Sky People

by Ardy Sixkiller Clarke

  “Interesting premise,” I replied.

  “Venus and the Moon were major signposts for Quiriguá,” Mateo continued. I watched him get up and walk to one of the stela. He pointed out that it referred to movements of Venus, along with a time indicating an eclipse. “The rotation of the Moon, stars, and planets were [sic] carefully noted as you can see from these carvings. Cauac Sky claimed a close association with Venus. The elders said that on the day of Cauac’s death, Venus was barely seen on the western horizon at sunset. On Stela D, where Venus is mentioned as the companion of Cauac Sky, there was an image identified as a Venus Sun deity. On the altar L, the ruler wore a star sign in his headdress.”

  “Does it offend you that writers such as Erich von Däniken promote the idea that an alien race came to Earth and built these great cities?” I asked.

  “It is definitely exploitation, but the white man has been exploiting our knowledge for centuries. They do the same to the Amerindians in the USA. He never asked us what we thought about his theories. You see, Doctora, I believe the Sky People and the Maya are the same. We are descendants of the space travelers who came to Earth and built these great cities. I believe my ancestors came here from another planet. I think they brought with them great scientific and engineering knowledge. Once here, they decided to stay.”

  “Isn’t that in essence what von Däniken claims?

  “Not at all. His work is the best example of ethnocentrism practiced today. He believes some highly intellectual race came to Earth and forced the ignorant, savage Maya to build the cities. He does not recognize that the highly intellectual race is our ancestors. We are the same. In his arrogance he decided that Space Gods built the cities and then left. The Maya were no more than their slaves. Of course, if he did admit that the Maya were the same as the Space Gods, and we are their descendants, then he might have to admit that the white man was not superior. But the Maya know the truth. Our connections will always be directed toward the sky because the DNA of the Sky Gods are the blood of the Maya,” he said. “Our language is the language of the Sky People. Someday that will be proven. Until then, we still own the mysteries of the Universe and, whether it is von Däniken or anyone else, those mysteries are not for sale. We keep them to ourselves and pass them on to one generation after another, but we do not share. You see, the real knowledge is too dangerous to share. Maybe someday, but probably not in our lifetime, it will be known. The general public is not ready for it.”

  “When you think of the fame von Däniken has achieved with his ancient astronaut theory, does it make you angry? Does it make you want to speak out against him?”

  “No. As you know, we believe that what goes around comes around. He has made millions from his books on the backs of the indigenous people of Mesoamerica and South America. But the people are still poor. We believe that someday, the Great Gods of the Universe will set that straight.”

  “You mentioned that the Maya still own the mysteries of the universe, but they are too dangerous to reveal. What do you mean by that?”

  “People today live in their own world. Even though they profess to believe that alien life exists, if and when they discover that it does, they will not react calmly. First there will be curiosity, then fear, and then aggression. We always try to destroy what we do not understand.”

  “I have been told that before,” I said. “But do you believe that different groups of aliens settled different parts of Earth?” I asked.

  “Yes, but the elders never speak of that. I do believe that most of the indigenous people of the Earth, whether they are in the Americas or Australia or some remote Pacific Island, came from the stars. Our belief system and worldview is so different than the rest of the world and yet in many ways we are all connected. We share many of the same beliefs. I cannot speak for the non-indigenous. We have no connection with them.”

  I listened carefully to Mateo. He was not only knowledgeable about the history of this site, but he knew the stories of the elders, which brought far more understanding than I would have observed on my own. In his lifetime, Mateo had been a teacher, a cultural specialist, and a headmaster of a school. Lately he had taken up the role of professional guide/driver for a “select group of travelers” who, according to him must be “interesting, amiable, curious, and open-minded.”

  Sitting there at Quiriguá and listening to Mateo, I found it easy to summon visions of shaman and Maya leaders using their multifaceted calendar like a time machine, wandering at will through the distant past and future. It was understandable why writers attached space travel to the abilities of the ancient Maya, and for a moment you can imagine with them.

