CANCUN
 

This entry may just be a flyby, as I really have two days worth here and really just want to get around to the zenith of Mayan culture and architecture, the still not completely unearthed archeological wonder of Chichen Itza.

Flight out from Phoenix and then Dallas very routine.  Took advantage of the five hours of flight time, to catch up after receiving only two hours of sleep the final night in Phoenix.  Packing, writing, and excess excitement will do that to you.  I muse on the fact I’ve landed at Dallas-Fort Worth Airport probably ten times in my life, and never actually stepped foot in Texas.

My third landing in Cancun runs smoothly.  Off the plane, through customs in an hour (following some clever Aussie rope jumpers), and out to the taxi area.  Taking a transport van reduces the cost to get into the Zona Hoteleria to only $16, instead of the projected forty.  Shades of  Lima!  The trick is generally to name your own price, and not take orders from the carnival barkers trying to push you into their yellow sardine cans.

There is nothing redeeming about the tourist area of Cancun.  Except perhaps that it is safe.  This, when contrasted with dodgy areas of Mexico now where tourists have to worry about being robbed, assaulted, or worse.  Formerly iconic areas such as Acapulco and Mazatlan, where drug gangs rule the roost and a tourist unlucky enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time can end up gaining their proverbial 15 minutes of fame through grisly postings on the internet displaying various parts of  their body online.

Otherwise, the 13-mile Hotel Zone, is nothing but a bit of the Texas or Georgia coast transplanted to Mexico.  The prices are hardly different.  The culture barely raises its hand.  There are accents among the wait staff, to be sure, but most of them speak English.  They are unfailingly polite.   I’m not sure what the draw is.  Why not save yourself an expensive plane flight south and just drink heavily in a warm and sunny clime at home?

Regardless, I join my friends Craig and Donna Murphy from Jackson, California at the Coral Mar Condos on the smaller of two major lagoons inland from the  Caribbean coast.  Jackson is my hometown, from long ago and far away, and the storied site of the two richest gold mines in US History – the Argonaut and the Kennedy Mines. Craig and I and I go back to 6^th grade together, and he remains my longest standing friend. 

The Murphys – among others – are among the victims of a hotel snafu where their bungalow at the Mayan Ruins in Chichen Itza has been (re)sold to the highest bidder, forcing them to change to a hotel at the last minute.  For Craig, who is a seeker, the change is beneficial.  It puts him closer to the events center for a group called Synthesis 2012 that is the clearing house worldwide for events related to the celebrations taking place locally to great international public fanfare.

These include convergence of the Winter Solstice, the so-called “End of Time” Prophecy related to the final versions of the Mayan Calendar, and 26,000 year cycle wherein the planets in our solar system line up through the earth like cherry tomatoes on a shish-kabob skewer.  At the same time, because of this Galactic Alignment, we get a rare glimpse at the “Dark Rift” of the Milky Way, or the exact center of our galaxy.  We are headed toward unique circumstances.

Donna is alternately disadvantaged.  Whereas she had been located right across the street from the Archeological Ruins area of Chichen Itza – favorable conditions if one is lugging heavy professional camera equipment – now she will be one and one-half miles away and facing a logistics/strength/endurance challenge.

Our ride in is part of the package snafu.  Not trusting to the give-and-take hotel and  transport arrangements initiated by Synthesis 2012, Craig hires us a private van for the 240 kilometer and two and one-half journey to the ruins from Cancun.  Our driver, Alfonso, is barely conversant in English but we make do and learn quite a bit about nearby areas, what to see, and new Spanish words on the road headed in.  As we should.  The trip is normally normally $150 for a round trip day visit to the ruins, but with the human wave approaching Chichen Itza, it is now $380 … one way!

We ponder the irony of the New Age Thinking & Feeling taking place all around us concurrent with this old-fashioned demonstration of pillaging tourists brought on by that old saw -- the line where an ascendant demand curve crosses a diminishing supply line.

We grit our teeth and decide surety is the better part of valor.  We must arrive early, before the hordes arrive (some estimates put the number of visitors who might be present by December 21^st at 60,000).  To get oriented.  To eat.  To make connections.  And for me to arrange a place to sleep and shower.  The rooms which my friends have been moved to, which normally cost $99 for a Best Western 3-Star Hotel, have been jacked to $500 nightly.  Luckily, Craig and Donna don't have to pay this.  But I travel freestyle, and (intending to be on the road for at least 45 days) would not pay 10% of that regal sum.  So the  risk taker and negotiator part of me eventually must prowl out alternatives.

