Pillars of the Moon

by French, B. J. ;

  "Tonight, as you know, was not the first time Peter and I had met. Two nights ago at the University Museum, I was trying to get into the first viewing of the 'Pillars of the Moon'. There was a robbery at the museum while I was waiting to get in. Not knowing this at the time, I went for a walk around the side of the building. Peter, obviously on his way out, ran square into me, knocking me over. He was very much in a hurry and carrying 'that' crate. But of course you knew all that, didn't you Shawna?" I looked squarely at her. She spoke nothing in return. "When the guard questioned me about seeing anyone, I had not told him about Peter. There was no reason for me not tell the policeman of the incident, apart from being very uncomfortable and ambivalent towards him. In retrospect, I am not so sure I did the right thing. Ever since that time I have been having flashbacks, or visions, of people and things happening. The first was behind the museum just after Peter left, of an old, gray-haired native elder. The next was in the Stanley Park, by the totems the following day, I presume the same guy. Later that night, I had a horrendous experience in some desert area where a girl was sacrificed by a group of men, which reoccurred several minutes ago."

  Looking at Vincent, I strained to swallow as the spit in my mouth dried again. I took another sip of tea. "A half hour ago, I had another, where it was late at night and I was illuminated by car headlights. There was a lot of yelling and banging on the cars and war cries and stones being thrown at me."

  'What did the old man look like? Shawna interrupted.

  I had drifted off in thought when the question came snapping at me again.

  "What did the old man look like?"

  "He must have been in his seventies, with long, white hair pulled tight to his temples by a thong holding a ponytail at the back. His hair started low on his forehead above a straight, deeply lined brow. His eyes were clear and bright. Not sure of the color. Piercing, with a sparkle of intensity I have not seen before. He had a small tattoo on his left cheek bone."

  Speechless, Shawna nodded her head and turned to go back to where she had been on the couch. Vincent and I watched her as she made her way, without saying a word, to Peters' side. Lifting his feet, she tucked herself behind his legs. As she put her head down on his lap, she gave us a long glance and closed her eyes.

  Vincent, looking back to me with concern in his eyes, spoke, "It sounds like, and you may be familiar with this, transference of spirit that took place when you ran into Peter."

  Looking up, I acknowledged the possibility and after a few moments of collecting my thoughts again, asked, "What’s in the bowl that’s so important?"

  Vincent slumped into the chair opposite me and reached to pour some tea into an empty cup. Gesturing me for more, he leaned forward and refilled my outstretched cup.

  "Crystals and sand." he stated easing himself back into the chair. "Crystals and sand from a very, very long time ago. He took a sip of his tea. The Hopi ancestral heritage goes back thousands of years, perhaps tens of thousands, even hundreds of thousands. There is no way to tell, only their legends. The jade bowl, which I suspect is in that crate, is old, but just predates 1000 BC. The contents in it, the crystals and sand, although there is no way to carbon date them, may go back a long way.

  "Then how do they know how old they are?"

  "The scientists who were asked to study the piece, scrutinized a sample of the crystals and sand collected through a small hole drilled at the edge of the lid years previous. Along with the sand, adhered to several grains, was a husk of seed. They dated it as best they could, with such a small sample; it went back tens of thousands of years. Wanting to confirm, they tried to get another sample but could not find one. Not wanting to take the chance of damaging the already tampered bowl, they chose not to proceed. And without a second sample of the seed to carbon date a second time, no verification. But with that one husk, of unknown species, they determined the contents predated 30,000 BC. (He ran his fingers through his fine gray hair and leaned back for a moment to think again.) Several of us have searched far and wide, for years now, looking for evidence of crystals being a part of ceremonial activity. In all of the known native nations of this continent, north and south, there were many references to crystals in various shapes and sizes being used in religious ceremonies and healing practices, but never crystal flakes mixed with silica sand. It was only when I came across the legend of the Hopi and their antediluvian existence beneath the earth, during the fire storm and then the ice-age, that the occurrence of crystal chips and sand become associated with this artifact."

