Temples of the Mist: Mayan 6th Sun

AN EPIC OF FAITH AND LOVE The ancient Mayan amulet opened a door that couldn't be closed at my whim. The visions were frightening - from the Mayan lady at Chichen Itza with her premonition, to the woman and child forced to jump to their deaths into the Sacred Well. I was 17 years old and had just been told about my parents' freak airplane accident in the Lacandon Jungle of Chiapas, Mexico. It devastated me beyond belief. The only bright star was hope that she was alive somewhere, and that I would find her. My other bright star was Dune - a guy who seemed to read me like a book and whose sparkling eyes took me to a special place. It was that place where every girl wanted to go. I lost my breath and grew warm all over at the sight of him. Butterflies and tingling usually followed every time he touched me. He was the only one that seemed to help me overcome the overwhelming grief. My journey to find her would force me to face evil head-on, and I would see the worst in people; but I would also find genuine kindness and love from friends and strangers. The powerful and beautiful spotted jaguar that followed me around would guide me on that journey of self-awareness, love, and knowledge that could save mother earth before it was too late, but to get there I would have to travel back in time and face unspeakable horrors. There was a heavy mist making the visibility difficult as the Lacandon Jungle canopy came up over the horizon. It was damp, green, full of life, sounds and smells. Just over the next mountain were the most precious of Mayan cities and the ruins that had withstood time.

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TEMPLES OF THE MISTMayan 6th SunBy Julia MaganiniAuthorHouseCopyright © 2009 Julia MaganiniAll right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4490-2666-0Contents1. Profound Loss.................................................12. Amulet........................................................173. Funeral.......................................................354. Temples Of The Mist...........................................415. El Panchal....................................................576. Shaman Jaguar.................................................637. Portal And Reunion............................................738. Basket Weaver.................................................839. Orphanage.....................................................9110. The Scribe....................................................9511. War...........................................................9912. The Skull.....................................................10713. Farewell At Usumacinta River..................................1714. Aluxo And The Escape..........................................13115. Canoe.........................................................13916. Battle........................................................14717. Victory And Ixtab's Revenge...................................15518. Jealousy......................................................16719. Seized........................................................17320. Sacrificial Ceremony..........................................17921. Itzamn & Ixchel - Message Of The 62th Sun.....................189Chapter One Profound Loss The Lacandon jungle canopy came up over the horizon, damp, green, full of life, sounds, and smells. Just over the next mountain were the most precious of Mayan cities and the ruins that had withstood time. There was a heavy mist, making the visibility difficult. Eria Molinari remembered last time she had visited here many years ago. She had stood in the middle of the plaza and gazed up at the sky wondering what had taken place in this magical place thousands of years ago. The jungle hugging the ancient city from all sides was lush and green - it smelled of musk and dirt. The temples were made of stone and mortar worked by ancient hands when man worked with his hands and there was no heavy machinery. The stones were intricately fit into the building walls of the temples that had lasted for centuries. She was giddy with anticipation as the little single engine plane sputtered and gurgled like a baby, whirring down toward a clearing in the jungle. Eria was smiling, beautiful, with long chestnut hair that was tied back in a bandanna. She was wearing sunglasses and a Panama hat to keep the sun from her face. Dressed in Bahama shorts and a light Hawaiian shirt, she was keeping cool from the hot and humid temperature. "Oh my, it's beautiful!" she marveled leaning forward so that Ruddy could hear her, "more beautiful than I can remember." "Easy, easy there," he yelled at the pilot, trying to be heard over the roar of the engine. The Mexican pilot was fighting with the steering and straining to see in front of him beyond the mist when unexpectedly things started to spin out of control. The