FINDING LOST CIVILIZATIONS This

CHAPTERSPreface .................................................................................. 1The Thirteen Stations of the Cross .......................................... 5Zacualpan ............................................................................. 9Pirate Treasures .................................................................... 14Alta Vista ............................................................................. 18The Herb Man in Guadalajara ............................................. 22Following the Thread to Chicomostoc .................................. 25Idols and Gods of Compostela ............................................. 30The Open Secret .................................................................. 37Las Varas ............................................................................. 41Returning to the Beginning .................................................. 43PART II —One Year Later ..................................................... 46Returning to Mexico—The Hotel Robles .............................. 49Returning to The Thirteen Stations of the Cross ..................... 57The Trees and Relics of San Pedro Lagunillas ....................... 61Sacred Hot Springs and Deer Roasts .................................... 65The Treasures of El Conde .................................................... 70Ancient Tombs of Nayarit ..................................................... 75False Idols Revealed ............................................................ 79The El Monteon Trail—Finding a Shaft Tomb ........................ 82Sacred Places, The Kingdom of the Tecoxquinesand the Apostle Mathew ...................................................... 89The Mexican Way .............................................................. 101A Mystic Journey ............................................................... 108The Collective Unconscious .............................................. 112Returning to Zacualpan—Epilogue .................................... 127Returning to Chacala—Epilogue ........................................ 132La Luz Del Mundo Site—The End ...................................... 134The Forgotten Souls of Ixtapa de La Conception ................ 141The Temple of San Ignacio ................................................. 146Petroglyph Photo Log ........................................................ 1542

FINDING LOST CIVILIZATIONSPhoenix*Part 1—The Year 2006Guayabitos*3

4Guayabitos, State of Nayarit, Mexico.

Chapter 1The Thirteen StationsOf The CrossJanuary 2006This story began as a tale of family, love, dedication,hard work, inspiration, and the fragments of life aroundus. Little did I know it was also the beginning of a threadthat I would follow for three years in search of lost civilizationsalong the Pacific coast and mountains of the State ofNayarit, Mexico.I first visited Guayabitos, a sleepy village primarily visitedby Mexican tourists, in the mid-1990s. Its charm wasthat the Gringo tourist boom and invasion of Puerto Vallartahad not reached its shores. On my first trip I saw a tall crossbuilt alongside a hill on the south end of town. I had alwayswanted to visit this site and ten years later I found myself atthe archway entrance to the path leading up to the cross. Asmy father and I approached the archway we saw a Mexicanman at the entrance who told us that the site was closed tothe public. I then noticed and was surprised to see that it wasbarred shut with a chain-link fence. Initially, I thought thatthe site was a public area and that the man at the entrancewas a watchman. As I continued my conversation with thisman I learned that hisname was Pedro GuzmanSanchez and hewas fifty-three yearsold. He was from afamily of 11 childrenand had lived hisentire life in Guayabitos.Pedro’s fatherdied when he was 78years old and in 1988Pedro dedicated hislife in memory of hisfather by deciding tobuild a memorial inhis honor.5

At the south end of Guayabitos, as the Bay of Jaltembameanders around to the town of Los Ayala, Pedro’s father hadowned several hectares of land at the side of the mountainforming the southern rim of the bay. And it was at this placethat Pedro decided to build his memorial. Pedro told us thatthe site was closed because of tourists. He explained thattourists would visit the memorial to only take pictures, thatwomen in bikinis would show up, people would go thereat night to drink, use drugs, party, or for amorous reasons.Pedro went on to explain that the memorial was a place ofworship, a place of respect, a place of dedication and prayer.He felt visitors showed no respect and were desecrating thememorial. The stairway to the cross, he said, consisted of the13 Stations of the Cross; people should be solemn, prayingor offering respect instead of being consumed by photographyand gaiety along the way. I felt resigned to the fact thatPedro would not let us enter his private memorial. However,as we continued our conversation, an elderly fellowshowed up and was quickly embraced by Pedro. Pedro thenimplored the man to visit the memorial. The man initiallydeclined and said he was no longer as young as he usedto be. But, Pedro insisted and opened the gateway to thememorial. By luck and good grace Pedro let my father andI also enter. To our surprise we learned that the elderly fellowwas a farmer from Saskatchewan, Canada, and that overthe years he had helped Pedro construct the memorial. Heexplained that there were 152 stairs leading to the cross andthat the concrete steps along the pathway were inscribedwith the names of people who had donated money to buildthe stations along the way. As my father and I climbed up tothe cross I was amazed at the dedication and tenacity of thehuman spirit. For twenty-eight years, since 1988, Pedro withhis own hands, sweat, tears, and vision had toiled along themountain incline to build the thirteen Stations of the Cross,which told Jesus’ story as he carried the cross to his crucifixionon Mount Cavalry.As we climbed past the Stations of the Cross, JaltembaBay opened in glorious splendor below us. The meetingof the Pacific Ocean, blue skies, and land was a wondroussight to behold. It was truly a beautiful location and definitelya place of solitude if one were inclined to communewith his god.When my father and I reached the top, my fathernoticed that the fellow from Saskatchewan seemed to be6

searching the ground, from where he picked up a stone. Myfather asked him what he was doing and he told us that thememorial was built on the site of an old Indian village thatpredated the arrival of Spaniards in Mexico. He showed usthe rock he had picked up and explained that it had beenused to crush corn in a stone bowl. He then said the hill waslittered with these historic remnants. I looked down at thefreshly tilled earth and noticed that many ancient potteryfragments lay scattered upon the ground. I was surprisedthat it was only after I had been told that I was standing onancient ground that I immediately noticed that these fragmentslittered the earth at our feet. Marcel Proust, a Frenchnovelist, once said, “The real voyage of discovery consistsnot in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes.”Amazed, I picked up the remnants of an old pottery bowl toexamine it and realized that until this time, I had only seenancient artifacts behind glass cases in museum halls thatdemanded tomb-like silence as one viewed the preservedprogress of mankind. This ancient site, home of the earliestdwellers of Mexico, had now returned to its original stateand was forgotten forever. As one civilization died away anotherrose on top of it. Today a cross stands at this placeas homage to a Christian god. What stood here a thousandyears before? Perhaps an altar to offer homage to gods thathave since been forgotten? From earth to earth and fromashes to ashes, we rise and return. The cycle continues.Upon returning to the entrance we were met by Pedro,7

who seemed perturbed that I had taken several photographsalong the Stations of the Cross. In our continuing conversationhe told me that of his ten brothers,he was the only devout Catholicand that none of them helped himconstruct the memorial. He explainedthat the thirteen Stations of the Crosswere built from the donations of thirteenpeople and that the cross hadbeen erected by the good grace anddonations of five other donors. Thegrand archway forming the entrancehad taken several years to build andwas still a work in progress. Pedrowas the soul and life of this memorialand was not supported or helped byhis family or the local Catholic parishpriest. He explained that the old parishpriest had initially been helpful, butthat for the past five years the newly assigned young priesthad not helped him with the project and declined to offerhim any assistance whatsoever. Nor would the young priestHilltop below Pedro’s Cross with a view ofJaltemba Bay, Nayarit, Mexico.visit to bless the memorial. I thought there was some sort ofestrangement between he and Pedro, and reflected on howman’s emotions and personal feelingsoften dominate a greater good.And that jealousy, wrongs perceived,self-righteousness, superiority, dominance,and a whole host of humanfrailties often control mankind’s relationshipwith each other. Pedro’shomage was a personal offeringopen to all believers to share in. But,here it stood guarded and closed offwith a chain-link fence. How muchhave we actually changed over theages? I wondered. And if in the end,we shall all become like fragmentsin the earth at our own hands.At the time I had no idea thatmy chance encounter on that hilltop andseveral pottery fragments were the beginning of a wonderfuljourney of discovery as I followed a thread weaving its wayalong the path of lost civilizations.8