  Silently, I listened to what he had to say. There were questions I wanted to ask, but was unable to muster the energy. After a few moments of silence, Vincent got up from his chair and walked over to the fireplace to a pipe sitting in a small cradle atop the mantel. Giving it alight tap on the stone hearth, he dug about in the bowl with a tiny penknife and ejected the remains into the burning ciders and returned to his chair.

  "About fifty years ago, I was asked, along with a group of colleagues, to a special showing of an artifact, of unknown origin, to determine its age. It was very hush and we all proceeded to the National Museum under ‘silence’. Once there, we were treated with the utmost courtesy, somewhat of a strange experience for someone as young as myself, and were welcomed by an elderly German couple. Some notables in attendance C. Newcomb, W. Duff, G. Linton and others were included, but were unfamiliar with its history. I was the youngest of the group apart from my assistant, and had only heard of the likes of these characters of antiquity, and anthropology, so when they appeared, I was awestruck. (He slowly packed some loose tobacco into the pipe from an elongated plastic envelope.) The elderly couple was relaxed, very pleasant orators and did a wonderful presentation on enlightening us on the responsibility we had for the prosperity of the west coast nations and their heritage, and to do what we could to ensure their physical and spiritual survival. They were the first, and perhaps before their time, to begin a long and unheard of course of action to repatriate artifacts, possessions and the ancestral remains, to their descendants. There was one piece that had been found in a small village on the west coast of the Olympic Peninsula that was the centerpiece of the consortium, (he lit a match and drew its flame into the packed tobacco with a sucking sound; white plums of smoke and a delicious aroma filled the air), a jade, engraved bowl. They did not know how to proceed with its repatriation because of the odd circumstance as to its arrival on the peninsula. The sealed, jade bowel was carved and engraved in the likeness of the Olmec of the Yucatan Peninsula, three thousand years and miles from its resting place approximately eighty miles from here. It had been unearthed at the turn of the century from a burial site near the old location of the native village of Ozette, thirty miles from Neah Bay around the northern tip of the peninsula. (He took another puff on his pipe.) The Village itself was not rediscovered till the 1970's after a number of artifacts washed up in the surf along the coast and brought attention to the area once again. The Makah village was very active up to the 1500's, till it was buried by a mudslide and left abandoned. The bowl, sealed with a concoction of bees-wax and tree sap, was found wrapped in the leather bag along with the burial belongings of a local Chief, also preserved in the mud from the slide. Luckily, it was brought to the attention of a local archaeologist from the University of Washington State, and eventually found its way to the Nuestadt Foundation for Preservation. Little else was done at the site till rains exposed more of the antiquities and Ossette was marked for rediscovery. Throughout the west coast, Native folklore had alluded to a sacred ancestral bowl for all nations being handed down from generation to generation, but no evidence of its existence till then, that is if this is indeed the fore-mentioned bowl. After much soul searching and concern for the First Nations, the Nuestadts thought it best to return it to the descendants of its original owners, or in this case, caretakers. That is where the troubles began. Since they were unable to determine who they might be, and after discussion with some of the world’s
leading authorities from Central, North and South America, as well as some from Europe, speculation began to rise as to what this artifact truly represented. It became apparent that it was going to be a difficult task, with several groups laying claim to the piece. During the course of the endeavor, several people had been hurt and one killed in a robbery attempt on the piece. It was finally determined that it should be held in the national archives. A young and budding anthropologist and his native assistant were engaged to deliver the piece, first to Shiprock for repatriation rites, and then on to Washington. Tragedy struck along the way and the bowl was lost for several weeks. A number of deaths were directly related to the theft of the bowl, along with disappearances; my young associate was one who was eventually found.”

  “You were there, weren’t you,” I asserted.

  Vincent did not reply but continued, “One group claiming authority was the Reich, of course; another, a group of businessmen associated with a consortium of international interests, and yet another, a group from Central American. All were very ardent suitors but none could come up with the appropriate credentials for the release. Then about twenty years ago it was discovered that the Hopi Indians, of the Four Corners Area of Arizona, had made a claim that never arrived because of the murder of their representative, my assistant.”