plane's engine took one last sputter and there was silence except for the sounds coming from the canopy of the deep jungle below. "Ruddy, I love you," she said reaching for the man she had lived with for 20 years - the man who had fathered her children. "Thank you for all these years," she said with a knowing and warm look in her eyes. She clasped his hand in hers. "Caleana and Marsh, I love you," she said weeping. "I will never forget you my beautiful children." As the plane took a nose dive, the amulet she had purchased in the town of Villahermosa came sliding off her neck and into her hand. * * * I woke up with a start and looked at my clock. It was 8:30 a.m. I was breaking out in a cold sweat, and felt nervous and anxious. I had been jolted awake by a nightmare. Although the dream had faded and I couldn't quite remember the details, I could still feel the remnants of the terror I had felt. As I looked out the window from my bed and stretched, I noticed the day was overcast. I put on my slippers and headed to the bathroom, when somebody gently knocked on my door. By the look in Aunt Bette's eyes I knew. "Caleana, your parents, there's been an accident ...," Aunt Bette said with red swollen eyes that gave her away instantly. She slowly tried to explain the details. After a while, I saw her mouth move, but couldn't hear the words. The room was spinning with the news she had just given me. I was reeling from deep shock and sadness. I felt myself starting to hyperventilate and having a panic attack. I was 17 years old and had just been told about my parents' freak airplane accident in the Lacandon Jungle in Chiapas, Mexico. What's worse, my father's body had been found in the wreckage, but not my mother's. My reaction was shock, loss, extreme pain; and it was all slow to process - hitting me in waves. I thought I would go mad. I still remember that day as vividly as the realization that my mother's body had not been found, and thinking she could still be alive. I collapsed from the shock and pain. I remembered lying in my bed and crying into my pillow. I thought about the last few weeks that had led up to this day. "Caleana," mom had said two weeks ago, "we're planning a special summer vacation." Two weeks ago, I didn't know the tragedy that would befall my family. I had a one-track mind that last week of school, as me and my friends left school that day. We laughed and talked about what we wanted to do for the summer. We were giddy with anticipation, and oblivious to everything else. "Finally, free at last!" I said gleefully. "Vacation for the next three months." Nothing could make me happier. I was finally going to be able to sleep in and take a break from my ordinary life in suburbia California. No more books, pain in the butt teachers, alarm clocks - I was liberated! I lived in Summerland, a little hillside beach town just south of Santa Barbara and Montecito, that over -looked Highway 101 and the deep blue Pacific Ocean. The view was unreal from our house perched on a hillside. On a clear day, you could see the Channel Islands in the clear blue distance. My friends had designated it their favorite hangout, even if my parents were around because they thought my parents were "cool." "I wish my mom was like yours," was something I heard often. I would just shrug it off with a laugh never fully absorbing and appreciating that statement. I think I was just too close to see it. I actually never wanted my parents around when my friends were over. Why? Don't ask. I really couldn't deny that my parents were super cool. I think it was because I felt they watched my every little move. There was something awesome about being at a friend's house where I had certain anonymity - someone else's parents wouldn't be looking at what I did so closely as my own. When I got home that afternoon, mom had some travel brochures spread out on the kitchen table and she was on the internet making travel arrangements. "I'm planning an awesome vacation," she said smiling. She was punching the keyboard furiously and surfing some travel sites like an expert. "I know your fascination right now with the Mexican rainforest and the Mayans. That's your dad's fascination too, so we've decided to vacation in the Yucatan where we'll get a chance to hike through rainforests, trek through thousand year-old ruins, and hang out at the beach." "Mom, that's great!" I said excitedly. Mom and dad would spend a week camping out in the jungle near the Palenque ruins, wherever that was, with dad's archaeologist friends before we arrived. A week later me and my 13-year old brother, Marsh, would meet up with them in Cancun at a resort. "We'll get an early start," said dad reading his book about the Mayan temples and looking over her shoulder. Dad was a pretty good looking guy for his 50 years. With salt and pepper hair, he prided himself on his constant tan and quick wit. If you wanted to