dad had married a woman with four kids and he had five- so there were nine of us kids. Now, I have to say that we never were starved and my parents did the best they could. But, there was never enough food. I remember sneaking into the kitchen to make a Miracle Whip sandwich when I was seven or eight because I was so hungry. When we lived on the farm we had fresh vegetables or home canned vegetables with the meal. But- that was just a year or two. After that- no. What we did eat was not healthy. Our regular dinner would be macaroni and cheese, fried potatoes, and corn. Another dinner would be macaroni and cheese, pork’n beans, and a peanut butter sandwich. Until I was an adult, I thought macaroni and cheese was the meat of the meal. We were taught to clean our plates. Period. I can remember having the feeling that if I ate fast enough I could possibly get seconds. That was always my goal- get seconds. Then, while clearing the table, I would eat the food off other plates - any scraps, just to fill up. When I look back at pictures of us as kids, we were a skinny crowd. Every single one of us grew up to be good sized adults. Some heavier than others. But, not one thin one in the group. I remember gathering pop bottles along the road to trade in for two or three cents each. We would search the ditches and yell out with excitement over every one. Then- it was off to the store to buy candy. Mmmmm chocolate. I remember going into the store with the bottles loading down our arms, smiles on our faces, and excitement in the air over such a thing. Sometimes we would make that trek twice in one day to get something sweet. I was seven and eight at the time. Fast forward to ten years later and I got married and developed my second major food problem. I was used to cooking for nine or ten people on a daily basis. I didn’t scale down the recipes by much and my x and I ate large meals. Nothing or no one could limit how much I ate. The pounds began to pile on. I would eat a whole Ritz Chocolate Ice Cream Pie in two days because I could. We also ate lots of pot pies and rice because we didn’t have a lot of money. More macaroni and cheese, but this time with hamburger patties on the side. I ate very little green vegetables. Mostly starches. And the pattern continued. I was up to 195 lbs when I had my son. I got down to 165 and then back up to 209 when I had my daughter. I left the hospital weighing the same as when I went in. From that point forth I have been over 200 lbs, with an exception of once when I got down to 195 a year later. I was over 308 pounds just a couple years ago. The changes I am going to embark on are for me. I can see that the unhealthy way I used to eat was hurting me. I now feel guilt over the way my kids grew up eating. If it could be fried, I did it. There was gravy at almost every meal. Big thick chunks of beef or pork. I was showing them my love- food. I didn’t want them to ever go to bed thinking about food like I did. Isn’t it funny how we do damage to others when we don’t even realize it? If you had seen me just weeks ago, you would have seen despair, depression, and an overall lack of confidence in myself. I was tired of being so big, tired of hurting in places that shouldn’t hurt at my age, tired of acid reflux every night, and tired of looking like hell. I knew that I was ready for a change. Having been so tired that I wanted to change was nothing new. I’d done it a million times. And, each failure was that much more depressing. You know- I’m a good person, I have a good heart, and I am nice to people - overall. On the inside I am not FAT- I am just ME. But, I felt I wasn’t given a chance by a lot of folks because they saw me as FAT. FAT defined me- wrapped up my whole personality and being. And FAT has so many bad connotations. I must be lazy, slovenly, greedy, have no self-control, and I mustn’t want to change. At the time, all of that offended me. Now, I hate to admit it- but some of it is true. I am very physically lazy since I have had my hip injury, I do eat way too many calories, and I have no self-control. I’ve been dieting long enough so that I know there is no miracle weight loss cure without undergoing the knife. To do it on my own is hard. Very hard sometimes, but other times it is second nature. I try not to think of it as a diet, but rather a new way of living and eating. It’s funny that although I’m sure that a lot of the people around me on a daily or regular basis are probably tired of hearing me talk about my diet and my frustrations, successes, and progress. But, to me it is a very important part of who I am right now. I’m not the same me I was even the last time I dieted. I am the “new and improved” me. (Although, I never understood that saying. Something can be new or you can improve on something already existing.) With me- I am always harping on about something. Sometimes it is a spur of the moment thing and sometimes it is the long range thing. But, I am never at a lack of words. Some people have said that I get a little too personal on here, but that is what this is for me. Most people reading this do not know me and never will. With the anonymity of the blog I have the freedom to really express myself. The few people reading this who already know me know that just about anything is likely to come out of my mouth. If I think it- I say it. I feel like by letting some of the thoughts I have about this whole dieting process out and by putting it into words, it may inspire someone else to either discuss their diets with me, give someone hope that if I can do this- then they can, or it can even be a source of amusement sometimes. And, it gives me a written journal of my struggles and triumphs during this time. If it sounds selfish, so be it. I do want to look good. I know that at my age I am not going to turn heads, but I would like to at least be considered. I have read that within 3 seconds of looking at a female, a male divides them into two categories. Either they would or would not. Period. I do want to feel like someone would think I could be an option even though I am not looking for anyone. Is that wrong? If so, oh well. It is the truth. I think we all want a little attention. I want to feel good. I can remember feeling so good around ten years ago when I was 90 lbs. less that I am now. It was nice to sleep all night without pain. I could bend, stretch, move, and didn’t have anything but my plantar’s faciitis and my back hurt some from the wreck. Overall, I felt good. I was walking 4.5 miles in less than an hour, I could ride the bike in the evening for 9-11 miles, and still have energy at the end of the day. Do I believe that I can do it this time? Yes. I have done it before. Do I believe that I can stick with it? If I stay with the plan and do what I NEED to do, I can do anything. But, I am scared. I really am scared. We all deserve a second chance. I know- second chance? Anything after the first time is my second chance. I can have as many second chances as it takes. All my previous second chances are gone- poof- smoke in the air and gone. This second chance will be the one. Some of the things smaller people don’t think about and do as routine are next to impossible for me. I act like I don’t like pierced earrings and wear only clip ons. Wanna know why? My earlobes are too fat for posts. The backs come off since I cannot put them on too tightly or my ears are pinched and hurt when I do. I want to go in a store and buy a pretty pair of post earrings and wear them. I also want to cross my legs at the knees. I can take an ankle and throw it across my other knee, a wee bit manly and all- but no way can I cross my legs like most women. My stomach and legs are too large to allow it. I know. I know. It is not good for women to cross their legs, but I want to do it. If the world was divided into three groups- skinny, normal, and fat, I would love to be in the normal group. Oh yeah, I am not as fat as some people out there, but they are the people that the Discovery Channel makes shows about. I want to walk onto a plane without seeing fear in everyone’s eyes. I can read their minds. “Please don’t let the fat woman sit by me. She’ll take more than her share of space and I will be squished.” They avoid looking directly at me, some may throw their coats on the seat next to them as though the seat is taken. Others may start a death rattle cough, trying to keep me from wanting to sit by them. I want to sit in any seat and feel comfortable. And, when the flight attendant asks if I want a snack, I won’t have people eyeballing me to see how many bags of peanuts they think I will snarf down. It would be great to great to go a restaurant and be seated anywhere without worry. I worry if the chairs will hold me. I did break one once and I’ll never forget that. I want to be able to sit in a booth without my body being cut in half by the table, with my breasts shoved up into my chin. And, I don’t want to be paranoid- thinking others may be watching the porker go facedown into the trough. If you don’t have a weight problem, I am sure there are other things you worry about. I know I am not the only overweight person out here who feels that I am judged on my weight. The best part about the weight loss is that I will be able to do more things with my grandkids and family.

