Gentle readers:

One of you recently emailed me a query: is this list dead? Since none of YOU has contributed anything lately, it may as well be. But I do have a few items to report.

I've now been in Mexico nearly two months, driving towards Nicaragua in an old Ford Explorer SUV. I've driven across the burning sands and ragged mountains of the Sonoran and Chihuahuan deserts and passed the mysterious Zona del Silencio where radio waves are obstructed, mutation rates are high, and UFOs and micrometeorites rain down like dust.

I've wandered through the haunted Misiones de la Sierra Gorda (like a far-south Califia) and crossed the Sierra Madre Oriental. In Xilitla's tropical forest. at mysterious Las Pozas I found the torturous constructions of a British royal bastard, a concrete maze inspired by Dali and Escher and Lovecraft, an earthly haunt of the spawn of Cthulhu.

In hills above the shores of Veracruz and Tabasco states, in flatlands of Campeche and Yucatan states, in foothills of northern Chiapas state, I've climbed the Totonac and Mayan pyramids of Et Tejin and Comalcalco and Palenque and Uxmal and others. At Comalcalco in Tabasco's oil-rich mud flats are Mayan pyramids made of fired bricks, the ONLY such evidence of this technology in the pre-Conquest Americas. And the bricks bear marks and emblems similar to those left by ancient Roman brickmakers. Coincidence, or... ????

Now I'm in my fourth week of residing in San Cristobal de las Casas, an ancient colonial city in the highlands of Chiapas, the southernmost state of Mexico, just across the border from Guatemala. Chiapas was once part of Guatemala, and still is culturally and socially and ethnically. This is Maya-land. Chupacabras scamper around these mystical mountains like rabid rabbits, to the great annoyance of the Zapatistas. This is also Zapatista-land. My companion and I were held up at a Zapatista roadblock, extorted for money, threatened with death. We escaped. San Cristobal seems like a refuge, yet more revolutionary violence could break out at any moment. Click here for details.

(Chiapas was named after the chia plant, whose seeds are renowned as a high-energy food, as a treatment for diarrhea and other leakage, as a coagulant for wounds, and just for everyday sopping-up functions. But I have yet to see a chia mint plant here. Why not?)

Ancient Catholic churches are scattered around the city- and land-scape like more-or-less brightly-painted stone or concrete mushrooms. Some of them have been taken over by the indigenous, who practice yet more ancient incense-washed rituals. Guards clad in animal skins stand at the entrances of these smoky temples, denying entrance to outsiders such as myself, and rightly so.

Some of the indigenous have been converted by Evangelists, and holy wars have broken out, most notably in Chamula, in the mountains just a few kilometers from the heart of San Cristobal. The 'catholic' traditionalists in Chamula kicked out their last Vatican-sent priest 150 years ago and only allow the bishop in once a month to officiate at christenings, weddings and funerals. To these Chamulans, Jesus is dead and kept in a coffin. They worship the Sun and John the Baptist.

The atrium, or forecourt, of the Chamula church, separates the sacred from the secular. We are definitely the latter; admission is by ticket only, and only on non-holy days. Visitors are harshly warned NOT to use cameras, as Chamulans believe that photography steals souls. And they are right. But whose soul is lost, the object's or the shooter's?

And traditional Chamulans smoke and drink, a LOT. Religious officials must drink to stay in touch with the elder Mayan gods. Congregants must stay drunk to stay holy. Even the chupracabras here are drunk and smokey. Tobacco and alcohol sales boom.

But evangelizers have converted some townsfolk to Protestantism, and these converts don't drink or smoke. The local retail economy is threatened. Those who attend the evangelical iglesias are threatened with excommunication, shunning, violence. And the threats are realized. Chamula is famous for its recent massacre, when traditionalists attacked Prods, raping, looting, killing, burning houses, etc. The massacre was some years ago but the killing continues, unto this last year.

Passions run high. WE'RE HOLIER THAN YOU!! YOU'RE SATANIC!! But wait, doesn't this sound familiar? In place after place, time after time, it's sect vs sect, faith vs faith. MY invisible friend(s) is/are better than YOUR invisible friend(s), so YOU have to die. Some years back I wrote a song about Methodists killing Hindus in Fiji, but I could fill lots of space and airtime with accounts of such slaughters. Can't we all just get along? Apparently not.

Meanwhile, Papa Juan Pablo Dos has just died. Church bells are silent here; by Mexican law, priests and nuns are forbidden to wear signs of their vocations, and churches must remain outside secular life. But worldwide, there is much anxious huddling and conversing. Birds flitter in the trees. Cardinals fly back to Rome to burn more candles and politics. Some cardinal is to be chosen as the new Pope. And for some reason, the old Tom Lehrer song THE VATICAN RAG keeps running through my head. Does that mean I'm in serious trouble? Of course not. Click here for lyrics.

Local papers and magazines are always full of accounts of miracles and monsters and aliens and conspiracies, as well as the usual sex and violence and corruption. On the night before Easter, in the town square, was the Burning of Judas. Effigies of politicians and demons were reviled and exploded. But life goes on.

And so shall I. In a week I'll drive south, across Guatemala, into El Salvador and Honduras and Nicaragua. I'll keep my eyes and ears and nostrils peeled (ewww...) for any news of miracles, monsters, mayhem, gods, aliens, robots, etc. Stay tuned.

A FINAL NOTE: I was just loaned a copy of THE LOST TOMB OF VIRACOCHA: Unlocking the Secrets of the Peruvian Pyramids, by Maurice Cotterell, author of THE TUTANKHAMUN PROPHESIES and THE SUPERGODS and THE MAYAN PROPHESIES. How could I have tried to understand the Mayan Pyramids without reading the latter? The author has decoded many ancient texts and carvings, revealing that King Tut and King Pacal (of Palenque) and some predecessors of the Incas are SOLAR GODS who learnt and passed on the SUPER-SCIENCE OF THE SUN. All just reincarnations of Quetzalcoatl, really.

Mr Cotterell (described as a SCIENTIST and ENGINEER, but with no CV given) merely mixes Revelations and Velikovsky and his own genius to decode these mysteries. He converts ancient pictures into line drawings, makes obverse and reverse transparencies, overlays them at various angles, colors in portions, and reveals THE SECRET MEANINGS, just as any divinely-inspired ancient would have done. Why, the Western numerals 144,000 pop out on Pacal's forehead! Then he multiplies randomly, conjectures conclusively, ignores mistakes in geography and geology and history, gives Dick-and-Jane-level explanations-excuses for various inconsistencies and paradoxes, and tells us that procreation leads only to death.

I highly recommend that you borrow (don't buy) and read this book. Keep a highlighter handy so you can mark the funny stuff. Don't tell the Vatican about this one, kids.

Cya later --Ric

_{(9 April 2005, San Cristobal de las Casas, Chiapas, Mexico)}