“He was named Joel Sheets at birth,” Toby explained. “I got to know him more than twenty years ago when I first began to photograph Sedona’s beauty. When I shared my own heritage with him, that’s when he told me his Indian name. Not many people even know him as Running Bear, so it really surprised me when Matthew called.
“I’m not sure you would have been able to find him any other way, not even with Google.”
“Of course, when all of this began, Google didn’t exist,” Max noted. “In fact, the Internet itself didn’t yet exist.
“It’s been a remarkable journey,” he continued, “although the people to whom the names belong seem always to have found me. Some of the Twelve believe that we’re all connected by some profound destiny, and I tend to agree. I just hope Running Bear has some insights for us—it would be terrible to find that this was just a colossal coincidence, without any real purpose or meaning behind it.”
Toby nodded his agreement.
“If anyone will have the answer to your mystery, it will be Running Bear,” he said confidently. “He’s a bit of a shaman, as well as a guide, and he’s knowledgeable about ancient Hopi beliefs and customs.”
He paused, then continued.
“Running Bear uses hallucinogens in his rituals and is an expert on sweat lodges as well.”
***
Toby and Max arrived late and checked into the Best Western motel. Despite his excitement, Max quickly fell into slumber, and when he awoke he was surprised to find that he had had a good night’s sleep.
Running Bear joined them for breakfast at a nearby diner. He was in his seventies, tall, with long, braided hair that was speckled with gray and wore a red vest with beautiful, turquoise jewelry.
He had a magnificent presence.
Max discovered that he was a direct descendant of a line of powerful Lakota and Hopi Indian shamans, and as a tour guide to the sacred sites of Sedona, he passed along a true love of the earth and the heritage of his native peoples.
Without hesitation, Max told Running Bear all the details of the twelve names. Running Bear listened carefully and simply smiled. When Max was done, he spoke, and his voice was deep.
“We have been expecting you.”
“How can that possibly be?” asked Max incredulously. “It’s been forty-seven years since I first saw your name, and the entire time I’ve not known where I was going, or why. How could you have known?”
“It was not you specifically,” Running Bear explained, “but Native Americans have known about the twelve names for centuries.
“The great transformation is upon us, and the knowledge has been passed down from generation to generation that in these times the true humans—those with strong, integrated spirits—would reappear, and the ancient spirit guides of our people would lead us to a world of peace and harmony.” Despite the weight of his words, Running Bear spoke calmly.
When he replied, Max was less calm.
“But what do I have to do with this legend?” he asked, confusion in his voice. “I have no Native American blood. My grandparents are Hungarian on my father’s side and Russian on my mother’s side.”
“I do not know your specific role, but if nothing else you have served to reunite the Twelve. Each name represents one of the modern tribes of color, reincarnated now for the end-times of this Earth as we know it.”
Seeing concern etched on Max’s face, he continued.
“Our ancient peoples realized that in the end-times, it would be necessary that we Native Americans return as people of all colors. There could not be a world of red against white, black against yellow. There can only be one world in the new times, and only those who are ethical and aligned with true spirit shall appear on Earth to heal the wounds caused so long ago by the greed and violence of so many.
“My brothers knew then that our defeats were only of a single time and not permanent. That is why we created the ghost dances and other rituals—we always knew that the real people could never die and would return in other bodies representing the twelve colors and the twelve tribes of humanity.”
As his words sank in, Max found himself accepting what Running Bear was saying . . . yet there were still so many questions to be answered.
“Based on my own experiences, I think you must be right,” he said, staring out the window across the dusty, desert landscape. “I think somehow your ancient legend is indeed true.”
He turned to look at his host again.
“But even so, what does it all mean?”
“The answer can only come from the Great Spirit,” Running Bear replied. “We must organize a sweat lodge for sunrise tomorrow morning.”
He rose from the table and pointed to the mountains on his left.
“Do you see those red rocks, far beyond the road?”
Max saw them, and nodded.
“There is a path that leads three miles into the deepest crevices of the red rocks. Few people know of this crevice. There is an ancient cave next to the crevice. In this cave I will prepare the sweat lodge. Toby has been to this sacred site with me before. He will guide you in the morning, and I will have everything prepared.
“I will go this evening and make offerings to the Great Spirit and my ancestors, while preparing the fire and the rocks.”
***
The sun wasn’t yet up when Toby and Max reached the crevice and the cave. Running Bear was already there when they entered the clearing, magnificently dressed in ceremonial costume that included a sacred eagle feather. He was reciting ancient Hopi chants and was in a meditative state that did not break upon their arrival.
The fire already had the cave tremendously hot, and Max and Toby began sweating as they sat outside the cave. They sat silently and observed Running Bear. After ten minutes of chanting, he stopped and turned to them.
“It was a good night. The spirits are rejoicing. They are eager to guide us.
“Come,” he said. “You must smoke some of this tobacco, and then we will enter the cave and start our prayers.” He handed them a pipe, and Max suspected there was some type of hallucinogenic mixed in with the tobacco, but he did not ask.