  Vincent was quiet and thoughtful for a short while.

  “Daniel, my assistant had never mentioned his strong association with his people south of the border, and I was certainly to naïve in my early years in Canada to be aware of the nuances to his associations with the University. His body had been mutilated and thrown down a dry well in northern Arizona. There was little evidence found at the site that could point the investigators in the direction of the murder; the remains of a pair of leather boots, some shreds of denim,a turquoise embedded, silver ring and a small, silver-engraved medallion in the likeness of a jaguar face. Since then, death is a factor to be considered whenever the piece is to be transported, or shown. Ultimately, it never was, until now, and has been hidden in an unspecified location for some years. It is obvious the piece still draws as much attention and interest as it ever did. How Peter ever got his hands on it, I'll never know."

  "Unless, he had inside help."

  Vincent sat back to relax for a moment and relit his pipe.

  "Would you like a drink?" he asked.

  "No, I still have some tea."

  "No, I mean a real drink." He got up from his chair and proceeded to a closed cabinet by the bookcase. “Brandy, beer, wine?"

  "Brandy, please. No ice."

  "Wouldn't think of it.”

  I watched as he poured the golden liquid into a couple of brandy snifters, cupped them both in one hand and returned to the chair. I had never noticed before, but he walked with a limp. Handing one of the small glasses to me, he looked back and literally fell back into the comfortable arm chair, feet automatically shooting out to the coffee table to rest upon some magazines stacked high. I could see he was beginning to relax.

  Looking over his shoulder to Peter, “He is the spitting image of the friend I lost all those years ago.”

  I gave him a reassuring nod as he turned to face me again.

  "You see, Brian, this story is endless, with much implication that the established academia welcomes, but also wishes would go away. We talked earlier, when we first met, about ethics and the truth. Some people don't want to know the truth. The one claim, for this bowl, supposedly sitting over there, which held all the credibility, was from the Hopi Indians. The name Hopi, which means ‘people of peace’ had virtually nothing to gain from the return of this article apart from, it seems, their heritage. The bowl repatriated, like their other artifacts, would be kept in hiding, along with their sacred tablets of migration, till the end of this fourth world. Their tales of creation appear to go back hundreds of thousands of years to a time we can't even imagine. They do not consider themselves isolated from the civilized world, but we have fallen away from them. The Hopi believe the Creator chose them to be a remnant to reseed the world after each cataclysm of which there have been three. According to them, we are now in the fourth world and heading straight for the fifth. Each of the worlds destroyed was subject to a calamity brought on by man and his own deviation away from the Creator and His purpose. The first world, as their tale states, was destroyed by the total reforming of the earth by volcanic eruption. The tilting of the axis of the earth and a subsequent ice age created the second cataclysmic event."

  Vincent stopped to take a puff and placed his feet on the floor. “After each of these events, a spirit had guided the remnant Hopi, with the visual aid of a cloud by day and a star by night, to a shelter in an antediluvian world. The spirit was then to only reappear when the Creator sent His emissary to set them free from their dark confines. Before the third destruction, by water, which the Hebrew Scriptures refer to as the flood, they were directed to build reed boats, not unlike those of Egyptian watercraft. And like Noah, they were ridiculed for their absurd behavior. After being sealed within these reed boats, they traveled across the water to a new world, there to roam on dry land for thousands of years before settling in a permanent spot divulged only by the Creator.

  An emergence from the under world after the ice age, has a parallel in the creation story from tales all over the Americas. In Peru, the Incas, early in their history, have a tale of emergence from Lake Titicaca, high in the mountains, along with the coming of the god-man Viracocha, whom I previously mentioned. The Incas believed that he created man and woman in his own image, and gave them tribal customs and languages. He then sent them into the earth only to emerge at a later time from caves and hills to found new civilizations. The Hopi talk of emergence from the earth as a natural part of their history. The modern-day Tewa, of the same region, and descendants of the Anazazi, who were also believed to be descendants of the ancestors of the Hopi, in their creation stories describe an emergence from the earth and their migration throughout this land."