  Quiriguá is a unique site. It is not to be missed whether you are following in the footsteps of Stephens and Catherwood, or just a UFO adventurer looking for answers. You will not be disappointed. If you happen to meet Mateo, he will definitely make you a believer that the Sky Gods were travelers from another world who came to Earth, liked what they saw, remained here, and became known as the Maya.

  Chapter 15

  We Had Our Own Gods

  Blue-skinned aliens have been reported throughout history. In the deep cavern systems beneath the Ozarks, seven-foot blue-skinned men have been encountered. Some sources tell of encounters with this blue-skinned race in the Southern states. The Cherokee Indians told stories of blue-skinned men with large eyes who lived underground and only came to the surface at night. The Hopi Indians also spoke of a race of blue-skinned Star Warriors. While following in the footsteps of Stephens and Catherwood, I heard a number of accounts about blue-skinned people from the sky. In this chapter, you will read of an account of a man who saw the blue-skinned men.

  “I have heard many stories of alien abductions over the years, but the most interesting was a story told to me by a man in a village a few miles from here,” Mateo said as we left Quiriguá. “It happened to him when he was a boy, but he tells it with such detail, there is no question in my mind that he experienced this event. We will drive by his place. We’ll stop and see if he is willing to share his story. He is a traditional elder and not accustomed to visits from a gringa, so let me talk with him first.”

  “I’m certainly lucky you are my driver and guide,” I replied.

  “When you wrote me that you wanted to follow in the steps of Stephens and Catherwood, I was really excited. I have studied their journey and read their works many times. But when you said you were a collector of stories about UFOs, you were a person after my own heart. I am always talking to people about UFOs. And as you know, I have had my own experience, so I share your interest. Hopefully, I will be able to help you a lot in this area.” We slowed as we entered the small village. “His house is on the right. He is called Wak Chan. He says he was named in honor of a legendary Maya warrior who successfully protected his people in many wars with a neighboring city, but the government has yet to find such cities. He speaks only Mayan, so I will translate.”

  “Does he live alone?”

  “He lives alone now that his wife has passed, but most everyone in the community is related to him. He is a very wise man and is highly respected in this region. They say he has the power to heal with his hands. You will feel his power just by being in his presence.” Mateo pulled the car alongside a traditional one-room hut, about the size of a typical bathroom in the USA. His house set back from the road only a few feet. A large, vacant field separated him from another small hut to the west. It was the last residence on the road. I sat in the car and watched a group of children playing in the street. Several dogs got up and walked toward the van. One ventured forth and stood on his hind legs and looked in the window. Mateo returned, pushed him away, and opened the door for me. When I reached down to pet the dog, Mateo warned me away. “He probably has fleas and God knows what else,” he cautioned. “Wak Chan will see you, but he is asking for tobacco.”

  “I have some packets of green tobacco in my travel bag in the back of the van.” Mateo walked to the back and opened the double
doors. I was aware that the Maya used the green tobacco as snuff like American baseball players. Because green tobacco is more powerful, it maximizes the absorption of nicotine into the blood stream. The modern Maya use tobacco for a number of ailments. It is also believed to provide personal magical protection. I pulled out a packet of green tobacco, handed it to Mateo, and followed him into the gated front yard of Wak Chan.

  Mateo guided me to the back of the house, where the elder sat on a beautiful, hand-carved mahogany bench. He was a small man. A straw cowboy hat with a silver concho hat band covered his head but wisps of white hair fell across his ears and made his golden-brown skin appear darker. He kept his eyes averted as I was introduced to him. On closer scrutiny, I realized his eyes were sensitive to the light; one was clouded, perhaps the result of cataracts. “My son, Mateo, tells me you want to hear my story about the star visitors,” he began. Mateo translated. “It has been several years since I have told this story, but I remember it as if it were yesterday.”

  “Is he your father?” I asked Mateo.