Running Bear went through a series of chants in both Hopi and English. He turned to the four corners of the chamber and asked each direction for a blessing. He asked both Toby and Max to repeat the English phrases, and they did.
“Please purify our entreaties and our bodies and reveal to us our destinies,” he said, invoking the Great Spirit. He then asked both the Mother Spirit and the Father Spirit for guidance.
The heat was intense. At times Max felt as if he would pass out, and he was sweating as he had never sweated before. But his desire to uncover his destiny overrode all, and he remained still—transfixed, hanging onto Running Bear’s every word and gesture.
Finally, the chanting and supplications ended, and there was silence. Nothing of an otherworldly nature occurred, and Max wondered if Running Bear’s ritual had been effective.
The shaman had a dazed look on his face as if he were possessed. He did not move. It didn’t even appear as if he was breathing, and Max dared not move.
Toby, having experienced rituals with Running Bear before, nodded to reassure him that there was no need to worry.
After what seemed like twenty minutes or more of silence and utter stillness, Running Bear started speaking in a low, calm voice. His words were in ancient Hopi that Max could not understand.
He then stood and exited the sweat lodge. Toby and Max followed.
Outside, the sun was now shining. It was midmorning, and the red rocks reflected the light in a brilliant tapestry of red and yellow, orange and green. There were bottles of water, which Running Bear had placed there, and they all drank deeply, while appreciating the still, cool morning air.
Running Bear finished an entire bottle of water, came close to Max and looked him directly in the eye as he spoke.
“Your quest begins today. Great Spirit has told me what you must do, what you volunteered
to do many centuries ago when you agreed to be incarnated on this Earth.”
While he didn’t understand, Max was gripped with excitement. At last, he was certain, he would learn the purpose of his near-death experience and understand his connection to the Twelve.
“And what is this quest?” he asked, trying—and failing somewhat—to remain calm. “What have I agreed to do?”
“You are the human whose duty it is to bring the Twelve together,” Running Bear revealed. “They must unite outside of Izapa, Mexico, and they must gather there on August 11 at sunrise in this, the year of prophecy.
“This gives you only two months to gather the Twelve,” he warned. “Great Spirit has revealed to me that on that sacred day, the mission of the Twelve will be revealed, but only if all twelve are present.”
Doubt began to creep over Max.
“But some of the Twelve I have not spoken to for more than twenty years,” he said. “What if not all will come?”
Running Bear shook his head.
“I know only what Great Spirit has told me. I do not know how you will achieve this goal. As one of the Twelve, I will be at the mountain in Izapa, and I will do all I can to help you reunite us, but Great Spirit has told me that this is your mission, and your mission alone.”
Max gulped, and doubts flooded his mind.
What if this was all illusion? He had told Running Bear about Juan and Juan’s connection to Izapa through his father. Perhaps Running Bear had simply picked up on that and created a story he knew Max wanted to hear?
After all there were still no concrete details explaining why the Twelve were the Twelve or why Izapa was where they needed to go. He needed more information.
“How can you be sure that we must meet at Izapa, and only at that time, and only on that day?”
“That is what Great Spirit has revealed.”
“And you know what we will accomplish?” Max pressed.
Running Bear shook his head patiently.
“Great Spirit revealed nothing more,” he said. But Max found it unbearable to accept.
“But you, as a shaman, don’t you have any ideas of your own, about why this place and time,” Max persisted, “and what may occur?”
“As an individual I have my own thoughts, but they are of no importance,” Running Bear said calmly, as if to a child. “Only what Great Spirit reveals is worth discussing.” With that, he turned to go down the path, through the red rocks, and back to the road.
With Toby in tow, Max caught up with him and, with desperation clear in his voice, continued to plead.
“But you must have some clue,” he said. “Please, give me something that is logical, or at least possible to help explain this request from Great Spirit.”
Running Bear spoke as they walked.
“August 11 is a sacred day in the long count Mayan calendar. I am sure Juan’s father, the daykeeper, will be able to give you more details than I, but based on all that I know, I can only tell you that this will be a sacred meeting, and that if you fail to bring the Twelve together at this time, there will be much suffering.”
He fell silent and hiked on ahead, his long legs lending him speed, leaving Max and Toby to contemplate all they had heard.
And Max was left to wonder how and why he had been chosen—if indeed he could believe in the vision at all.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Even the Dead Are Waiting
June 2012
ONE OF THE FIRST CALLS MAX MADE UPON RETURNING TO California was to Erol in Istanbul. He used his computer so they could teleconference with full video contact.
“It’s happening, Erol,” he said.
But even as he said it, he found it hard to believe his own words. “I have found the rest of the Twelve. Running Bear, the one name I had all those years, is a Lakota shaman, and according to him, you are right. He claims it’s my destiny to reunite the Twelve and take you all to Izapa, the home of the ancient Mayan calendar.”