But first, we enjoy dinner in Old Cancun.  The part of town where all the hotel zone workers and real Mexican personalities reside.  It is difficult to tell if prices have been jacked to coincide with the Dec 21^st celebrations, but there are no bargains here.  Prices are the same as Seattle and any other major US city.  For both food and drinks.  There are no bargains.  It doesn’t feel like Mexico.

I do however get to experience a Michelchada for the first time.  It is a relatively new phenomenon in this part of Mexico, I am told.  The mix combines your favorite beer, and black pepper, lime, maggi juice seasoning, and salsa tipo inglesa sauce.  Craig spits his test sip out.  “That tastes like steak sauce on the rocks,” he growls.  I like it, and find the concoction – like any acquired taste -- gets better with a bit of thinning and persistent guzzling.

Next morning, along the way to Chichen Itza, we see mile-after-mile of scruffy (like a marine flat topped  haircut) low-canopy jungle, colorful pueblos with their proverbial thrashed cars and feral dogs, and the decidedly ethnographic darkened chocolate faces of the Mayan people.  We also see periodic displays of blue agave, the source of premium tequila.  A prominent sign reads:  “Blue Agave Tequila: The Future of The Yucatan!”

The plants are very sharp, with needle points and serrated leaves.  Craig gives one a casual rub and pops the rhetorical question, to nobody in particular: “Tequila?  Or To-Kill-Ya?”  He also pokes fun at me for some graying of my temples beyond our last visit.  Whereby, I serve up the Grizzly Bear gambit on him.

“You know Murphy, when in the vicinity of annoyed Grizzlies, I don’t have to be fast.  I just have to be faster than you.  Same thing with hair.  Mine may have a little more sheen to it, but it is still darker and more plentiful than …”  I love playing the trump card.  Craig seems to enjoy it also.

But most of our trip in is given over to a serious discussion about 2012 and the worldwide event we are fast approaching.  Who are we, really? Why are we here?  What does it mean?  Why do people care about being here at this particular time?

We decide – from a combination of our personal quests, a lifetime of learning, and what we have deciphered about the collective vision for this convergence – that we are all here in support of the affirmation that things can’t remain as they are on this planet.  It is necessarily a time for change.  We will exercise our free will to manifest being a part of that change.  We feel drawn to a collective purpose.  Like a funeral or a rivalry football game, we are at least temporarily drawn toward synchronicity of intention and a united mindset.  We are mistreating the planet and each other, and Things MUST Change!

We also agree we have become detached from our authentic selves as humans, and must find our way back .  We are not mere physical beings, occasionally having a  spiritual experience.  We ARE spiritual beings, occasionally and temporarily assigned to physical bodies, and that our essence carries over from lifetime to lifetime.  Luckily we are just now coming around as soul entities to remembering who we really are.

Collectively, the human race is on the cusp of learning to relate to each other from the heart, instead of the mind.  We are being restored – like finding our way back to Shangra La – to soul spontaneity and balance.  Including balance between male and female energies.  A transition between the male and brain-centered energy of the age of Pisces, and the female-centered and feeling oriented  Age of Aquarius. 

I personally liken the transition to a finely engineered bridge contrasted with a waterfall.  The bridge may be a piece of calculated genius.  It may even be a work of art.  The Golden Gate Bridge comes to mind.  But it is necessarily flawed.  At some point, all calculations break down, and its shortcomings become palpable.  It fails, and no longer serves the purpose it once upheld.  A waterfall, on the other hand, is a heart matter.  It is always beautiful.  It needs no purpose.  It is perfect at any given moment.  When in heart mode, we see and feel as if a free-flowing waterfall.  There is no flaw, no effort, no artifice, and no need for change or adjustment.

Craig and I have discussed “heart mode” for months.  Our particular definitions – and there are many – boil down to the following:

Intentioned tolerance, an emptying of the judgmental mind, voiding oneself of expectation (and being Happy For What You Get), “holding space” to wait situations out and having the patience to observe what is really happening (without attachment to a pre-determined connection or result), practicing detached compassion, getting outside your own ego, and having the courage and work ethic to offer up your authentic self when connecting with another member of our species.