#originalmemorieshere #weightloss

0 notes

topfygad · 5 years

Text

Don’t look down: the most dangerous hikes in the world

It’s not just dizzying heights that make these the most dangerous hikes in the world. Prepare to contend with extreme weather, erupting volcanoes and dangerous wildlife on these hair-raising hikes.

Just back from Ethiopia, we thought we’d update the most dangerous hikes in the world to include our latest vertigo-inducing adventure, hiking Abuna Yemata Guh.

Abuna Yemata Guh, Ethiopia

Biggest danger: narrow ledges, deep chasms and hiking in bare feet

youtube

Further reading:

Vertical Ethiopia, Climbing Toward Possibility in the Horn of Africa

Shackleton’s Route, South Georgia Island, South Atlantic/Antarctica

Biggest danger: exposure, crevasses and a very remote location

In the footsteps of legends on South Georgia Island

Further reading: Endurance: Shackleton’s Incredible Voyage

Darién Gap, Panama and Colombia

Biggest danger: unmapped jungle, threat of kidnap and poisonous flora and fauna

Unmapped: the Darién Gap is between 100km and 160km (60-100 miles)

Explorers have always been drawn to the Darién Gap, but the results have mostly been disastrous. The wild tropical forest has defeated travellers for centuries.

Further reading:

Crossing the Darien Gap: A Daring Journey Through a Forbidding and Enchanting and Roadless Jungle That Is the Only Link by Land Between North America and South America

The Maze, USA

Biggest danger: flash floods, rock falls and disorientation

The Maze in Utah is prone to flash floods

Further reading:

Between a Rock and a Hard Place

Mount Hua Shan, China

Biggest danger: rickety wooden platforms, vertical stairways and tricky handholds

It’s estimated that Mount Hua Shan claims 100 lives per year

Further reading:

Celestial Realm: The Yellow Mountains of China

Snowman Trek, Bhutan

Biggest danger: capricious weather, extreme cold and altitude sickness

Gangkhar summit in Bhutan as seen from the Snowman Trek

Further reading:

