enlaceZapatista

THE MAYAN ALEPH?

THE MAYAN ALEPH?

August 2024.

The dust devil they raised could be seen from afar.  Like those waterspouts where the wind chases itself and, unable to achieve it, destroys what it finds, lifts it to the clouds and throws it back to the ground.

“The storm,” I thought.  “Or something worse,” I thought again.  “Anything worse?” I reflected.

«Only if it were the triple T, the terror that made WWE fights seem as if they were agreed upon in advance (oh! Are they? I’m telling you, there are no values ​​anymore), the… Popcorn Commando!» (For those who do not know the Popcorn Commando, it is made up of Verónica, Cintia and Chuy, now 7 years old; the beloved Amado and Chinto now 12 years old).

And just like that, as if responding to a diabolical spell…

The first to appear was Veronica who, after scanning the entire champa with a panoramic look that would make you forget the IOs 77.7, warned the others “there are no cookies.”  So, already discouraged and losing the initial momentum, Chinto, Cintia, Chuy and the beloved Amado entered.  They were followed by their escort, made up of the little dogs that populate the Zapatista positions.  Oh, and several cats, orange cat included.

The uncomfortable silence produced by the lack of cookies was broken by the beloved Amado who, lying, said: “The cookies don’t matter, tell us a story.”

Without waiting for me to agree, the Popcorn Commando was taking up strategic positions in the champa, with a tactic worthy of the best terrorist or antiterrorist command – which is the same thing.

Cornered and seeing myself outnumbered and surpassed in fire power (well, actually it was water capacity, Verónica and Cintia were carrying the toy guns that, at a bad time, I gave them a long time ago), I had no other options. So, I started with…

The story of the place that has all the places

It was before the earliest gods, those who birthed the world, appeared.  It is told by Ixmucané, who was already there when no one was there.  She says that there was, many times ago, a place where all the places were.  Everything in the same place and at the same time.  And in that place of all places, everything was and at the same time it was not.  In other words, the place was all the places, but not each individual place.  Each place had its own way, it was different, distinct, muy otro [very other].  But at the same time, it was part of the whole place.

Everything was terrible and wonderful.  Each part was the whole and existed in itself without losing its individuality and its collectivity.  And it was ruined because of the first gods, those who created the world, because, little machos after all, they began to fight over who was more and who was better.

From there were born the Olympics, Nike’s sponsorships and crime-apology ads – which could be the motto of a Cartel, a terrorist organization or an idem State, or designed by Trump’s campaign manager.  Because for those ads you need two things: a criminal to design them and a group of victims to say “Such good ads!”

The collective look of reproach from the triple T Popcorn Commando called me back to sanity.  So I understood that I was getting off topic.  I took a puff from the broken pipe and resumed the story:

“In other words, the parties were not competing for who was more or who was better.  But the earliest male gods, those who created the world, were men. So, they started competing.  And each one took, as it were, his part.  And he began to strive so that it would be more and better than the others. And the bad-mouthing and bad looks began. “You saw that that part over there is, I don’t know, very dark and very double,” some cursed.  “And that other one so pale and skinny that it looks like she didn’t drink her pozol,” others murmured.  “And that from beyond, we simply don’t know what it is,” they agreed more.  And it didn’t end there, the stronger ones attacked the weaker ones.  And then there were those who had more and those who had less.  And they forgot that those who had more, it was because they took from others.”

The thing is that they began to divide and fight among themselves, before the desperation of Ixmucané, who did everything possible to make the fights stop.

It was useless.

So the men and women and ‘otroas’ [others] who were created by the first gods, the ones who birthed the world, came out with that flaw. In other words, they want to compete to see who is more and better.

But Ixmucané rescued something, and planted in all living beings the memory of that place with all places. But she was not able to sow the seed well and it remained buried very deep in the soul of every living being.

Therefore, when the babies are born they do so with the memory of that place with all the places.  That is why it is the first cry, the most painful, the one that causes absence.  And it is when they grow that they forget that wonder, buried by the years and the blows and falls that they call life.

And that’s how social networks were born.  And this story is over.”

Chuy interrupts: “Oi, Captain Sup, were there cell phones at that time?”

“It’s a story, silly boy” Verónica clarifies with a blow to the head.

Chuy retransmitted the blow to Cintia.  Verónica, in what they call sisterhood, launched herself in defense of Cintia. The beloved Amado and Chinto tried to stop the brawl, but Verónica was already in “tzotz” mode (attack 100, damage 100, consequences 0) and bit Chuy’s ankle.  Cintia wanted to prove her worth and also bit, but Chinto’s arm (attack 100, damage -1). The beloved Amado wanted to push Veronica away and was kicked by Chuy, who was in “Tasmanian devil” mode (attack 100, damage 100 but, distributed among those present, 20 -because he kicked himself-).

The escort of dogs and felines contemplated the scene with a disapproving look, as if to say «They even look like cats and dogs.»

Thus chaos broke out. And in that terrible and wonderful moment, all the childish fights converged in an instant.  All the fights were a single fight and, simultaneously, they were each particular fight.  As if a waterspout was born in a space measuring 3 by 4 meters with a tin roof and walls half made of block and half of boards.

But then, something happened: a liason appeared on the door of the champa and declared: “SubMoy asks if anyone is going to want ice cream popsicles because there is a mobile shop in the Puy.”

The Popcorn Commando came out in droves, skillfully mounted their respective bicycles, and headed towards the Puy. Behind them went the canine-cat escort. They all left.

Well, not all of them. Sitting down and looking at me with complicity, was El Tragón [the Guzzler]. So, well, I brought out the forbidden cookies.

Meanwhile, I was chatting with El Tragón, exchanging cookies and reflections on the Borgesian Aleph in this way:

“Before we are born we know Borgesian Aleph. Ever since the first breath of that rarefied air we call “life,” we begin to forget.  We cling to childhood because we sense that something terrible and wonderful preceded it. The methodical forgetting of the vertigo of many worlds coexisting in one is the origin of intolerance, racism, contempt… and social networks.

Ergo: take care of childhood, it is the closest you will be to the Aleph. And take care of old age because it is the closest you will come to understanding the uselessness of that oblivion called life.  Its apparent distraction, its forgetfulness, are nothing more than the intuition of a memory from before memory. The Mayan Aleph is the confirmation of the most implacable judgement: as isolated individuals we are completely expendable, but as part of the whole we are necessary.”

El Tragón abandoned the debate when the cookies ran out and went to chase a cart of popsicles and ice cream.

Just as I said: I am misunderstood.

From the mountains of Southeast Mexico.

The Captain.
August 2024.

P.S.- Oh! They are so predictable.  A few lines in a postscript were enough to make them hysterical.  Even in that they are equal.  And we are just “recommencing”.  For the time being, with their reaction they “drew” many glances this way.  It’s a shame they’re on their way out, we’re going to miss them.

Advertisement for the “NIKE” brand (sports goods), broadcast on national television during the 2024 Olympics, during the “stellar” news schedules – with Spanish subtitles.  “I think I’m better than the rest.  I want what is yours and not give it back to you.  “What is mine is mine and what is yours is also mine.”  How about that, huh?  Quite a government program, right?  That or the backbone of “Project 2025” of the Heritage Foundation in the USA.

No hay comentarios »

No hay comentarios todavía.

RSS para comentarios de este artículo.

Deja un comentario