‘
The time for the lone wolf is over. Gather yourselves! Banish the word struggle from your attitude and your vocabulary. All that we do now must be done in a sacred manner, and in celebration. We are the ones we've been waiting for.
’
”
My unspoken question: Are these lines merely the ravings of a senile old man, or does this one hundred and fourteen-year-old Indian actually know something that we don’t?
As Frank directs us to a ladder leading onto the rooftop of one of the pueblo buildings, the drama of the event unfolding before us becomes apparent. Thousands of Indians, their faces and bodies painted, and dressed in garish costumes and fearsome headdresses, prepare to dance a dance prescribed by their ancestors, the ancient Aztecs, a thousand years ago. Both Crystal and I are stunned speechless by the spectacle, so Frank fills in a few details about the Hopi.
“Oraibi was actually founded sometime before the year 1100, which makes it the oldest continually inhabited settlements in North America,” he tells us. “But Old Oraibi remained unknown to European explorers until about 1540 when Spanish explorer Don Pedro de Tovar (who was part of the Coronado expedition) encountered the Hopi while searching for the legendary Seven Cities of Cibola, or the Lost Seven Cities of Gold.
“The Hopi are the most mystical of Native American people, and while they welcome visitors to the village, they remain secretive about their culture and their beliefs.”
“But you were able to penetrate their culture,” I observe.
“Only to a point,” Frank explains. “It’s true that I was told things and shown things—the sacred Hopi tablet, for instance, foretelling the return of the
Pahana
, the long lost White Brother. The tablet that I saw is a grayish marble with rosy highlights, broken away at its top. (Marble, you understand, is found nowhere in the vicinity of Northern Arizona.) The Hopi say that though he has been gone a long, long time on a mission to the east, he will return again, and at his coming the wicked will be destroyed and a new age of peace, the Fifth World, will begin. It is foretold that he will bring with him the missing part of the sacred stone, the other half of which is now in the possession of the Fire Clan. It is also said that he will come wearing red.”
I look over at Frank, and he is dressed all in red. (Gulp!)
“Do you have the broken piece of the stone?” I ask.
Waters’ limpid blue eyes gaze upon the distant horizon, their color a reflection of the infinite sky. “Is the Fifth World a real place?” he asks rhetorically. “Or is it merely a manifestation of hope and superstition?”
I guess I have my answer.
Just what Kiz has cooked up here, and what Crystal and I have gotten ourselves into, we shall know within the hour. Meanwhile, Frank continues to tell us about these enigmatic Indians. Both Crystal and I now want to learn as much as we can, because if we are also to be thrust into this so-called Fifth World, like it or not, a little orientation might serve us well.
“The legend of the
Pahana
is intimately connected with the ancient Aztec story of Quetzacoatl, the horned or plumed serpent,” Frank continues. “Both cultures draw vast amounts of their mythology from the Mayan civilization, and in fact, the Hopi concept of time is Mayan in origin. And the Mayan calendar is more accurate than the Roman one.”
“Doesn’t the Mayan calendar end on the winter solstice of the Roman year 2012?” Crystal asks.
I swallow hard at her observation. Remember, I tell myself, this is VL, not… But of course by now I know that reality is not grounded in one dimension.
Frank then brings us back to the present moment: “Hopi legend tells that what we know as the current earth is the Fourth World—what you call PL, I believe. The story essentially says that in each of the previous worlds, the people, though originally happy, eventually became irreverent and lived contrary to the laws of nature—what you call NL, right? They fought one another and would not live in harmony. Spider Woman then led the righteous into the next world—a higher world. Physical changes occurred in the people themselves, and in the environment of the next world. In some stories, these former worlds were then destroyed along with their iniquitous inhabitants, whereas in others the good people were simply led away from the chaos that had been created as a result of their own actions.
“Two main versions exist as to the Hopi’s emergence into the present Fourth World. The more prevalent is that Spider Woman caused a hollow reed to grow into the sky, and it emerged in the Fourth World at the
sipapu
. The people then climbed up the reed into this world, emerging from the earth’s naval. The location of the
sipapu
is said to be the Grand Canyon.”