Chapter 2ZacualpanDiscovery was the opium of explorers who sought thepath less traveled. To have tread where few men hadgone was the fuel that fired their passion, whether it was toseek knowledge or a quest for glory, fortune, or for a god.And for just an instant, in the small pueblo of Zacualpan, inNayarit, Mexico, I knew what it felt like to discover, learn,and to behold a treasure before my eyes.My journey began in the town of Guayabitos, standingunder a cross on a hilltop overlooking the Bay of Jaltemba.By chance I met an elderly man from Saskatchewan whopointed out to me that the site we were standing on wasonce an ancient Indian village. As I looked about the groundI found ancient pottery fragments and a stone tool used tocrush corn. Before parting, the elderly fellow mentioned thathe had heard that there was a cavern or underground area inZacualpan that contained mummies or relics.I was familiar with Zacualpan as it was situated onMexico Highway 161, north of Guayabitos, before the smallfishing village of Platanitos, which my father and I had visitedseveral times. I was curious about what the man fromSaskatchewan had said and decided that the next time wetraveled to Platanitos, we would embark upon a journeybased on this vague indication of relics in Zacualpan.About two weeks later my father and I and our erstwhilecompanion and world traveler, Rafael, found ourselves infront of Zacualpan’s church, situated in the town square. Ithought that perhaps the church might contain mummies,as is the case in other locations in Mexico and Europe. Wesaw several taxicabs parked on the street and asked one cabdriver if he knew if there were any mummies or relics inthe church or surrounding area. He gave us somewhat ofa blank stare. We then decided to take another approachand asked him if there was a museum in town. After severalseconds of deep thought he nodded and indicated that twostreets ahead we should take a left turn and then two streetsfurther up we would see a museum. We followed these directionsand upon reaching the location, we could not see9

any building that housed a museum. We passed a small parkand then decided to stop the car so we could walk aroundthe neighborhood. As we got out of the car a Mexican fellowstepped out of his house and we asked him if he knew wherethe museum was. He replied in English and pointed to thepark and said, “It’s over there.” He then went to the gated parkand opened the iron grill doors, imploring us to follow him.I am always amazed at how our way of thinking through oursocialization process funnels our thoughts and perceptionsto a certain viewpoint, which can be quite different when weare away from our social group. I associated the word “museum”with a building, and that’s what we were looking for.In their teachings, the Toltec Indians of Mexico used to referto this as “The Dream of the World.” And that much of howwe thought and behaved as adults was programmed into usfrom the moment we were born by the group we were borninto. Don Miguel Ruiz a modern Toltec teacher, emphasizesthat we should be impeccable in our word, not take thingspersonally, do the best we can, and not make assumptions,as they are often wrong. As a traveler one of the pleasures Ienjoy is the ability to step out of my own world and try toview it from a different perspective.Anyway, as the English-speaking local fellow led us intothe park or museum, he pointed out various large bouldersthat had petroglyphs carved into the stone. I asked him if theboulders were native to the small park and he replied thatthey had been transported to the site from the nearby mountainslocated to the east. He mentioned there were many suchboulders locally. He also mentioned that he had found manypottery fragments, which he wanted to show us. He then ledus into his house and showed us a small and shallow redclay bowl that was about six inches across. Painted along theoutside rim were various flowers and plants. He mentionedthat he had found the bowl intact in a nearby field. I examinedthe bowl and could tell it was very similar to the fragmentof the bowl I had found in Guayabitos.10

The fellow we were speaking with was named Pabloand a native of Zacualpan, although he now lived near Sacramento,California. The house we were in belonged to hisfamily; he was home on vacation. Pablo was very friendlyand offered to take us to the site where he had found theancient bowl. My father and I went in Pablo’s pickup truckwhile Rafael went along in another truck driven by one ofPablo’s friends.About three minutes from the house we entered a dirtroad that led us to the town cemetery. As I stepped out ofthe truck I saw a large bone lying on the ground. I pickedit up and we asked Pablo and his friend if it was one of thearea’s relics. We all had a good laugh as I threw the legbone back into the cemetery. Adjacent to the cemetery wasa fenced pasture where cows were grazing and being tendedby Pablo’s brother and another fellow. The pasture wasa small plateau overlooking fields of corn, tobacco, and astream that flowed into the ocean. The vista was panoramicand beautiful. As we walked in the pasture Pablo told usthat fragments were everywhere and would surface whenthe field was plowed. I saw nothing at first, then as Pablostarted pointing out and picking up pottery fragments, myfather and I saw that the field was littered with these relics.I was amazed knowing that this field had been plowed overa thousand times and trampled for many years by cattle andmen. In spite of all this, these ancient fragments endured.Approaching the edge of the plateau I could see thatApproaching the edge of the plateau could see thatthe downhill slope was littered with large boulders, whichthe downhill slope was littered with large boulders, whichseemed to be of volcanic origin. Pablo started pointing outseemed to be of volcanic origin. Pablo started pointing outvarious markings on these boulders and I began to noticevarious markings on these boulders and began to noticethat several were carved and smoothed out to form bowlsthat several were carved and smoothed out to form bowlswhere corn and other staples could be ground. Pablo’swhere corn and other staples could be ground. Pablo’s andbrother called me over to the bottom of the plateau and11

showed me a boulder with a petroglyph that resembled aboat with a sail. Another one resembled a warrior shootingan arrow. Almost every large boulder along the plateau andat the bottom of the slope contained a carved petroglyph. Iwas excited, I was fascinated, and I was astonished. I gazedupon the scene around me and then closed my eyes andjourneyed back in time. This hill, this plateau, was my village.Below me the soil was fertile and I grew corn, wheat,and other staples to sustain the people of the village. Theocean lay to the west and nourished us with a bounty fromthe sea. The flowing stream quenched my thirst. This villagewas prosperous for it sustained me in food from the landand sea and sweet water flowing from the mountains. WhenI opened my eyes and looked around again I knew that Iwas standing on top of a lost civilization. What happenedto these people, who were they, how did they live, and howdid they perish? Now, all that remained was a lonely pastureforgotten in time. Pablo’s family owned this land, but theyknew not what lay beneath their feet except that fragmentsfrom the past were scattered on the ground.As I continued to wander the site, Pablo’s brother ledme to a large boulder that had a large bowl carved smoothlyat its apex. At the edge of the bowl, grooves were carveddownward. Was this a sacrificial altar? Were human offeringsmade here? Or was food simply prepared here? No oneknew. This land had been passed down to Pablo’s familythrough many generations. For the Mexican compasinos,life was hard and people were concerned with the presentand not the past. And so these treasure lay here, giving up12

their past in tiny fragments, begging to have its story told andits people remembered.Another interesting boulder that Pablo’s brother showedme contained several spiral designs carved into the stone.Little did I know at the time that I would again see theseancient spiral symbols in another land and that they wouldreveal themselves to me as part of the cosmic thread thatconnects us all.Before my father and I left this sacred site I knelt downand brushed away the soil. At each movement, and with everyhandful of dirt, pieces of the past fell between my fingersas if thousands upon thousands of relics had been cast fromthe heavens and smashed upon the earth. “Who will rediscoveryou? I thought. And who will tell your story?”13

Chapter 3Pirate TreasuresDriving back to Guayabitos from Zacualpan I wantedto learn more of its history and thought it would bea simple matter of researching it on the Internet. Later thatevening I visited an Internet café and spent several hourstrying to find some information on Zacualpan. Surprisingly,about the only item of interest I could find was that Zacualpanhad a population of approximately 5,000 people.Also, there was one Web site that indicated the town had amuseum with exhibits of petroglyphs. I was very surprisedthat there was no mention of an ancient civilization or thatpetroglyphs also appeared in the fields below the town cemetery.Several days later I read a tourist brochure for the Stateof Nayarit that described the small pueblo of Alta Vista.According to the brochure an ancient culture named the“Tecoxquines” lived in this region 2,300 years ago and theircapital was located in Zacualpan, which had an estimated20,000 inhabitants!The brochure stated the Tecoxquines also inhabited theAlta Vista area and that many petroglyphs could be foundin that location. The Huichol Indians, who to this day makepilgrimages to the area to commune with their gods, alsoconsider the area sacred ground.I continued to scan the brochure and saw a referenceto the small coastal village of Chacala, which was south ofZacualpan. Chacala was apparently Nayarit’s first state harborbecause of its natural configuration. As such it had beenused in the past as a safe haven for pirates. As I read aboutChacala I remembered that Pedro told me that when he wasa young boy his grandfather used to tell him tales of piratesraiding Zacualpan. I also recalled that when I visited Pedro’spasture one of the fellows watching the cattle had whiteskin, freckles on his face, and red hair! I remembered thinkingthat the fellow did not look like a native of Mexico.Who were the pirates who anchored in Chacala andraided Zacualpan? Were they English or French plying the14