interest dad you just needed to talk to him about ancient ruins anywhere in the world, and he wouldn't shut up about the details because he knew them all. "Mom," I said finally registering her comment about my fascination with the Mexican rainforest. "How do you know about my research of the Mayans and the rainforest? You need to stop going through my stuff." That morning mom had found my history-science project and was fascinated by my research on the Mayans. It had given her the idea for our vacation. I was embarrassed because this was kind of my own private project with the cutest boy in school. God, could anything ever happen in my life that she didn't snoop around and sniff out? She had no right to invade my privacy like that. "Mom, you're so extra. Why are you going in my room without my permission!" I demanded. "Hey, cool it, Cali," Mom said shrugging off my brattiness. "Then don't leave your private things laying around. There were clothes and books everywhere honey. You want to sleep with bugs?" She always picked up my room. Honestly, I loved that she did that, but I hated that she found my private stuff while doing it. "Besides, it's awesome that you're taking an interest in an ancient civilization. You should be proud of it and not hide it from us," she said disappointed. "Let me know if you need help, or ask daddy - he's the expert." Mom and dad were extremely pleased to see that I was taking an interest in something that was very unlike me. I shrugged off their intrusion and chalked it up to pure curiosity on their part. If it made them this happy, what suckers - they were pretty easy to please then. I started to feel bad and made a mental note to make them feel they participated in my project somehow. I was sure there would be plenty of chances during our trip. I was a happy go-lucky girl. Although self indulging and spoiled at times, my heart had always been in the right place. "Normal teenage angst," mom would call it as she dismissed my behavior 50% of the time, but other times when she'd had enough, she got mad and called me on it; grounding me and punishing me where it hurt - like taking away my cell phone, lap top, or iPod. But nothing could prepare me for the news about my parents that morning. Yeah, I was silly and self-centered, and lived a pretty uneventful existence besides the usual, but now my world had crumbled down around me, and right before me and Marsh would be meeting up with them in Mexico. The tears started to fall like raindrops. I couldn't stop crying. My mom, my dad - my rock, my life. "What am I going to do?" I sobbed as I cried myself back to sleep. My heart broke for my brother, Marsh, who had to be told very cautiously. "Cali, are you going to be my mother now?" he asked with big rolling tears falling down his cheeks and a wide-eyed look of innocence, pain, and fear. He sat slumped in a chair looking down and shaking. "Yes, Marsh. I'll take care of you, don't worry. You have to be strong, little man. We`ll get through this together." As the pain and sadness washed over me like a giant wave, I realized that I would have to grow up fast. My parents had intrinsically woven all their morals and values in me, and I was just realizing how valuable those skills would be - now that I had to take on a parental role with Marsh. I had to be the strong one for my little brother. Mom's and dad's life long dreams revolved around us, but also in their love for life and nature, and their strong beliefs in doing their part to preserve the rainforests through donations and mom's newspaper articles. They had taught me from an early age to love nature and our land's natural resources, which were dwindling at an alarming rate. We saved our water and energy, and recycled. Dad and mom drove hybrid cars. I had already been promised a hybrid as soon as I graduated from high school. I couldn't wait to have that independence instead of being driven everywhere - ugh! I loved both of my parents deeply, but I had a special bond with mom. We were like best friends. She was young enough that people sometimes asked if we were sisters. She always took it as a compliment. "I'm so lucky to be compared to you, sweetie," she would say mischievously. "You're so cute with that little body, and long brown hair and big brown eyes. You look just like I did at your age, but look at me now," she would say patting her behind. Mom was still beautiful contrary to what she thought. She was five years younger than dad, but looked a lot younger. She was a brunette with hazel eyes, and had a smile that swept you off your feet. She was sassy, warm, loving and nurturing. She was very spiritual and always took care of herself, physically and spiritually. Even when she was upset she tried to hide it at home - always putting on a smile for me and Marsh. She was always there for me with abundant unconditional love and a kind word of advice, especially in