Beyond the Sky and the Earth: A Journey into Bhutan

Pacaya Volcano, Guatemala

Biggest danger: molten-hot lava, toxic vapours and crumbling terrain

It can be hot underfoot on Pacaya

Further reading:

Silence on the Mountain: Stories of Terror, Betrayal, and Forgetting in Guatemala

Chadar Trek, India

Biggest danger: severe cold and crossing frozen rivers

A hiker alongside the icy River Zanskar

Further reading:

Trekking in Ladakh

El Caminito del Rey, Spain

Biggest danger: narrow walkways over a 100m (330ft) drop to the river below

A climber below the pathway on El Caminito del Rey

Further reading:

Rick Steves Snapshot Sevilla, Granada & Southern Spain

West Coast Trail, Canada

Biggest danger: steep ladder sections, storms and animal attacks

One of the more “stable” pathways now in place

Further reading:

Blisters and Bliss: A Trekker’s Guide to the West Coast Trail

Drakensberg Traverse, South Africa

Biggest danger: exposed rock scrambles, shaky chain ladders and bandits

Cathedral peak in the Drakensberg

Further reading: Walking in the Drakensberg: 75 walks in the Khahlamba-Drakensberg Park

Lead image: Dreamstime

As Amazon Associates, Atlas & Boots may earn commission from qualifying purchases. More information can be found here.

from Cheapr Travels https://ift.tt/2PmaCuy via IFTTT

#IFTTT #Cheapr Travels

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topfygad · 5 years

Text

Don’t look down: the most dangerous hikes in the world

It’s not just dizzying heights that make these the most dangerous hikes in the world. Prepare to contend with extreme weather, erupting volcanoes and dangerous wildlife on these hair-raising hikes.

Just back from Ethiopia, we thought we’d update the most dangerous hikes in the world to include our latest vertigo-inducing adventure, hiking Abuna Yemata Guh.

Abuna Yemata Guh, Ethiopia

Biggest danger: narrow ledges, deep chasms and hiking in bare feet

youtube

Further reading:

Vertical Ethiopia, Climbing Toward Possibility in the Horn of Africa

Shackleton’s Route, South Georgia Island, South Atlantic/Antarctica

Biggest danger: exposure, crevasses and a very remote location

In the footsteps of legends on South Georgia Island

Further reading: Endurance: Shackleton’s Incredible Voyage

Darién Gap, Panama and Colombia

Biggest danger: unmapped jungle, threat of kidnap and poisonous flora and fauna

Unmapped: the Darién Gap is between 100km and 160km (60-100 miles)

Explorers have always been drawn to the Darién Gap, but the results have mostly been disastrous. The wild tropical forest has defeated travellers for centuries.

Further reading:

Crossing the Darien Gap: A Daring Journey Through a Forbidding and Enchanting and Roadless Jungle That Is the Only Link by Land Between North America and South America

The Maze, USA

Biggest danger: flash floods, rock falls and disorientation

The Maze in Utah is prone to flash floods

Further reading:

Between a Rock and a Hard Place

Mount Hua Shan, China

Biggest danger: rickety wooden platforms, vertical stairways and tricky handholds

It’s estimated that Mount Hua Shan claims 100 lives per year

Further reading:

Celestial Realm: The Yellow Mountains of China

Snowman Trek, Bhutan

Biggest danger: capricious weather, extreme cold and altitude sickness

Gangkhar summit in Bhutan as seen from the Snowman Trek

Further reading:

Beyond the Sky and the Earth: A Journey into Bhutan

Pacaya Volcano, Guatemala

Biggest danger: molten-hot lava, toxic vapours and crumbling terrain

It can be hot underfoot on Pacaya

Further reading:

Silence on the Mountain: Stories of Terror, Betrayal, and Forgetting in Guatemala

Chadar Trek, India

Biggest danger: severe cold and crossing frozen rivers

A hiker alongside the icy River Zanskar

Further reading:

Trekking in Ladakh

El Caminito del Rey, Spain

Biggest danger: narrow walkways over a 100m (330ft) drop to the river below

A climber below the pathway on El Caminito del Rey

Further reading:

Rick Steves Snapshot Sevilla, Granada & Southern Spain

West Coast Trail, Canada

Biggest danger: steep ladder sections, storms and animal attacks

One of the more “stable” pathways now in place

Further reading:

Blisters and Bliss: A Trekker’s Guide to the West Coast Trail

Drakensberg Traverse, South Africa

Biggest danger: exposed rock scrambles, shaky chain ladders and bandits

Cathedral peak in the Drakensberg

Further reading: Walking in the Drakensberg: 75 walks in the Khahlamba-Drakensberg Park

Lead image: Dreamstime

As Amazon Associates, Atlas & Boots may earn commission from qualifying purchases. More information can be found here.

source http://cheaprtravels.com/dont-look-down-the-most-dangerous-hikes-in-the-world/

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