By 13,000 BC to 11,000 BC, most of the ice had melted, the climate stabilizing. And emerging from this muck and mire was a new subspecies, Homo sapiens sapiens- modem man.
Evolution or the Bible's story of creation-wherein lies the truth of modem man's rise? As a scientist, I am compelled to believe in Darwinism, but as an archaeologist, I also recognize that truth is often concealed within myths passed down over millennia. The prophecy foretold by the Mayan calendar falls into the same category. As mentioned earlier, the calendar is a precise scientific instrument that utilizes advanced principles of astronomy and mathematics to derive its calculations. At the same time, the calendar's origins are centered around the most important legend in Mayan history-the Popol Vuh-the Mayan book of creation.
The Popol Vuh is the Bible of the Mesoamerican Indians. According to the Popol Vuh, written hundreds of years after Kukulcan's passing the world was divided into an Overworld (heaven) a Middleworld (Earth), and an Underworld, a haven of evil known as Xibalba (pronounced She-bal-ba). As the ancient Maya looked to the night sky, they saw the dark rift of the Milky Way and interpreted it as being a dark serpent or Black Road (Xibalba Be) which led to the Underworld. Appearing in dose proximity to the dark rift were the three belt stars of Orion. To the Maya, these stars were said to be the three stones of creation.
As mentioned earlier, the Mayan calendar is divided into five Great Cycles, the first of which began some 25,800 years ago. This is no arbitrary period of time, but the actual length in years that it takes Earth to compete one cycle of precession, the slow wobble of our planet on its axis. (More on this later.) The creation story retold in the Popol Vuh begins some 25,800 years ago when ice still covered much of the Earth. The hero of the tale is a primitive man known as Hun (One) Hunahpu, later revered by the Maya as "First-Father." Hun Hunahpu's great passion in life was to play the ancient ball game known as Tlachtli. One day, the Lords of the Underworld, speaking through Xibalba Be (the Black Road), challenged Hun Hunahpu and his brother to a game. Hun Hunahpu accepted and entered the portal to the Black Road, which was represented in Mayan legends as the mouth of a great serpent.
But the Underworld lords had no intention of playing the game. Using trickery and deceit, they defeated the brothers and decapitated them, hanging Hun Hunahpu's head in the crook of a calabash tree. The Evil Lords then set the tree aside, forbidding anyone to visit it.
After a great many years, a brave young woman named Blood Moon ventured down the Black Road to see if the legend was true. Approaching the tree to pick some fruits, she was startled to find Hun Hunahpu's head, which spit into her palm, magically impregnating her. The woman fled, the Under Lords unable to destroy her before she could escape.
Blood Moon (also known as First-Mother) would give birth to twin sons. As the years passed, the boys grew into strong capable warriors. Upon reaching adulthood, their genetic calling would push them to make the journey down the Black Road to Xibalba to challenge the evil ones and avenge their father's death. Once more, the Lords of the Underworld would use deceit, but this time, the Hero Twins would triumph, banishing evil while resurrecting their long-lost father.
What can we garner from the creation myth? The name, Hun or One Hunahpu, relates to the calendar name One Ahau, a day-sign meaning first sun. The first sun of the new year is the December solstice sun. The prophesied date of doom ends on the winter solstice in the year 2012-exactly one 25,800 year processional cycle from the very first day of the Mayan calendar!
Using a computer program that allows one to forecast the cosmos at any date in history, I have calculated the night sky as it will appear in 2012. Beginning at the time of the autumnal equinox, an extremely rare astronomical alignment will occur between the galactic and solar planes. The dark rift of the Milky Way will appear to sit on the Earth's horizon, and the Sun will begin to move into alignment at its center point. This stellar shift will culminate on the day of the winter solstice, a day considered by most ancient cultures to be the Day of the Dead. On this date, for the first time in 25,800 years, the Sun will move in conjunction with the crossing point of the Milky Way and the ecliptic in Sagittarius, marking the alignment of the Galactic Equator, the exact center of the galaxy.
Somehow, the Mayan calendar accurately predicted this celestial event more than 3,000 years ago. Interpreting the creation myth, the galactic alignment will climax with the opening of a cosmic portal that bridges the gap between our planet and the Mayan Underworld, Xibalba.
Call it fiction, call it fact, but somehow this intergalactic alignment will culminate in the deaths of every man, woman, and child on the face of our planet.
-Excerpt from the Journal of Professor Julius Gabriel, Ref. Catalogue 1978-79 pages 43-52 Catalogue 1998-99 pages 11-75
Chapter 4.