  “No. My father was his boyhood friend. It is traditional. Children in the villages are everyone’s child. So I have many fathers and grandfathers,” Mateo explained.

  “This has been my home since the day I was born,” Wak Chan began. “At one time that field had rich soil. It was planted with corn and beans several times each year and provided us with much bounty,” he said as he pointed to vacant lot beside his house. “But it is dead now. Nothing has grown there for years—seventy-two years to be exact. My father never knew what happened to that field and I never told him.” He paused and waited for Mateo to translate before he continued. “One night, shortly before the sun appeared in the sky, my little brother and I woke up to a thunderous sound. We walked outside to take a look and we saw a dish-shaped object descend to the ground in that field. I saw it throw up dust and crush our beautiful corn field. We had worked so hard to grow the corn. We were too afraid to wake our father. He was a short-tempered man and he drank too much. We feared he might beat us for waking him.” He paused again, opened the package of tobacco, took out a pinch, and placed it inside his cheek.

  “Can you describe the craft?” I asked.

  “It looked like a dish turned upside down. There were small lights around the outside showing a complete circle. It lit up the whole village. I remember wondering why no one else was awake. In those years, we never saw lights. We had no electricity. We went to bed when it got dark and woke up when the sun came up.”

  “Did the craft land?”

  “Yes. When it landed, four men appeared out of nowhere. They walked very strange.” He stood and, although stooped with age, he mimicked their robot-like walk. “Then two more men appeared. One came very close to our hiding place. That’s when we realized that they were not humans. Their skin was blue. They were very tall. Twice as tall as me. They walked to the house across the field and vanished through the walls. They did not use the door. They walked through the walls.” He paused for a moment and stared off toward the house as though reliving the event. “I knew the family that lived there, even though we were forbidden to go there. When the blue men disappeared, my brother and I were frightened, but we had no time to respond. All of a sudden, they emerged from the house with the parents and the two little girls. We sat there absolutely frozen in fear. I wanted to run over there and stop them, but I told my brother we were no match for men who had power to walk through walls.” Mateo translated.

  “What did you do at that point?”

  “We did nothing. We watched these Sky Men lead the family into their machine and they were gone. The lights from the object flashed on and lighted up the landscape like noonday. It rose above the trees very slowly and shot off into the night like an arrow. My brother and I sat there afraid and speechless. We never talked about what we saw to anyone except Mateo’s father. He was like our brother.” He turned to Mateo. “I miss your father,” Wak Chan said.

  “I miss him, too,” Mateo said. Wak Chan removed a handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped his watery eyes and then continued.

  “Often when darkness fell on the village, my brother, José, and Mateo’s father, and I would lie outside and look at the stars and imagine what might have happened to the giant blue men. We knew they were up there and probably kidnapping other families. There were times we wished they would take us. We were curious boys and wanted to find out about them and where they took the family.”

  “Do you remember the next time you saw the family after the night of the abductions?” I asked.

  “We saw them that afternoon. They appeared normal. We were afraid to ask them about the blue men so we asked Mateo’s father, who was bolder than the two of us, to ask them. He walked over to their house. The two girls were in their fenced-in yard. He asked them if they had seen any giant blue men and they ran in the house screaming.” He paused and laughed. “The missionary father came out of the house and told Hernando, Mateo’s father, to stay away from his daughters. We all had a good laugh about that. We knew their father did not want them playing with us. We were the dirty village kids. He kept them isolated from us. The girls were not even allowed to play with the village girls. They were lonely little girls.”

  “Why did they keep them away from the village children? I don’t understand.”

  “They were white Mexicans. We were Maya. We were dirty little kids.”

  “Did you think of yourself as dirty?” I asked.

  “Never. We knew who we were. Hernando said we were of royal blood and that we were descendants of god kings and that when our people were building great cities, the Spanish were living in caves. So despite what everyone said about us, we knew the truth. Mateo’s father was a smart man.”

  “Where is your brother and Mateo’s father?” I asked as I looked at the duo.