Chacala Beach.15

waters looking for Spanish galleons carrying silver and gold?The following day I drove back to Zacualpan and toPedro’s pasture to find this strange red-haired fellow. As fortunewould have it he was sitting under a tree tending thecattle in the pasture. He recognized me and returned mygreeting as I approached. In broken Spanish I told him thatmy name was Alejandro. Pointing to him I asked him whathis name was. He replied that his name was Jose. When Iasked him his family name, I became very excited when hesaid that it was Harer. I knew that this was not a Spanishname and I asked where his father had been born. He indicatedthat his father had been born locally. In broken SpanishI tried to find out if his grandfather had also been born inMexico. We both struggled with trying to communicate, butas best as I could determine it seemed his family lineage wasnot from Mexico. I pointed to his skin and red hair and said,“No Espanol.” Jose indicated that I should follow him to hishouse, which was within walking distance. It was a veryaged and simple abode home constructed in the old style.Jose directed me to sit down while he disappeared behind acurtain that led into another room. When he returned I wasstunned. He held an old cutlass sword, which he handed tome. I examined it to see if there were any markings. Nearthe hilt I could make out some sort of crown and what Ithought was Latin writing. As I was examining the sword,Jose produced a small object wrapped in a linen cloth. AsI unwrapped the cloth, resting in the palm of my hand Iheld an old silver Spanish coin. It is one thing to read abouthistory, but another to actually see and touch it! To feel itspresence, and to see that part of it was alive through Joseevoked a special and indescribable feeling. Jose said thatthese objects belonged to his family and had been handeddown through the generations. I gave the sword and silvercoin back to Jose and returned to the pasture with him. Josewas leading a simple life and did not seem excited or curiousto delve into the past. His struggle was with the here andnow, and I wanted to respect that. Discoverers have alwayschanged the lives and destiny of those they encountered.Often their own excitement and beliefs, their “Dream of theWorld,” left them with little or no consideration for thosethey encountered. Countless civilizations and indigenouspopulations have been decimated in the name of progressand enlightenment or under the yoke of a new salvation.But then, this is the history of mankind. It seems that all16

Chacala Bay, Nayarit, Mexico.civilizations have done this to each other. And this is whyonly several hundred Spaniards were able to conquer theindigenous population of Mexico. So, I contained my excitement,my curiosity, and my desire to know more as I saidgood-bye to Jose Harer, descendant of English pirates andraiders of Spanish galleons.17

Chapter 4Alta VistaSeveral days later, in my continuing quest to learn moreabout the Tecoxquine Kingdom, my father, our companionRafael, and I drove to Alta Vista. This town could bereached by driving about four miles north of the small townof La Penita, situated off Mexico Highway 200. There is a signannouncing Alta Vista and the turnoff is a winding dirt roadgoing up towards the coastal mountains. When we arrivedin Alta Vista we could see many lowland farms and ranchesspread out below the town. The town itself mainly consistedof homes built along the slope of a mountain, which provideda panoramic view of the Pacific Ocean to the west.Unsure of the setting we decided to park our car alongthe road to orient ourselves. As we walked along we encountereda Mexican fellow named Jesus who turned outto be an apostatizing Jehovah’s Witness whose wife’s sisterand parents lived in Alta Vista. We asked him if there wereany petroglyphs in the area and he told us there were many.Fortune smiled upon us again when Jesus mentioned thathe and his wife were going to visit a small farm further upinto the mountains that had petroglyphs and that we couldaccompany them. We got into his pickup truck, includingJesus’ two young nephews, who would show us where thepetroglyphs were. Adrian was six and Manuel was eight.We drove on an old dirt road for several miles into themountains and stopped at a small adobe farmhouse situatedon top of a plateau that overlooked the coastal plains andthe Pacific Ocean. Manuel and Adrian then led my father,Rafael, and I along a small footpath behind the adobe house.As we came near the crest of the mountain we stopped inthe midst of a cluster of large volcanic boulders. With thehelp of Adrian and Manuel I started examining the bouldersand could see that many of them contained sections wherebowls or altars had been carved into the stone. Amongthese boulders Adrian and Manuel positioned various fragmentsof pottery and stone implements that had been foundlaying about the site.18

I was struck by the similarity of the setup of this smallerencampment to the site at Zacualpan. Both sites weresituated on plateaus that provided marvelous vistas to thewest. I sat down, closed my eyes,and tried to concentrate on nothingmore than the natural elementsbefore me and to experience whatit felt like to visit this site a thousandyears ago.In my vision I was walking onsacred ground and these ancientboulders, on this crest pointing towardthe heavens, were my altars.I came here looking up to the blueskies with my offerings. And whenI turned with my arms outstretchedlooking out toward my realm,Mother Earth opened up below me tumbling toward the blueoceans. This was truly a holy spot. I could feel it no less thanthe ancient Tecoxquines had at one time or the Huichol Indiansof today. Some sacred spots never change and need nofurther explanation. I sat there for a while feeling the powerof the sun, the strength of the land, and the peace that laybefore me—each forming a part of the other, composing atrinity that needed no other meaning.As my father and I walkedback down to the adobe farmhouse,little Manuel mentionedthat there was a stone farther downthe hill that was older than theboulders. I asked him to show thisancient stone to me and followedhim as he led the way back to thedirt road. I realized that it was theoriginal pathway or route of travelused by the Tecoxquines morethan two thousand years ago. Aswe came upon a slight bend in theroad Adrian and Manuel pointedto a dark stone that was imbedded in the earthen bank ofthe road, which was about five feet up above ground level.I could not initially recognize anything particular about thisboulder except that it was smooth and dark gray or black.Looking closer I started to recognize that there were carvings19

on the stone. The markings appeared to be a series of parallellines, some of which were spread in a fan shape. I hadseen several similar stones and markings in museums andbooks detailing ancient Indian cultures. Although I couldnot say what these markings meant Ihad a sense that some of them wererelated to the sun.Two weeks after seeing this ancientstone I was in Talapia Square inGuadalajara. I was looking at somebeads, handmade jewelry, and stoneson a blanket; all were being sold by afellow who appeared to be an indigenousnative, which is to say he had Indianfeatures. The items spread out onhis blanket were varied and seemed torepresent ancient stones, jewelry, fossils,and like items from throughout the South Americas. TheIndian noticed I was interested in some of his fossil piecesand emptied the contents of a plastic bag on the blanket.Lying before me were dozens of miniature clay pots and figuresthat were native antiquities. He produced a small blackstone and placed it in my hand. I was somewhat startled todiscover that this small stone was etched with markings similarto those I had seen on the larger stone in Alta Vista. TheIndian said the stone had been found in the ancient ruins ofMachu Picchu, Peru. Even though onehas to be careful not to be fooled byfakes and reproductions, I knew thatwhat I held in my hand was authentic.The markings and the small stonewere similar to the one I had seen inAlta Vista. Could the Tecoxquines ofZacualpan, Mexico, and the Incas ofMachu Picchu, Peru, be related? Didthey worship the same gods? And,what was the significance of the stonemarkings? I’m not sure that I will everknow. However, I can say that I havestood at the altar of the ancients, felt its power, and beheldthe marvels that time has not altered since the dawn of ages.Sri Sathya Sai Babd, an Indian spiritual leader, said, “Seeingis Believing, I will believe in God only if I see Him, but areall things seen or heard or touched or tasted, as real as they20

seem?” Again, I felt that I did not need to know any morethan what I had just seen.When I left Alta Vista I knew there was much more tobe seen, to be heard, and to be learned. I could feel thethread of lost civilizations weaving itself through me andknew that one day I would return in search of its lost secrets.Ancient artifacts, Alta Vista, Nayarit, Mexico.21