As Frank’s voice falls, the rise of a drumbeat replaces his tutorial. Thousands of Hopi dressed as various kachina spirits representing the forces of nature: rain, stars, animals—even watermelon—move to the center of the plaza to begin the dance. As the beating of the drums grows louder, a dozen young men dressed only in loincloths dance into the center of the plaza with live rattlesnakes in their mouths. They dance round and round the central kiva before another group approaches to take the writing serpents from the clenched jaws of the dancers. Not a single dancer has been bitten, nor have the handlers. Once relieved of their burden, the young men enter the kiva, and they do not come out. The rattlesnakes are then released into the desert to return to their habitat in the center of the earth.
The drumbeat grows louder as more dancers join the rhythmic ritual. A chant rises up from others still waiting to join the procession, and together the beating drums and chanting voices call to a force not known by White men. Over the distant peaks of the San Francisco Mountains, thunderheads emerge, layer upon blackening layer, toward the heavens. The beat goes on. The dance continues. And the consuming power of a feverish trance envelopes the entire mesa.
One by one, each dancer kneels down before the priest that guards the entrance to the kiva, and one after another each is blessed then disappears inside the circular temple. Down the ladder they climb, but none re-emerge.
“What’s inside the kiva?” Crystal asks Frank.
“Not much of anything,” he tells her. “Just a deep hole at the center—
sipapu
!”
At that moment, I spy Kiz in the line of dancers. I almost don’t recognize her because she is wearing the costume of the Corn Woman kachina. I want to call out to her, ask her what she thinks she’s doing, and tell her not to go inside the kiva. But the drums and the chanting are far too loud for me to be heard. And now, the clouds are gathering overhead—big, dark ominous clouds, the kind that can unleash a torrent, a deluge, a FLOOD!
Whoosh
…
Just as Kiz reaches the priest for a blessing, she looks for a nanosecond (or is it for eternity?) at me and at Crystal. The look in her eye is filled with fire. Her body shakes in a trance that is at once haunting and commanding. Don’t do it! I want to shout. Don’t go in there! But my voice is frozen in the desert heat. My body is numb with the impending finality of the event. I look to Frank for help, but Frank is gone.
Perhaps to deliver the missing part of the stone tablet…
Suddenly, there is a flash of lightning followed by a tremendous crack of thunder. The skies open and the rain comes pouring down in sheets. The Hopi dancers turn their heads in unison towards the sky, and their faces are pelted with raindrops. Is this the end of the Fourth World? Are my relationships right? Is my garden tended? Where is Grandfather David? Has he already entered the kiva and descended through
sipapu
into the Fifth incarnation? Should Crystal and I join the dance? Or is there still time?
Having received the blessing of the Hopi priest, Kizmet turns her back and heads for the kiva ladder. “She’s going to go in there,” I say to Crystal in desperation, “and there’s nothing I can do to stop her.”
Step by deliberate step, my friend Kizmet Aurora (Cassandra Stephens) disappears into the kiva, and I know I will never see her again.
WINTER IS COMING IN SEATTLE. I can always tell, because clear blue skies give way to an overcast dome, and a procession of rainy days that lasts until spring always follows. It has been raining for three straight weeks now, except it is only June.
Seattle Harbor is up eighteen inches and is still rising. Mr. Wang at the fish market says it’s an omen. I am inclined to agree. I know what I saw when the rains came at Old Oraibi. The village at the top of Third Mesa is now an island. If downtown Seattle floods, Mr. Wang will probably close his stall and maybe even go home to his wife in China. What would Amy do for a job then?
Sonja says that Tivoli Gardens in Copenhagen is flooded, too. People all over Europe are beginning to panic. In Holland, the dikes are under stress and in danger of failing. Several Greek islands have already disappeared. Liverpool is being battered by huge waves, and the coast of Normandy is suffering severe erosion.
