L’Observateur : Cosmic Eagle Edition
Recently, we trekked down the mountain to Los Catorce to see our pals Monica and Felipón and search for a natural spring called El Chicle.
There are a bevy of beautiful avocado, pomegranate, and apple trees growing in the semi-tropical environs there, between Real de Catorce and the desert.
Monica is from somewhere around Joplin, Missouri. The first time she layed eyes on me about five years ago, she immediately pointed at me and said, “you’re one of my people” – and since my great grandfather was from around Joplin, Missouri, and she happens to look and speak a lot like my paternal aunt, I believe her. She listens to the Art Bell radio show a lot.
Felipón is a local artisan who sells his wares in the streets of Catorce. As an aside, he also sells bags.
She and Felipón live on a hill in a two-room adobe shack with about fifty goats, a dog, and a gaggle of turkeys, hens, and roosters. All the animals have names and according to her “none of them are edible.”
At one point, she was worried that my house was going to fall off the side of the mountain, and in an effort to diffuse her ramblings, I said that if that happened, I would fill it with water, put a live shark in it, and sell admission. Now people call my house “The Fishtank.” Be careful what you say.
Then, about three years ago, she told me she found some shark bones and that she had made a dreamcatcher for me to put in my house – over my bed. Fearing the spiritual repurcussions of not hanging the thing over my bed as she demanded, I did. And it’s been there ever since. Sometimes it catches dreams, other times not so much.
Last night it caught a dream where pre-stroke Ben Gazzara and post-stroke Ben Gazzara were having a yard sale together – and my camera wouldn’t work when I tried to get my photo taken with them. Mostly, it was them being grumpy and me feeling nervous about taking up their time.
Every time I trek to Monica’s place, she spots me coming from hundreds of yards away, and comes bounding out of the house to greet me screaming, “is that you, Taylor? I recognize that walk.” And then she mocks me – arms akimbo, loping gait.
Her next question was, “has anyone given you your Intergalactic Star Sign?” Let me see ... um, not lately.
The Mayans have a 260-day calendar. On December 21, 2012, their calendar “ends.” Really, it’s the end of a 26,000 year cosmic cycle. The rejuvenation of this supposed new cycle is in many mythologies. In America, it is best known as The Age of Aquarius.
In lieu of astrology, the Mayans also had typecasts for men and women based on their exact date of birth. There are 200-some for men and 100-some for women.
Guess who is on the cusp between Cosmic Eagle and Magnetic Warrior? That would be me, chingones. The Cosmic Eagle: Protector of the west, builder of communities. Vigilancia. I get my power and inspiration from the Earth. I have visions. Cover your head. The paranormal existential weirdnesses compounded from there, and I don’t want to go into it.
Monica wanted us to stay and get “synchronized,” but she was late to take the goats out, so we left in search of the spring (which we never found), and subsequently got berated by a ranchero viejo for trespassing his land.