  He stopped to take a puff on his pipe and a sip from his glass. "Brian, this goes way back in time, recorded on cave walls throughout North, Central and South America, long before, by secular standards, the Hebrew Scriptures and their confirmation by the Dead Sea scrolls, as well as the conical clay tablets of fabled Nineveh. This continent has an ancient history of its' own, that is just starting to emerge. It goes back literally hundreds of thousands of years."

  Vincent took another sip, "Unfortunately, it has been overshadowed by thousands of years of subjective belief in cultures and economic systems that have very little relevance to the ancient culture of this American land."

  He took another sip of his brandy and put his glass down on the table. Easing himself out of his chair, he picked up the glass again and approached the hearth. Poking the dying embers with an iron, he stared at the brilliant sparks as they rose up and disappeared into the darkness of the flue. "We need to put more wood on the fire Mr. Alexander."

  Looking over to the firebox at the right of the hearth, I saw that it was still full. But, then I began to realize he was not talking about the wood but about the need to enlighten a nation, and perhaps the world. I got out of my chair and made my way to his side and looked down at the embers. Within moments, the heat radiating from them caused my damp pant legs to steam. The warmth was soothing; I was more relaxed now than I had been for quite some time. The brandy had done the trick, warming my insides and blunting the edge off the nervousness that had been so much a part of this peculiar weekend.

  "Grab another piece 'wood yah'." he chuckled, without taking his eyes from the fire.

  As I came back from the corner, I could not help but see the deep lines in his face and his stooped stance. The gold reflecting from the burning coals on his shiny skin reminded me of the vision of the old man at the fire on the mesa, who had reached out his hands to me and poured the crystals. Placing the log on the fire, I sat down on the hearth and watched as the fire slowly licked at the s
ides of the new fresh log.

  "I'm getting old, Brian," he said with a sigh. "There is still so much to be done."

  I could tell there was more for him to say and I gestured him to sit.

  "The Christian Messiah has been a light unto this world and is perhaps 'the cloud by day and the star by night' which we are to follow, but there has been so much irreversible damage done over the years to so many nations in the name of Christianity: the inquisitions, the crusades, the conquistadors, the mass murders. It is hard for these assaulted nations to turn and embrace a faith that in their eyes is so contradictory and has caused so much pain and suffering. In the words of a well known Makah women Elder,"

  "I am not sorry the missionaries came. I am proud to call myself a Christian. I just wish they had allowed us to change slowly, from the inside, instead of imposing their culture on us, uprooting us from all that we knew was sacred. We have lost so much."

  Vincent continued, "The legacy of this religion, and all religions imposed on innocent cultures, as well as our native culture, has left scars that will not heal. We must help in that healing process as much as humanly possible. Part of that is helping them achieve their spiritual well being through giving back what was not ours to take. Their articles of ancestry and sacred grounds, thousands and thousands of hectares of forest and plains, taken, and allotted to settlers, dating back as far as the Spanish occupation in the 16th century."

  He stopped once again and gulped the remainder of the brandy in one swoop. We were both quiet for a few moments until he stirred and looked over to me.

  "Well Mr. Alexander, ready for another?"

  "No thanks, I still have a little left."

  "Ah, come on. We may never see the light of day again." he beamed with an expression of delight.

  He grabbed my glass and limped over to the cabinet and poured two more. Instead of returning to the chairs, he motioned me over to the back corner where the crate sat ominous, illuminated by the extension lamp. Placing the glasses gently down on the table, he waited for me to arrive. Taking a screwdriver from the drawer, he gently unscrewed the securing ring around the crate and freed the lid. Inside was a lining of Styrofoam with the lid secured down with tape. Gradually pulling at the corners, he eased the tape up and the lid along with it. Yet another lining, of a leathery material, hid the article from view