Chapter 5The Herb Manin Guadalajaraaware that they are driving through lava fields and that theroad passes through old, extinct volcanic craters. In Jalaone can ascend to the top of Volcano Ceboruco, which hasinteresting fauna, old steam vents, and lava forms. Furtheralong on Highway 15D we started entering the outskirts ofDriving from Guayabitos to Guadalajara one ascendsfrom the coastal plains of Nayarit following Highway200 and then onto Highway 68, passing the towns of Compostela,San Pedro Lagunillas, and onto Highway 15, whichis the toll road for Guadalajara. As we passed Lagunillas andCerro Grande, I was reminded that this was the site wheremy father and I once observed an unexplained phenomena,which we concluded was a UFO. Interestingly, when Irecounted my UFO experience to a Compostela resident,she confirmed that many people had reported seeing unexplainedflying objects around Cerro Grande. Along Highway15 before the turnoff for the town of Jala one becomesthe town of Tequila and noticed black glass-like reflectionsalong the banks of the freeway, which had been cut throughthe rolling hills. We pulled over and examined these reflections;they were large veins of obsidian. We briefly exploredthe area and picked up several large pieces of this glass-likestone.Our drive into Guadalajara was scenic and pleasantalthough one is always reminded of the perils along theroad—we saw one dead mule and four perished dogs. Fourweeks later when I was returning to the U.S. the dead mulewas still lying by the road.After settling into our lodging near the Plaza de Liberacion,Guadalajara, we immediately set out to explorethe central historic district. Outside the hotel we saw sev-22

eral Chinese restaurants and learned that Guadalajara has asmall Chinese community. To our delight we ate at an allyou-can-eatChinese buffet for thirty-five pesos, which isabout $3.20. The food was very good.One place I wanted to visit in Guadalajara was SanJuan de Dios, which has reportedly one of the largest coveredmarkets in Mexico with hundreds of stalls and vendorsselling all manner of interesting items.While strolling in the market I came upon a booth displayingherbs and a multitude of medicinal plants. I noticeda pole across the top of the booth from which numeroussmall clay figures were suspended. I began recognizingmany small figures similar to those I had seen in museumsand in books about the indigenous relics of Mexico. I askedthe man behind the counter if any of the ancient figures werefor sale. He quickly said no and then continued about hisbusiness. After several minutes he returned and I mentionedI had seen the petroglyphs of Zacualpan and had found severalpottery fragments in a field. He indicated that he knewwhere Zacualpan was and that he had traveled through thatregion many times. We then started to talk about the HuicholIndians of Nayarit and their culture. Now, rememberthat this conversation was taking place in broken Spanishand English, with a lot of hand movements, head nodding,and facial expressions. I learned that the herb man was anIndian who had traveled throughout Mexico and had studiedthe herbal medicinal secrets of many of the local indigenousinhabitants throughout the country. During ourconversation I believe we both felt a true appreciation ofthe wonders of lost civilizations and the exciting journey ofrediscovering and learning about them. As the end of theday drew near, the herb man indicated he had many moreartifacts and invited my father and me to his home, whichhe said was located near the market.When I entered the herb man’s home I felt as if I hadbeen transported in time. Ancient relics covered walls andany other available space that could hold an object. Therewere figures, pottery, stone carvings, jewelry, masks, ancientrocks, tools, weapons, and many other objects thatone would expect to find in the finest museums. The herbman was very proud of these artifacts and would pick upcertain items and explain to me their origin and how hehad acquired them. Often, he would hand me an ancientobject and let me examine it. The exciting thing about23

these objects, and the experience, was that I felt as if theywere transporting me back in time. Exploring ancient paststhrough museums is rewarding, but everything is often ina locked, sealed, and sterile environment. But, to actuallyhold an ancient object and examine it brings forth a hostof emotions that can’t be experienced by looking through aglass case. While inside the herb man’s house I could sensea power and connection to the objects surrounding me andfelt history’s presence as I have never felt before. I spentseveral hours looking at, touching, and feeling the remnantsof the past that surrounded me. The herb man never offeredto sell me any of the objects, nor did I ever ask to buy anything.I am grateful for that because some things are justnot for sale. Being surrounded by these artifacts and hearingthe herb man talk about their life and revival was a kind ofknowledge that could never be bought. The value was in theexperience itself.Later that evening our host made a wonderful tea with aconcoction of herbs and hibiscus flowers, which he claimedhad medicinal powers. That night I had a dream within adream. It was as if a conscious element within me was awakeobserving the dream, but knowing that what I was observingin the dream was also an element of the dream. In mydream I was passing through the ancient history of Mexico.Although at times I felt that I was flying, I was also wandering,looking, searching, following a thread that kept pullingme back as the ruins of ancient civilizations lay at my feet.As my father and I left Guadalajara for Zacatecas twodays later and drove along Mexico Highway 54, the meaningof this lucid dream would reveal itself.24

Chapter 6Following the Threadto ChicomostocIt started without any forethought or grand design for adventureor discovery. It just happened to be that I was undera cross above the Thirteen Stations on a hill overlookingGuayabitos, where on the ground I found a thread of civilization,which took me on a journey to Zacualpan, Alta Vista,Guadalajara, Zacatecas, and back to Guayabitos. NapoleonBonaparte said chance was the providence of adventurers.That I am, but I am also a witness to time, telling my story asI followed that thread.Lost on the streets of bustling Guadalajara trying to findHighway 54, I pulled into a Pemex gas station and asked atruck driver if he knew the way to Zacatecas. He pointed tothe road I had just left and told me to keep following it. Hesaid it was a good road and would take me by some grandruins in a place called Chicomostoc.The road left the city of Guadalajara from the northand descended into a 2,000 foot canyon called the Barrancade Oblatos, where my father and I saw an eagle take flightwith a large, twisting snake in its beak. I held that rare imagein my thoughts recalling the Aztec legend of the eagleand the snake, which is symbolized as a coat of arms in thecenter of the Mexican flag. According to popular legend, theAztec people were wandering throughout Mexico in searchof a sign to indicate the precise spot where they were tobuild their capital. The god, Huitzilopochti, had commandedthem to find an eagle devouring a snake, perched atop aprickly pear cactus that was growing on a rock submergedin a lake. After two hundred years of wandering, they foundthe promised sign on a small island in swampy Lake Tescoco.Here they founded their new capital, Tenochtitlan, whichlater became known as Mexico City, the current capital ofMexico. That morning I did not realize that the vision of theeagle and snake was also a sign along my path as I followedthe thread of lost civilizations.25

The drive to Zacatecas led us through arid valleys, highmountain plains, and dry lands. It was farm and cattle countrythat reminded me of sections of California, New Mexico,and Arizona. Along the route I noticedseveral areas where the sides of outlyinghills appeared to be terraced. Althoughthese terraces were overgrown, a distantview provided an interesting perspective:they did not follow the natural curvatureof other outlying hills. I told my father Ibelieved what we were seeing were theremnants of ancient civilizations. Theseterraces were possibly temples, cities, andpyramids now returning to the land’s naturaltopography. We return from whence wecame and I wondered what others wouldsee of us a thousand years from now.Much of the land here was partitionedinto sections by hand-laid walls of stone that hadbeen gathered from the arid ground. As we followed theundulating rise and fall of our route to Zacatecas on bothsides of the road, stone walls stretched for miles and miles. Itwas like a miniature version of the Great Wall of China. I amalways amazed at the effort man goes through in order tomark or claim the boundary of what he believes to be his.About twenty-five miles south ofZacatecas, to the right of the road, wepassed an abandoned building with a 20-foot silver eagle mounted on a pedestal.Remembering the eagle I had seen earlierthat day I quickly stopped and returnedto the building. I walked up to the figureand saw that it was made of tin andthat in the eagle’s beak was a snake. Thestatue looked exactly like the live eagleand snake my father and I had seen hoursbefore. Art truly does imitate life and Iwondered if there was any relationshipbetween the eagle I had seen earlier thatmorning and the statue before me. I rememberedthe war in Vietnam and the many patrols I ledthrough the jungle. During those times I felt connected tothe environment and my senses merged with life aroundme.26