“That is amazing, my friend,” Erol said. “I have known for years that our destinies remained intertwined, and this proves it. When are we to travel to Izapa?”
“You must all be there on August 11,” Max revealed. “Will you be able to make it?”
“You would not be able to stop me,” Erol replied. “And if there are any who do not have the funds to travel, I will cover their expenses. Money should not get in the way of destiny.
“I have always believed that your story hinted at a deeper purpose,” he continued, “and have believed that my own destiny was linked to something larger than my love for Istanbul and my homeland of Turkey.”
Max was delighted but told Erol that he might also need to fly to the various countries to meet with some of the Twelve.
“That will not be a problem,” Erol insisted. “Just let me know what financial assistance you might need for your own trips.”
“It is good to know your support is there if I need it,” Max replied, greatly relieved.
The next three calls were easy. Dr. Alan Taylor and Chill Campister were delighted to commit, and for Juan it was a chance to see his father, so there was no question.
Melody Jones was the first to require financial assistance, but once that was dealt with, she said that she would join the Twelve on August 11 in Izapa.
He reached Yoko via the Internet, and she replied that she would be delighted. August was her vacation month, and she had not yet booked her annual holiday.
Sun Pak had to rearrange a business trip but was able to do so. That left Yutsky, Maria, Rinpoche, and B.N. Mahars.
Max hadn’t spoken to Rinpoche in almost ten years, and to the others in more than twenty. Still, he was able to track down the Buddhist—who had been living in Toronto, Canada, for the last eight years. He now spoke broken but adequate English, had married the daughter of one of his students, and together they had two small children.
When Max explained the situation, Rinpoche said he would be delighted to attend the momentous gathering.
The call to Maria was surprisingly difficult, he discovered. Despite the years, he had never entirely let go of the regret he had felt when she walked out of that park. Nor had he forgotten the intensity of the love they had expressed for each other.
He forced himself to call and discovered that she was still living in Trujillo, Peru. She sounded pleased to hear from him, and they spent the first part of the call catching up. Maria was the mother of four grown children, and the grandmother of seven. She had never regretted marrying her engineer husband, she said, and he had died a year earlier.
With mixed emotions Max said that he was sorry, but she told him that she was happy, living a tranquil life in Trujillo. She accepted his offer—this would be her first major outing after observing the traditional year of mourning. She had modest resources, though, and appreciated Max’s offer to cover her expenses.
She would begin making plans immediately, she said.
They hung up, and Max realized that he was exhausted. Whatever it was that he had felt when he met Maria, some of it was still with him. He needed to take a break before continuing his calls.
***
Yutsky was harder to track down because he had retired from the film business.
However, Max used his knowledge of Yutsky’s military service to find him. He was living in old Jerusalem and working as a security strategist for top-level dignitaries who visited Israel. When Max finally got him on the phone, it was as if the years just melted away.
“So good to hear your voice, my boy.” Yutsky barked. “How have you been?”
“I am so glad I found you,” Max replied. “I need your help.”
“Anything, my boy,” the Israeli said enthusiastically, and Max wondered if he was going stir-crazy, staying in one place. “Not much excitement for me these days. . . . So what do you have? A film crew on its way? Permissions to secure? Just let me know,” Yutsky volunteered, “and what you need will be accomplished.”
“It’s nothing
like that,” Max explained. “I need you to come and meet with me and eleven others in Izapa, Mexico, on August 11. We’ll cover all your expenses. I will explain the details when I see you, but it’s essential that you join us.”
There was a long silence, and Max could envision the man’s face as he considered the strange request, coming out of the blue after so many years.
Then he heard a long exhale, and Yutsky spoke again.
“Who am I to turn down a free trip to the Americas at this stage in life,” he said cheerfully. “You can count on me. Just send me the ticket and the details, and I’ll be at your service.”
That left only B.N. Mahars to contact.
***
Max punched the numbers into the phone, and soon he had made it through to the National Museum in Delhi.
“Can you connect me to B.N. Mahars, please?” he asked the museum phone operator.
“B.N. Mahars is no longer with the museum,” she said, “but let me connect you to the present keeper of the fifteenth century, who will perhaps be able to tell you where you might find him.”
Max was startled that B.N. would have retired so relatively young.
After a few minutes, a male voice came on the line.
“I am so sorry to let you know that B.N. passed away eighteen years ago. He was a good friend to me; I served as his assistant for almost twenty years. I still miss him.
“Are you a family friend from the States?” he then asked.
At first Max was speechless, and he asked for a moment to recover.
How can this be? he wondered silently. And what happens when there aren’t twelve?
When he was able to speak again, he explained that he had met B.N. back in 1972, when he had made a film at the museum.
“He was instrumental in getting us permission to do so,” Max said, “and I was able to spend a wonderful day together with B.N. and his family.”
His family, Max thought, and a glimmer of hope appeared.
“Do you know how I might be able to get in touch with them?” he asked. “It is very important that I speak with his brother or another of his relatives.”
The Twelve Page 18