my worst times. Only she had a special way of knowing my emotions like if they were her own. It was uncanny. I was so distraught about the loss of mom I thought I would go crazy. I knew that no one could ever come close to taking her place. Her absence would leave a huge void in my heart. "How can I cope?" I asked in a prayer. "God, please give me the strength to deal with this and bring mom back. I'll do anything." Uncle Aiden and Aunt Bette, my dad's brother and his wife, immediately stepped into the shoes of mom and dad. "We've made appointments tomorrow with Dr. Goldberg for both you and Marsh," said Aunt Bette wiping away my tears. "It's okay dear. Everything will be all right." "Dr. Ian Goldberg is a well known children's psychiatrist. He'll help you work out some of the problems you're facing with the loss of your parents," added Uncle Aiden sadly. "I don't need it, maybe Marsh does, but not me," I said angrily through my tears. "I'm not a child." I was frustrated. Couldn't anybody get it? Instead of sitting around talking, we needed to go to Mexico and find out what happened. Where was mom if they hadn't found her body? That night I had a restless sleep and dreamt that mom was beckoning me. She was trying to tell me something, but each time I got closer something held me back and I couldn't get to her. I woke up frustrated and upset crying into my pillow. The next day, I met Dr. Goldberg, who was a kind older man with wiry glasses and a gray crop of hair that poofed out of the middle of the top of his head. It was almost comical. I had to stifle back a little laugh. He asked me to sit down on a big brown couch that swallowed me up with its huge pillows. "Tell me about your parents, Caleana," Dr. Goldberg asked looking at his chart, "whatever you feel comfortable talking about." "I believe my mother is still alive," I responded, fighting with the pillows. "I just get this feeling. You know they haven't found her body." "It's normal for you to feel that way especially since your mother's body is missing," said Dr. Goldberg kindly looking down at me deep in the couch. "Let's talk about your parents and your family life so I can understand you better and sort out some of the feelings you're having." "I had a dream of my mom last night," I added tearfully remembering the frustration the dream made me feel. "She was calling out to me, but I just couldn't get to her. I miss her so much." "That's normal," said Dr. Goldberg. "It represents your desire to keep your mother alive in your mind. You're not letting go. You're going through the stages of loss. It's very normal." I told him about mom and dad. They were 60's children. Growing up, they were all about peace and love. The current state of the world's affairs was distasteful to them. Dad had been an archaeologist whose job took him to all corners of the world and mom was a journalist. We were a typical suburban California family with a deep longing to make a difference in the world. We were the Molinari's, a loving if somewhat quirky bunch. While Ruddy would search the globe studying archaeological sites, Eria would write about the earth and its natural resources, as well as California's dwindling crop failures, and earth tremors that would upset environmental agriculture and water sources in the highlands and lowlands of California. "When my grandfather died, he left dad an inheritance and left us trust funds." I said. "Dad was grateful he could follow his career and live a life somewhat privileged in that he didn't have to work a 9:00 to 5:00. Mom didn't take any of it for granted. She felt she had a purpose in life, and she put it out there with a pure passion in her heart out of her little newspaper office at La Conchita Times." I suddenly had diarrhea of the mouth. My words just flowed at this point. I couldn't stop talking about mom and dad. I was bringing them alive with my vivid recollection, and it was therapeutic. I told him mom always found the time to take me and Marsh to soccer practices, dance recitals, friends' homes, parties and movies. She basically catered to all we did on a school and social level. It was amazing she was able to keep up with her active life style and her work schedule. While playing mom, she was also a writer and an activist. She spent a lot of time conducting interviews and research to prevent environmental disasters, beach erosion, and landslides in the mountains. She was also writing a book. She worked on it intently every night at our dining room table. She would sit at the table with her silly glasses down to her nose listening to Soundscape music, and typing away at the computer for hours. She was usually the last one to get to bed at night. (Continues...) Excerpted from TEMPLES OF THE MISTby Julia Maganini Copyright © 2009 by Julia Maganini. Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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