As I walked around the eagle, I felt that there was somethingstill drawing itself to me. Feeling that pull I walked tothe building behind the eagle. It was an abandoned restaurantcalled “Las Siete Cuevas,” the seven caves. Standingthere I still felt restless, as if there was something else to see.Something was trying to reach out to me, to be heard, to beseen. The thread was pulling me closer. I closed my eyes anda vision of distant hills appeared.Slowly, I opened my eyes and lookedaround. I noticed a stone road adjacentto the abandoned restaurant,which meandered into the hills. Nextto the road I saw a small, bent, andrusted sign that said, “Ruinas.” Wasthis the road to the ruins of Chicomostoc? I gazed towardthe hills, recalling my vision, and thought I could distinguishsome vague outlines on a mountaintop about a mile to thewest. As I looked at these hills all apprehension left my bodyand I knew that the eagle and snake and the pull of lost civilizationshad brought us to Chicomostoc.As we followed the stone road and came closer alongsidethe mountain my father and I began to see the outline ofa vast ruin complex. The road ended at a small stone guardhousewhere an attendant informed us that we were at theruins of La Quemada, which I later learned was also knownas Chicomostoc.We parked the car and followed a dusty path to a largestone-constructed interpretive center built in the style of theruins. This was the gateway to the lost city. I was impressed,excited, ecstatic. I had been to theruins of Pompeii and many ancientplaces in Europe, but the fascinatingthing about Chicomostoc was thatnobody was there. No tour buses,no crowds, no noise. Only silenceand the occasional soft sound ofdesert winds could be heard flowing along forsaken stepsmeandering around pyramids, altars, courtyards, and pathwayslong forgotten. I looked above at the bright blue skiesand white clouds forming the backdrop to this ancient sandstonecity and felt a great sense of wonderment. We are eacha temple within, a world to ourselves, but as I stood there Ifelt that we are all nothing more than grains in the sands oftime immortal.27

As I climbed upward toward the stairs to heaven Iknew that under my very feet, looking much the same asit had a thousand years before, others had stood where Istood. What did they think? What didthey believe? What was their life like?Were they happy and did they also thinkof those before them? At that moment Ifelt timeless. The past, the present, andthe future were one. I sat down and gazedout across the ruins and the land beforeme. I closed my eyes and began to travelwithin. A kaleidoscope of visions, tranquility,and peace passed beneath me asI soared through my inner world. Somepeople say that the beginning of time, theactual moment when it all began, is anevent that is recorded within each of us.As the soft breeze played across my upliftedface I remembered that Djahal ad Din Rum, a 12thcentury Persian mystic said, “The breeze at dawn has secretsto tell you, don’t go back to sleep, you must ask what you reallywant, don’t go back to sleep, people are going back andforth across the doorsill where two worlds touch, the rounddoor is open, don’t go back to sleep.”I wandered silently through the lost city of Chicomostoc,once thought to be the place wherethe Aztecs stopped during their legendarywandering toward the Valle de Mexico.I wanted to learn more but much is leftto speculation. The only fact for certainis that over a thousand years and morea thriving civilization once stood here.Arnold Toynbe, a historian, wrote aboutlost civilizations and said, “When we diagnosethe fall of civilizations we invariablyfind that the cause of death has beenWar or Class or some combination of thetwo.” History has a tendency to repeat itselfand I can imagine another soul standingover the ruins of our civilization twothousand years after our demise asking these same questions:What did they think? What did they believe? Whatwas their life like? Were they happy and did they also thinkof those before them?28

Before leaving I climbed a pyramid and at its summitI lifted my arms skyward and looked up to the sun. I completeda full turn three times. Once looking at the sun, oncelooking at the lands that lay at my feet, and once with myeyes closed recalling the images I had just seen. Standingatop that pyramid with my arms outstretched I felt the threadpulling me closer toward some sort of collective subconsciouswithin the galactic dust of our minds that occasionallyreveals itself to us. When I opened my eyes I realizedthat I had stood there for some time as the sun had begun itsdecent below the horizon.I felt peaceful and calm as I left Chicomostoc. Reflectingupon my solitary experience I thought that there wasmuch truth in the saying that sometimes a story is told asmuch by silence as by speech.29

Chapter 7Idols and Godsof CompostelaIt had been a long day and was now nightfall. I had beenfollowing the thread, but wondered if the thread wasweaving itself around me. Should I continue to follow it?Should I break the cycle? Should I simply walk away from it?Something had gotten a hold of me and I was restless.Seven days before my father and I were in Puerto Vallartawalking around the central district and found ourselveson Avenida Libertad. We saw an interesting window displayand walked into the Arte Popular Mexico Galleria. It wasa fascinating art gallery featuring numerous ceramic andclay plates, large sculptures, and small figures of ancientIndian deities, gods, and spirits. Many of them looked likethe antique figures we had seen in the museums of Nayarit,Guadalajara, and Zacatecas. Were they real? Certainly, theylooked real, mysterious,and beautiful.We approached ayoung lady at a deskin the rear of the galleryand asked if theywere antique objects.She smiled and saidno, they were reproductions.But, I feltno disappointment.It is the thought thatcounts and standingin that gallery, I truly felt like I was among ancient antiquities.I remember an art dealer once telling me that afterthirty years of dealing with Chinese antiquities, he had tostop. He said the reproductions were so well done that it becametoo difficult for him to distinguish the difference. As Igazed upon the items around me I was drawn to a large clayfigurehead that was about thirty inches tall. The face wasindigenous and above its head, sweeping up from the backand over the top, was a representation of either a snake or30

ird, or perhaps a headdress. I asked the young lady aboutthe artist, but all she could tell me was that the artist wasfrom the State of Nayarit and that the figurehead in the gallerywas called “Cabezza Palenque.” This figure is one of themost well-known Mayan sculptures,which was found in the Temple ofInscription, in the town of Palenqueof the Mexican State of Chiapas. Shealso showed me a photograph of theartist in his studio standing next toanother large figure he was workingon. I almost bought the figurehead,as the price was actually quite reasonable.However, I wanted to knowmore about the artist and his work before I committed to apurchase. The young lady said that the owner would be inthe gallery the following week and that she had all the informationabout the artist.Several days later my father, our friend Rafael, and Idecided to drive to the towns of Compostela and San PedroLagunillas to look at some land that was for sale. The routefrom the coastal town of Guayabitos to Compostela takesyou on a slow, winding mountain road that rises to a thousandmeters as it enters Compostela. I have taken that routemany times and I was always impressed by the sheer mountainsidecliff, which is very prominent as the road begins itsdownward slope to the valley whereCompostela is situated. When wecame abreast of the sheer cliff I toldmy father and Rafael that one dayI wanted to climb to that mountainpeak because I felt it was a site theancients revered. One of the things Ihad noticed is that very old civilizationsthat worshiped the elements orgods of the heavens, skies, sun, andearth would often construct temples and designate sacredgrounds in areas with breathtaking vistas. That imposingmountaintop with its sheer cliff wall was unique and I felt itwould be a grand place to commune with the gods.Upon arriving to Compostela we parked in the townsquare and noticed we were adjacent to a small museum. Ilove these small-town Mexican museums because they havea down-to-earth feeling that exudes a genuine atmosphere.31

