by Ernest Hogan
I
dug into this one expecting amusing bullshit, something to get me
dazed and bemused in the quarantine. I wasn't disappointed, but I
also found myself enjoying it and had my mind blown a few times. I
was also inspired.
Maya/Atlantis: Queen Móo and the Egyptian Sphinx by August Le Plongeon,
first published in 1896, reprinted in 1973 as part of Steinerbooks' "Spiritual Science Library," is one I had heard about and
finally found while on a used bookstore crawl. The glue that bound
the paperback cracked and broke as I read it. I finally had to stick
it back together with duct tape. I've got a feeling that I'll be
referring back to it.
Le
Plongeon, who had long, pointed white beard like R. Crumb's Mr.
Natural, expounds a theory that the Maya are as old as Atlantis
and Mu/Lemuria and that they colonized Egypt, Babylonia, and India before
recorded history. He doesn't provide much convincing evidence. The
introduction had pages peppered with Mayan hieroglyphs in attempt to
convince the reader that he knew how to read them. There are a lot
charts comparing the Mayan language (which he, like the Mormons,
makes the mistake of thinking as a single idiom, but is actually a
system of related dialects) to other languages that seem impressive,
but then I don't know all those languages . . .
Strangely,
he never presents any Mayan text with a translation that could be
compared. Not even the story of Queen Móo, which he claims he got
from a series of murals, that are reproduced as drawings that look
like Mayan murals, but I would have been more impressed by
photographs. He and his wife spent from 1873 to 1884 in the Yucatan
studying the ruins. They were the first to photograph Chichén
Itzá, but didn't the take
pictures of the Queen Móo murals
As someone with a lifelong obsession with pre-Columbian archaeology, I must admit that Mayan art and hieroglyphs hold a certain fascination. They get the imagination going . . .
Le Plongeon writes "This is not a book of romance or imagination; but a work—one of
a series—intended to give ancient America its proper place in the
universal history of the world." Then declares that "Maya—not
India—is the true mother of nations." It looks like his
imagination went wild on him.
But I can't dismiss
it as trash reading for amusement under lockdown. As a science fiction
writer and sociopolicital travesio, trickster, humble acolyte of the
Smoking Mirror and the Ancient Coyote, I see some bizarre gems
floating in the snake oil.
I
like the idea of Mayach being the Mayan name for the Yucatan. It
isn't clear where Le Plongeon got the word, but it's a nice one. He
offers Egyptian meanings, because the Maya, who he says were "mighty
navigators" according to the Ramayana (guess
I'm going to have read it again). He refers to "The Maya colonists
who carried their
conceptions of cosmic evolution to India," and claims to have "traced step-by-step the journey of the Maya colonists, along the
course of the Euphrates." Also, they were "worshippers of
the mastodon, god of the sea, whose image adornes their palaces,
sacred and public buildings."
I have to mention
that there doesn't seem to be any Mayan art depicting ships of any
kind.
Oh
yes, he also claims that the last words that Jesus spoke on the cross
were Mayan. And not just any old Mayan. "He spoke pure Maya."
Then there's the
issue of the banana.
Don't
take my word for it, here's David Hatcher Childress from Lost Cities of Ancient Lemuria and the Pacific: "They
are said to be one of the few foods that mankind can live completely
on. Yet, the only other seedless fruits, such as naval oranges and
seedless grapes are genetically engineered. Someone, somewhere in the
remote past, cultivated bananas into the amazing plant that it is
today."
A prehistoric,
seafaring Maya/Atlantis/Lemurian empire would be a likely suspect.
According to Le
Plongeon, the name Maya, "was given to the banana tree, symbol of
their country."
If you go far enough
south in Mexico, into Mayach, tamales—that essential pre-Columbian
food, are wrapped in banana leaves instead of corn husks.
All this would make
Chicanos--and the all Latinx variations--the true children of "the mother of
nations."
To quote Le Plongeon
again: "Can it be that all these are mere coincidences? If they be,
then let us present more of them."
Ernest Hogan is
holed up under quarantine, but his imagination is merrily running
amok.
No comments:
Post a Comment