SEPTEMBER 11, 2012.
MIAMI, FLORIDA.
Wake up, Intern Vazquez. You're falling for Gabriel's famous conspiracy theory."
"I disagree." Dominique returns Dr. Foletta's cold stare from the opposite side of his desk. "There's no reason that Mick Gabriel shouldn't be assigned a full support team."
Foletta leans back in the swivel chair, his weight threatening the coiled springs. "Now let's just calm down for a moment. Look at you-you've spoken with the resident twice, and already you're making diagnoses. In my opinion, you're becoming emotionally involved, something we spoke about on Friday. This is exactly why I recommended to the board not to bring in a team at this time."
"Sir, I assure you, I'm not emotionally involved. It just seems to me that people have rushed to judgment in this case. Yes, I agree he's suffering from delusions, but they could easily be attributed to having spent the last eleven years in solitary. And as far as violence, there's nothing that I've seen in Mick's file which points to anything but a onetime case of simple assault."
"What about the attack on the guard?"
"Mick told me the guard tried to rape him."
Foletta pinches the bridge of his nose with two stubby fingers, grinning sheepishly as he shakes his great head back and forth. "He set you up, Intern Vazquez. I told you he's clever."
Dominique's stomach flutters. "You're saying it was all a lie?"
"Of course. He's preying on your maternal instincts, and he hit a grand slam."
Dominique stares at her lap, dumbfounded. Was Mick lying? Was she really that gullible? Idiot! You wanted to believe him. You set yourself up.
"Intern, you're not going to get very far with your patients if you believe everything they tell you. Next thing, he'll have you convinced the world is coming to an end."
Dominique sits back in her chair, feeling foolish.
Foletta sees the expression on her face and laughs out loud, causing his plump cheeks to turn red and dimple. He takes a breath, wiping tears from his eyes as he reaches into a cardboard box at the foot of the desk. He removes a bottle of scotch and two coffee mugs, pouring them each a shot.
Dominique drains the cup, feeling the liquid sear its way through her stomach lining.
"Feeling better?" The words, whispered and grainy, are spoken in a fatherly manner.
She nods.
"Despite what he tells you, Intern, I happen to like Mick. I don't want to see him in solitary confinement any more than you do."
The phone rings. Foletta answers it, eyeing her. "It's one of the security guards. Says he's waiting for you downstairs."
Shit. "Could you tell him I'm tied up in an important meeting? Tell him I can't make it tonight."
Foletta relays the message, then hangs up.
"Doctor, what about Mick's annual evaluation. Was that also a lie?"
"No, that was the truth; in fact it's on my list of things to discuss with you. I know it's a bit unusual, but I'll need you to sign off on that."
"What are you recommending?"
"That depends on you. If you can remain objective, then I'll recommend that you stay on as his clinical psychiatrist during your stay here."
"Mick's suffering from sensory deprivation. I'd want him to have access to the yard, as well as the rest of our rehab facilities."
"He just attacked you-"
"No he didn't. He just got a little excited, and I panicked."
Foletta leans back and stares at the ceiling as if weighing a great decision. "All right, Intern, here's the deal. Sign off on my annual evaluation, and I'll restore full privileges. If he improves, I'll assign a full rehab team to Mick in January. Fair enough?"
Dominique smiles. "Fair enough."
SEPTEMBER 22, 2012.
MIAMI, FLORIDA.
The yard at the South Florida Evaluation and Treatment Center is a rectangular stretch of lawn surrounded on all four sides. The L-shape of the main building encloses the perimeter to the east and south, the north and western borders walled off by a twenty-foot stark white concrete barrier topped with coils of barbed wire.
There are no doors in the yard. To exit the grass-covered atrium, one must ascend three flights of cement steps which lead to an open walkway running the length of the southern side of the facility. This mezzanine accesses the third-floor gymnasium, group-therapy rooms, an arts and crafts center, computer room, and a movie area.
Dominique takes cover beneath the aluminum roof extending out from the third-floor walkway as the lead gray clouds roll in from the east. Two dozen residents evacuate the yard as the first drops of afternoon rain splatter against the overhang.
A solitary figure remains behind.
Mick Gabriel continues walking along the perimeter of the yard, hands shoved deep in his pockets. He feels the humid air turn cool as the clouds open up overhead. Within seconds he is immersed in the downpour, his white uniform soaked, clinging to his wiry, muscular frame.