They usually consist of ancient indigenous clay and stonefigures, many of which have been found locally. I learnedlater that the ancient artifacts in the Compostela museumwere mostly items discovered in the environs of Compostelaand Zacualpan. Before we left I remembered that theunknown artist who exhibited in Puerto Vallarta was supposedlyfrom the State of Nayarit so I asked Rafael to ask themuseum attendants if they knew of any local artist who producedancient clay figure reproductions. They thought aboutit for a while and said that on the main street there was awoman’s boutique, and the husband of the woman runningthe store was an artist. Although it was not clear as to whattype of artist he was, we walked down the main street andentered several women’s boutiques to inquire about the artist.There were many boutiques along the main street andnot surprisingly we received many blank stares in responseto our query. As we stood on the main street trying to contemplateour course of action a lady walking down the streetsaid hello to Rafael. He recognized her as a peanut and coffeevendor who sold her products in Guayabitos and mentionedto her that he was interested in looking at some landthat was for sale. The lady then revealed that she had landfor sale and guided us to her home to look at the land. Whenwe arrived I stood aside while she and Rafael discussed theland. While they were talking a car pulled alongside themand I saw the lady go to the car and receive a plastic bag.She showed the bag to Rafael, who then motioned for me tocome over to look at it. I was intrigued. Inside the bag werewhat looked like five ancient figures. The fellow who hadhanded the bag to the lady parked his car and walked overto us. As we looked at these supposed ancient figures Rafaelpulled out one small figurehead and told the Mexican fellowthat it was a fake. The Mexican fellow looked at that pieceand admitted the piece was not an ancient figure but saidthat the others were. He then told us the ancient figures weheld had been excavated from a nearby mountain he calledMonte de Lima. I asked himto point out the mountainto me and when he did Iwas excited and felt a greatsense of understanding, forit was the mountain range Ihad previously pointed outto my father and Rafael as a32

possible ancient or sacred site. The Mexican fellow, whosename was Luis, then told me he was in the middle of anotherexcavation and that he had found a three-foot statue, whichhe was going to extract from theground that evening. He mentionedthat it was slow work because he hadto be careful not to break the statue.I was somewhat skeptical about hisclaims considering he had admittedto handing us one fake piece already.I asked him if he would take me tothis ancient site. To my surprise heagreed and said he would arrangeing next to city hall told us the mountain was called Montede Lima. But, a lady in the tourist office said it was calledBuenavista. We later learned the imposing mountain wasnamed Buenavista and that Montede Lima was a location behindBuenavista.Later, I also learned that thepre-Hispanic inhabitants of this areawere referred to as the Senorio deMazatan. Compostela was foundedin 1540 and was the first capital ofNuevo Galicia, a Spanish colonialregion. At that time it was referred tofor some horses to transport us to theCerro Buenavista, Compostela, Mexico. as Santiago de Galicia de Compostela.site, which would take about an hour to reach. He said atthe site we would see a cave with ancient wall paintings; hethought the area was once a burial ground. We agreed tomeet him two days later.After saying our good-byes we asked around to confirmthe name of the mountain Luis had pointed out. Interestingly,none of the people we stopped on the street knewthe name. However, a rancher talking to a policeman stand-The main economic activity in this area is farming andcattle-raising. Many of us reside in urban locations, living acontemporary life without much thought that we might actuallybe living on top of another civilization. And so whenwe look at an empty field or forest, that is all we see. It ishard to fathom that under our very feet we might be standingover an ancient grave or atop a sacred site.In Mexico many civilizations seem to have disappeared33

without any trace or recorded history. Such is the case of thelost city of Chicomostoc, which I had visited near Zacatecas.Much knowledge about ancient cultures, cities, sites,final resting places, and sacred grounds has essentially beenlost. If you can imagine, within seventy years of the Spaniards’arrival in Mexico, the population declined from an estimatedtwenty five million to a little over a million by 1605because of wars, conquests, and imported diseases. So, it isnot surprising that I had met people along this journey whocould easily produce ancient artifacts. Although a great dealhas been found, that which still lays undiscovered vastly exceedsit. Nevertheless, one must also be wary: Mexico alsoabounds with a thriving industry of reproductions and fakeantiquities.After making arrangements with Luis, the amateurarchaeologist, we again set off toward Compostela’s mainstreet in search of the unnamed boutique where there wasa woman whose husband might be an artist who possiblywas exhibiting his reproductions in Puerto Vallarta. As wecontinued along Compostela’s main street we saw a pinkboutique storefront. We entered and were greeted by theshopkeeper and repeated to him our story of searching foran artist from Nayarit who sold his reproductions of ancientsculptures in Puerto Vallarta. He thought for a while andsaid perhaps the artist we were looking for was the husbandof the lady in the boutique two doors down. He then saidthat he too had a sculpture for sale. We were not initially interestedas he described it as a monkey-like object. He thenmotioned us to follow him to the back of his store, where heextracted a paper bundle that was hidden behind one of theshelves. He slowly unwrapped the paper and then placedthe item in my hands. I was fascinated, because again myassumption was that a monkey-like figure would be somesort of an art reproduction from Indonesia or China, itemsthat are frequently imported to home decorating stores inthe U.S. However, what I held in my hands was a nine-inchclay figure of an Aztec, Mayan, or other tribal Indian warrior,or priest wearing a headdress and sitting in a cross-leggedposition. He had protruding eyes and large lips, which gavehim somewhat of a monkey-like expression. The first thingwe said to the shopkeeper was that the figure was a reproduction.He claimed it was genuine and said it had beenexcavated from a nearby site. We then heard someone enterthe shop. The storeowner quickly took the figure from my34

hand, wrapped it, and hid it behind a shelf. He then put hisfinger to his lips and told us not to talk about the object.We left his shop and went twodoors down to the next boutiqueto speak to the woman shopkeeperthere, inquiring if her husband wasan artist exhibiting in Puerto Vallarta.She looked at us blankly and told usshe didn’t know what we were talkingabout. Later, as I reflected uponour encounter with the shopkeeper,I realized that he was most likely thefellow the museum attendants hadreferred to. This was a small townand everyone is related or knows everybody.There are very few secretsand this shopkeeper was known tosell reproductions. The secrecy heexuded and the drama of his behaviorwas fabulous and worthy of anAcademy Award. But, you never know—just maybe I actuallyhad held the “real deal.” I laugh to myself now when Irecall the event. I so much wanted that figure to be real! Thisquote provides solace: “I am not a sinner, nor a saint either.I am but a hypocrite who truly hatesdeceit.”The great thing about novelsthat incorporate actual historicalevents is they make the fictional partof the story seem so real. This entirearea of Mexico was once a flourishingempire of various indigenoustribes. But, what was happeninghere? Was there a thriving undergroundindustry supplying fake antiquitiesto tourists in Compostela?Or, were ancient sites being excavatedand their contents sold in anunderground market?These events left me perplexedand restless. The lure of finding ancientantiquities and lost civilizationsis very powerful and consuming. It is the opium ofexplorers and the ruin of many men.35

Later that night I pulled out my small herbal bag, whichI had received as a gift in Guadalajara, and sprinkled severalpetals of hibiscus and two teaspoons of Manzana into a potof boiling water. I poured the contents into a cup and drankit before going to sleep. Mohammed said, “Allah had createdthe dream not only as a means of guidance and instructions,but has also made it a window to the unseen.”I continued to follow the thread in my dreams.Artifacts excavated by Luis from Buenavista.36