  “My brother, Jaguar Sky, died ten years ago. Hernando passed two years ago. We were close until the end.” He paused and spoke directly to Mateo and then Mateo addressed me.

  “Wak Chan wants to know if you have heard of other families being kidnapped by blue men.”

  “Please tell him that I have heard stories of abductions, but I have heard only one story where witnesses reported seeing an abduction. However the space men did not walk through walls. This makes his story unique.” Mateo smiled and nodded.

  “Does the family still live in the village?”

  “No. They are gone. They only lived here for a short time. Their father was a missionary. He came to teach us about Jesus but, although we liked the stories about Jesus, in those days, we had our own ways. If there was such a person as Jesus, he was not looking out for us. The missionary was called Ralph Lopez. He was the little girls’ father. I can’t remember the name of his church, but one day the men of the village told Ralph he should move to another village and he packed his things and left.” I saw a smile cross his face as he remembered the evangelist who lived among them. “Mateo’s father and I talked about the day. We talked about the fear on the missionary’s face. He was afraid of the village men.”

  “Why did the village men ask the family to leave?”

  “We are a traditional people,” he said. “We had our own gods. We didn’t need any more.”

  We spent most of the morning with Wak Chan. When noontime approached, his granddaughter appeared with food; we ate tortillas filled with beans and chicken. Before we left, I gifted Wak Chan with several packages of green tobacco and a case of his favorite drink, Coca-Cola. He made me promise that the next time I came to Guatemala that I would come to visit him. I promised.

  I often think of Wak Chan. While he never traveled far beyond his village and had no desire to do so, he had witnessed blue giants from another planet who abducted a family and lived to share his experience. He did not regard the visitors as gods, nor did he embrace the white man’s god, because, as he so aptly expressed: He had his own gods and did not need any more.

  Chapter 16

  Aliens With
Red Eyes

  Although uncommon, there are records of alien visitors with red eyes. Some researchers have reported giant aliens with lizard-skin and yellow or red cat eyes. In this chapter, you will read about four young women, who encountered four star travelers who may have planned to abduct them, but their screaming caused the aliens to retreat to their spacecraft. The girls insisted the aliens had red eyes.

  I decided to take the next day off after the Quiriguá visit and spend the day relaxing, writing in my journal, and rewriting my notes. In the late afternoon, Mateo called. His sister, who lived in a small village outside of Guatemala City, had invited us to dinner. “She is an English teacher and wants to meet you. She loves talking to English speakers. I told her I would convince you to go.”

  “I would love to go.”

  “Good. It will give you a chance to eat some home-cooked Guatemalan food and to meet my nieces. They had an encounter recently, and I think you would enjoy listening to them. My sister was reluctant at first to let you speak with them about the event, but I convinced her that you are okay and that it would be good for the girls to meet you.”

  I met Mateo’s nieces at dinner. Itzel, Eme, and Ixchel were three sisters. They lived in a small village composed of a few traditional houses, a bodega, a family restaurant, a gas station with a convenience store and outside restaurant, and a small hardware store that sold everything from denim jeans and home-canned goods to hammers and shovels. Their home, a modern ranch-style adobe, sat next to the school. Mateo’s sister was the English language and Spanish teacher at the high school. Akna, a cousin, who was with the three sisters at the time of their encounter, was living with Mateo’s sister and going to school. The young women ranged in age from seventeen to nineteen. Itzel and Eme were identical twins and they dressed the part, both wearing jeans and tight pink sweaters. Akna was the youngest of the group at seventeen. She had her hair braided in two pigtails. Her perfect skin would have been the envy of any Hollywood movie star. Ixchel was the oldest at nineteen. Her hair was shoulder-length and curled. She had a sophisticated manner about her, announcing that she had moved from adolescence into womanhood, unlike her sisters. All had dreams of becoming teachers. Ixchel was already enrolled in the university, the twins were expected to enroll during the next term, and Akna planned to follow suit in another year.