Here in America, New Orleans is a vast sewer system…again. Manhattan is at times a canal city, like Venice used to be… Virginia Beach is long gone. In Florida, the Everglades are coming back to life. Strangely, nobody is even talking about evacuations. In fact, no one in government is saying jack shit. It’s like the whole world is holding its breath. Waiting for what? Nobody knows.
…A comet to come and smash into earth and create a nuclear winter lasting a thousand years or more… Another Great Flood… A nuclear accident that will make Chernobyl look like the first sneeze of the cold season… On the radio I hear that a three thousand mile ribbon of the Atlantic Ocean stretching from Florida almost to Norway is on fire.
So we haven’t been spending nearly as much time in VL lately. The situation as it is developing in PL seems to be commanding everybody’s attention, and that’s understandable. I haven’t heard from Iggy for a while, nor have I seen Omar or the Quinngen. But I did get a PM from Filo the other day telling me that the ‘Virtual Life Security Plan’ is underway and will soon be completed. That’s good news, I guess. But if everything goes
whoosh
, then it’s not going to matter anyhow, because without PL people to operate computers, VL will be a static world. Unless Theo Ola has managed to figure out something that he’s not sharing with me…
And Sonja has begun sending me (Amy Birkenstock) emails, which is uncharacteristic to say the least. In the past, though Crystal and I have been best friends in VL for more than two years now, Sonja has always kept her PL business to herself. The emails are highly personal and quite reflective in tone. Something’s up with my friend; something’s rotten in the State of Denmark, I fear. I don’t know how to respond to her melancholic mood. And mine is not much better.
Lately, my life as a VL greeter has been a whirlwind, because thousands of new people are signing on every day. I suppose it’s because of all the bad news in PL. For example, just since yesterday I’ve been subjected to social chaos in Bangalore, erosion of the Queensland coastline in Australia, the devastating agricultural effects of a late May freeze in southern Florida, noxious gas coming from Mount Fuji in Japan (nobody seems to know exactly what it is; or at least if they do, they’re not saying), and the sudden widening of the San Andreas Fault in California. Not to mention the ridiculous ads which have suddenly surfaced on TV, and on the Internet as well. How about a mid-winter golfing vacation in the Scottish Highlands? Or skiing in Honduras? (Iggy might like that.) Or, if you just can’t get away right now, be sure to get your disaster survival kit from Wal-Mart, just $99.99! I mean you can only stand to watch so much destruction before you have to do something positive.
Crystal is doing double duty, too. She had never worked as a VL greeter in the past, but most who are highly experienced in Virtual Life are taking their turn. It’s the least we can do. In a way, it’s like processing refugees. Most of the new seedlings are not only uncertain and disoriented, but scared as well. I get the feeling that they are not here in VL as a first choice, but rather as a last chance. I hope they can adjust.
On a more positive note, I received a PM yesterday from Igloo Iceman asking me to meet him at one o’clock today at Dirty Nellie’s Pub. “I have something important to tell you” the note said. So I’m taking some time off from my duties to see my old friend the iceman. I wonder what he’s up to…
It’s a typical day in VL—sunny, warm, birds singing in the trees. As I once said, every day in VL is like living in California—or at least what California once was. When I arrive at Dirty Nellie’s, Iggy is already sitting on the patio drinking a beer, so I take a seat at the table. When the waitress comes, I order a cup of tea (my drink of choice lately). “What brings you out of the mountains?” I say. “Need a bit of warm air?”
“You’ve got to be kidding,” he smirks. He rolls up his sleeve to show me his tan line.
“Who would have thought?” I say.
“The truth is, Fiz, I’m under water up there,” he says as he swallows half a mug of beer.
“It’s that bad?” I ask.
“First it was just the bottom floor of my house, so I moved to the second floor. But now the second floor is submerged as well. So I guess I’m homeless.”
“Do you need a place to crash?” I offer.
“Thanks,” he says, smiling. “But that’s not why I asked you to meet me here today.”