Chapter 9Las VarasOn the way back to Guayabitos wepulled into the town square of LasVaras and asked a local fellow in front ofthe municipal building if he could tell uswhere the museum was located. The manput his hand to his chin and deep furrowsformed across his forehead as he silentlythought. After a while he shook his headand told us he was not aware that the townhad a museum. After he left I looked at theentrance of the municipal building and saw a sign that read,“Musseo.” So much for local knowledge.Viewing the ancient objects in the Las Varas museumI could see that the figure shapes and facial features weresimilar to the figures in the Compostela museum. If theTecoxquines were the predominant indigenous group thatresided about two thousand years ago in the regions of Zacualpan,Las Varas, Compostela, and beyond,it would stand to reason that the artifactswould bear a common style and similarity.Someone once said art is the signature of acivilization. In other words if someone wastrying to sell a classical Greek figure as arelic from Mexico it would not stand thetest of reason. So, were the figures that theCompostela shopkeeper and Luis showedme true artifacts or were they reproductionsout of context from where they werereportedly found? But, then I rememberedthat the ancient stone carving I saw in AltaVista was similar to the stone carving I sawin Guadalajara, which was from MachuPiccu, Peru. In Mexico and further south there were hundredsof indigenous tribes with religions consisting of manycommon themes. And there was commerce between these41

tribes. Consequently, various figures from Central Americaand further south could very well be found in the CentralCoastal regions, such as in Compostela. But, the mysteryremained about Luis’ archeological treasures and the onlyway for me to know for sure would be to accompany himduring his field expeditions.As I was walking through town later that day a ladynamed Erendira started talking to me after I had taken aphotograph of a Huichol Indian. She spoke English and webegan discussing ancient sites in the local area. She saidthe whole area was teeming with archeological artifacts andthat ancient pottery shards littered the ground in many locations.She indicated that just outside of Las Varas there wereseveral mineral springs, known as Jamurca, that she hadonce visited. While walking around the springs she foundmany ancient pottery fragments. She also said that behindthe springs there was a small hill where the owner had excavatedthree large, ancient figures. Erendira said many localpeople had found ancient figures that they sold to foreignvisitors. She explained that many people were just tryingto get by and essentially used the money to feed their families.When I mentioned that many reproductions were alsosold as originals she agreed, but said that in small, poor,and dusty villages like Las Varas the figures being sold wereoriginals found in the local vicinity. She went on to say thatmany of the locals do not speak English and had asked herseveral times if she knew of any foreigners who would wantto buy these figures. These items were not expensive shesaid; a poor farmer would be happy to accept fifty dollarsfor such an object.I believed Erendira for I too have walked upon groundlittered with the remnants of the past and had met peoplelike Luis and the Herb Man of Guadalajara.42

Chapter 10Returning tothe BeginningIt had been a wonderful journey, but our time was comingto a close in Mexico. Both my father and I wanted toreturn to where it all began, the 13 Stations of the Cross. Weasked ourselves if it had been fate, circumstance, chance,or a predetermination beyond our control that set us on thecourse that opened a window to the past for us.As we slowly climbed the 152 steps toward Pedro’scross we pondered the circumstances that took us on ourjourney. Upon reaching the summit the splendor of JaltembaBay opened its warm and caressing arms to us. We are eacha world unto ourselves, but standing under the cross andseeing the natural beauty before my eyes I felt almost insignificant.Norman Vincent Peale once said something tothe effect that the mundane world is only clumps of earthclinging to a rock spinning into nothing, and that we mightconsider other realities and leave the dust behind. The worldis not enough and we should bear in mind that we are onlystewards of moments in time, which is all the time we everreally have.Many people live with the demons of their past, cloudedby some wrong or circumstance, perceived or actual, ordreaming of some anointed place in the future. But the timeis now and it is ever so fleeting. Unfortunately, living eachmoment to its fullest is not always possible. As I stood underPedro’s cross I felt I would always be grateful I was able tolive the moment to its fullest with my father as we followedthe thread of lost civilizations.Standing atop that hill I recalled my amazement uponlearning that most of the indigenous population died withina hundred years of the Spaniards’ arrival in this region.History is a teacher and provides us an opportunity for thefuture. But, I wonder how much of man’s nature has trulyprogressed. Sectarian, ethnic, class, and political violencecontinues to this day. If we do not learn from our past follies,how can we continue? What shall become of us? EdwardGibbon, a British historian discussing the decline and fall of43

the Roman Empire, said, “History ... is, indeed, little morethan the register of the crimes, follies, and misfortunes ofmankind.” Nonetheless, I remain optimistic.My father and I stood silently for some time beforeleaving. In honor of the ancients who preceded us at this sitewe agreed to leave Pedro’s cross without using the stairs towalk down the hill. We reasoned that the forgotten ancientsdid not use these thirteen Stations of the Cross to ascend tothis sacred site. We started to examine the natural topographyof the land to find the ancient path. I then felt the threadpulling me closer. I closed my eyes and began to visualizemyself following the natural slope and inclination of theearth under my feet as it led me to the nourishing sea below.I looked for clues, such as a boulder or large stone markingthe way, but mostly I let an intuitive power within me showthe way. As we continued down the hill following the naturalprogression of the land my father saw something lyingnext to a small boulder. To my amazement I saw an ancientred clay water jug. We went over to examine it and were leftmomentarily speechless. How old was it? How long had itbeen there? Did the early inhabitants leave it behind?When I look at that jug today, I know my father and Iequally felt the thread of lost civilizations pulling us, guidingus and revealing itself to us as we journeyed through Mexico.Today, we are better for what we have seen, for what weshared together, and for what we have learned. It does notmatter how old the jug is, for it is only a symbol to us. It wasthe journey shared together that was priceless.Throughout this journey my father was at my side. Hewas 81-years-old and I pray to the heavens that I will inherithis heart, soul, energy, and zest for life.Thanks Dad—I love you.44

Now that I am home, sitting alone and holding some of the fragments of the past that my father and Ifound, I wonder if there is any hope for our collective destiny. I believe there is a reasonable answer and soI will end this story recounting a wise man’s observation, “There is no need for temples, no need for complicatedphilosophies. My brain and my heart are my temples; my philosophy is kindness.”45

FINDING LOST CIVILIZATIONSPart 2—One Year LaterFragments from the past, Nayarit, Mexico.46

Street musicians, Thursday market, La Penita, Nayarit, Mexico.47

Chapter 11Returning to Mexico:The Hotel RoblesJanuary 2007It took me three days to drive to the Hotel Robles in Guayabitos,Mexico, from Monterey, California. On the firstday I traveled from Monterey to Phoenix. On the second dayfrom Phoenix to Los Mochis, where I stayed at the CessnaMotel. And on the third day I arrived at the Robles at five inthe evening.My father had arrived three days before and waschecked into the Robles in the same room that we had theyear previous. As I entered Room 31 I found my father sittingat the dining table where we greeted each other warmly.We reminisced and we were both amazed that a year hadgone by since we had last stood in that room. My old roomwas just as I had left it and we laughed when we saw thatthe nightstand still bore the coffee stains from our previousresidency there and those of countless other guests over thepast year. There was a new mattress on the bed, but to oursurprise we noticed that the protective plastic that encasedthe mattress had been slit around the mattress edges and leftto hang onto the floor. Perhaps this was an improvement;the year before both our bed sheets had large holes. In thebathroom a towel hook was missing from its base and atwisted, rusted coat hanger was there instead.The Hotel Robles sits on the Calle Jacarandas, whichruns parallel to the Bay of Jaltemba in the town of Guayabitos.It is a rambling three-story concrete-and-brick structurepainted white with yellow and red trim. Each rental unitcontains one or two rooms, a bathroom, and a kitchenette.There is a central courtyard to which all the rooms face. Onthe ground floor there are pools for both adults and children.To reach the upper levels there is a steep spiral staircase thatends at the roof.The Robles caters to Mexican families—my father andI were the only gringos staying at the hotel. During the weekthe hotel is mostly empty, but starts filling up quickly on49

Friday as families from the outlying interior descend on thearea to enjoy the waters of the Pacific Ocean. These familiesoften arrive with children, grandparents, and extendedfamily members so the hotel is filled with young and old.During this period the hotel is a kaleidoscope of soundsechoing up the courtyard and bouncing off the concretewalls. The sounds of music, singing, and children runningup and down the stairs and frolicking in the pool fills the airfrom early morning to late night. Additionally, the aroma ofhome-cooked meals drifts in and out of the rooms as familiesprepare their food throughout the day. In the courtyardand near the pool, a large parrot often screeches its heartout, frightening and annoying children and adults alike.Old Gringo with his Hotel Robles bed sheet.50