He continues walking, his soaked canvas tennis shoes sinking in the soft grass, the rainwater squishing between his toes and socks. With each step, he recites the name of another year of the Mayan calendar, a mental exercise that he uses to keep his mind sharp. Three Ix, four Cauac, five Kan, six Muluc...
The dark eyes focus on the concrete wall, seeking its flaws, his mind searching for options.
Dominique watches him through a veil of rain, feeling remorse. You blew it. He trusted you. Now he thinks you betrayed him.
Foletta approaches. He exchanges waves with several abnormally exuberant residents, then joins her.
"Is he still refusing to speak with you?"
Dominique nods. "It's been almost two weeks. Every day, the same routine. He eats breakfast, then meets with me and stares at the floor for a full hour. Once he gets to the yard, he paces back and forth until dinner. He never mingles with other residents and never says a word. He just paces."
"You'd think he'd be grateful; after all, you are the one responsible for his newfound freedom."
"This isn't freedom."
"No, but it's a big step up from eleven years in solitary."
"I think he really believed I could have gotten him out."
Foletta's expression gives him away.
"What, Doctor? Was he right? Could I have-"
"Whoa, slow down, Intern. Mick Gabriel's not going anywhere, at least not right now. As you've seen for yourself, he's still quite unstable, posing a danger not only to himself but to others. Keep working with him, encourage him to participate in his own therapy. Anything can happen."
"You are still planning to assign a rehab team."
"We agreed on January, provided he behaves himself. You should tell him about it."
"I've tried." She watches as Mick strides past the flight of stairs directly below them. "He no longer trusts me."
Foletta pats her on the back. "Get over it."
"I'm not doing him any good. Maybe he needs someone with more experience."
"Nonsense. I'll instruct his orderlies that he's no longer permitted to leave his room unless he actively participates in his therapy sessions."
"Forcing him to talk won't help."
"This isn't a country club, Intern. We have rules. If a resident refuses to cooperate, he forfeits his privileges. I've seen cases like this before. If you don't act now, Mick will crawl inside his own head, and you'll lose him forever."
Foletta signals to an orderly. "Joseph, escort Mr. Gabriel out of the rain. We can't have our residents getting sick on us."
"No, wait, he's my patient, I'll get him." Dominique pulls her hair into a tight bun, removes her shoes, then descends the two flights of stairs to the yard. She is drenched by the time she catches up with Mick.
"Hey, stranger, mind if I join you?"
He ignores her.
Dominique keeps pace, the rain pelting her face. "Come on, Mick, talk to me. I've been apologizing all week. What did you expect me to do? I had to sign off on Foletta's report."
She gets a hard look.
The rain comes down heavier, forcing her to shout. "Mick, slow down."
He continues walking.
She dashes ahead of him, then takes a fighting stance, fists up, blocking his way. "Okay, buddy, don't force me to kick your ass."
Mick stops. He looks up, the rain streaming down his angular face. "You let me down."
"I'm sorry," she whispers, dropping her fists. "Why did you lie to me about the guard attacking you?"
A pained expression. "So truth is no longer to be judged by your heart, but by your ambition, is that it? I thought we were friends."
She feels a lump growing in her throat. "I want to be your friend, but I'm also your psychiatrist. I did what I thought was best."
"Dominique, I gave you my word that I'd never lie to you." He lifts his head, pointing to the three-inch scar along his jawline. "Before Griggs tried to rape me, he threatened to cut my throat."
Goddam you, Foletta. "Mick, Jesus, I'm sorry. At our last meeting, when you flipped out on me-"
"My fault. I got excited. I've been locked up for so long-sometimes, well sometimes it's just hard to stay calm. I don't socialize well, but I swear, I never would have hurt you."
She sees tears in his eyes. "I believe you."
"You know, being outside has helped. It's caused me to think about a lot of different things . . . selfish things, really. My childhood, the lifestyle I was raised in ... how I ended up in here, whether I'll ever get out. There are so many things that I've never done ... so many things I would change if I could. I loved my parents, but, for the first time, I realize that I really hate what they did. I hate the fact that they never gave me a choice-"
"We can't choose our parents, Mick. What's important is that you not blame yourself. None of us have any control over the deck or the hand we've been dealt. What we do have is total responsibility as to how we play the hand. I think I can help you regain control of that."
He moves closer, the rain pouring down both sides of his face. "May I ask you a personal question?"
"Yes."
"Do you believe in destiny?"
"Destiny?"
"Do you think our lives, our futures have been . . . never mind, forget it-"
"Do I think what happens to us is prearranged?"