The owner of the hotel is Doctor Robles. Transactionsat the hotel are in cash and Dr. Robles’ pockets are the hotelcash register. And of course, no receipts are given. Dr. Roblesalso has a small storefront office offering medical services.However, I would be wary to recommend that anyone seekmedical care from Dr. Robles as his claims of medical practiceseemed somewhat suspect. The hotel handyman was anice fellow named Elia and throughout the day we heardDr. Robles yelling at the top of his lungs summoning Elia toattend to some maintenance detail. Elia seemed to take allthis in stride and dutifully went about the myriad duties thatwould take five people to accomplish in the United States.Our hotel room for the past two years had been No.31, which was located on the third floor. From our balconywe had a panoramic view of Jaltemba Bay. Waking up inthe morning to a view of swaying palms and the blue Pacificalways warmed our hearts.So, the fact that we may or may not have had hot water,that someone was singing or talking loudly on the streetbelow, or that a bus was rumbling under us as 20 familiesdisembarked, or that Dr. Robles was yelling out to Elia, was asmall price to pay. There are absolutely no gringo influencesHotel Robles’ inner courtyard.51

in the operation of the Hotel Robles. This place is truly theflavor of Mexico. My father and I love staying here.That evening as I drifted off to sleep I recalled thatwhile driving on Mexico Highway 15 and 200 that I hadseen one dead horse, two dead mules, and five dead dogsalong the road. At times the drive was beautiful and at timesI was reminded that driving in Mexico could be a dangerousproposition for the unwary. This was my third trip by carto Guayabitos and I wondered if I was tempting fate and if Iwould make this journey ever again.The next day as my father and I walked along thesidewalk on Av. del Sol Neuvo on the way to the La Penitafarmers market, we came upon a square cover laying overa circular manhole. Truly a case of trying to insert a squarecover into a round hole. We shared a laugh, but thought itwas an improvement from the year before, where along thesame route we came upon three other manholes that didnot have any covers. In one of them we stuck a large palmtree branch to act as a warning marker for the unwary gringotourist strolling in the evening. We laughed again when wecame upon that same manhole, still without a cover and stillwith a palm tree branch sticking out as a warning marker.52

Later that day when we returned from the market werode home in a local cooperative van. When the van pulledup the side door did not work and the riders filed in throughthe front passenger door. When I entered there was no seatingavailable and I squatted where the front passenger seatused to be and held onto the seatbelt, which was attached tothe doorframe. But, then right behind me a mother and hertwo children climbed aboard. As we left the driver of the vanpulled the passenger door shut by means of a string attachedto the doorframe. We all rode quietly and content that wedid not have to trek back home under the hot sun and thatthe ride only cost us fifty cents. To an extent this is the magicof this country. A form of controlled chaos and laissez-faire.It’s as if two worlds are simultaneously coexisting. One footin the past and one foot moving forward. But, most of allI enjoy the spirit, resilience, ingenuity, and humor of thepeople as they walk between these two worlds.As my father and I ascended the stairs to our room wewere filled with joy knowing the coming days would be fullof laughter, good times, and remembrances. But, most of allwe knew that our shared time would be bound by the loveof father and son.53

54Hotel Robles’ balcony view from Room 31.

Hotel Robles’ sunset view from Room 31.55

Chapter 12Returning to theThirteen Stationsof the CrossMy father and I returned to the stairway on a hill inGuayabitos that led to the thirteen Stations of theCross where, on the crest of the hill, a large Christian crosshad been erected by a man called Pedro. Our journey toFinding Lost Civilizations started under this cross the previousyear.Pedro greeted us as we came upon the entrance to thestairway. He was wearing the same clothes as he wore theprevious year except now his shirt was torn and tattered. Thistime the entrance to the memorial was open and he freelytold us to pass through. We climbed slowly and rested alongthe way all the while marveling at the persistence, endurance,and vision that Pedro pursued in building this homageto his father.It was a day with the sun and sky revealing themselvesever so often between the clouds that drifted in from thePacific Ocean. Upon reaching Pedro’s Cross, Jaltemba Bayrevealed its beauty to us. It certainly was a glorious place toerect a Christian memorial far preceded by pagan worshipat that very spot by the original inhabitants of this region.As we looked about the ground we both were fascinatedby the sheer scope of ancient pottery fragments thatlittered the ground. I watched the other visitors to this memorialand not one of them looked at the ground with anyrealization that beneath their very feet was a place long celebratedby inhabitants a thousand years before. What thesepeople saw was only the present, as they looked skywardadmiring the cross that Pedro constructed. However, beneaththeir very feet the past cried out to them to be known.I could hear the ancients cry out: “See me, hear me, andlearn from me.” But, no one saw or heard anything.I remembered my visits to the fallen city of Chicomostocand again asked myself the same questions I had askedthere. On this ground an ancient civilization had been vanquishedand I wondered if our own destiny is but a cycle57

that has been repeated since the dawn of time. Life and worshiphad stood here once and was now gone. What hadhappened to them? Had we learned anything from them?Will others stand here a thousand years from now withoutany realization that we stood here before them? Will theyalso repeat our failures? And will they wonder what happenedto us?As I stood there I recalled that years before I had visiteda very old and beautiful church in Florence, Italy. Whilein the church I followed a series of steps that led me to itsdepths. To my surprise I found that there were ongoing excavationsunder the church, which revealed that the churchhad been built upon the ruins of a Roman temple and that theRoman temple had been built upon the ruins of another pagantemple that preceded the Romans. History repeats itself:We share a common thread as we build upon each other.But, what has the past shown to the common man who goesabout his everyday life concerned only with the here andnow? It seems, very little. Although we have advanced technologically,mankind has remained embroiled in the samebasic conflicts that existed since the dawn of ages.Pottery fragments on the site of Pedro’s Cross.As my father and I sat under the shade I said a prayer tothe Gods of past, the Gods of present, and the Gods of ourfuture. I was thankful I was able to look at the ground andhear it speak to me, that I was able to look at the sky andsee a ray of hope, and that I could look out to the horizonand see a vision of joy and happiness in my heart. The cyclecontinues.58

Los dos Alejandros in the shade next to Pedro’s Cross, Guayabitos, Mexico.59

Chapter 13The Trees and Relics ofSan Pedro LagunillasIt is interesting how we often go about our daily life withoutnoticing the beauty or history around us. Two eventsoccurred in the town of San Pedro Lagunillas that remindedme that there is always something to behold around us. Thiswas the third trip my father and I had made to this smallfarming community. The population of the town is aboutthree thousand people with another eighteen hundred of thetownspeople working in the United States. It is an old townand dates back to the sixteenth century when the Spanishsettled this area.On this day we were visiting the town with our friendRafael, who was considering buying a lot to build a smallhome. While in town we met the landowner, Andres Torres,who led us through town as we walked to his hilltop property,which had originally been called Loma De San Sebastianbut was now referred to as Loma Linda. Near Andres’ propertywe came upon a small town square, which I had passedunnoticed during my two previous visits. Andres stopped usand pointed out three lone trees in the park. He told us thatthose three trees were the only ones in existence on this continentthat dated back to the sixteenth century and that thosetrees were the type that existed in Jerusalem during the timeof Christ. Interestingly, there is a reference among Christianwritings that Jesus was crucified on a cross made of woodfrom the Terebinto tree. Andres then pointed to a small signpainted in black and white bearing an inscription in Spanish,which explained the origin of the trees. According to thesign the trees were known as Terabit (Pistacia terebinthus)and were living fossils. Legend has it that a religious mannamed Bernardo de Balbuena brought these trees to San PedroLagunillas in the sixteenth century. Apparently, duringthat time this location was the only place in the New Worldwhere these trees were able to flourish. Later, I learned thatBalbuena was born in Valdepenas, Spain, around 1561, andcame to the New World at the early age of two and lived in61

Guadalajara and Mexico City, where he studied theology. In1606 he returned to Spain and earned the degree of Doctorof Theology, and rose within the Church to become Abbot inJamaica in 1610 and the first Bishop of Puerto Rico in 1620.He was also a poet, and his poetic descriptions of the NewWorld earned him an important position among the greatestpoets of Colonial America.After leaving the park we walked a short distancethrough town and up to Loma Linda. The vista was breathtakingand provided a panoramic view of the town, the Laguna,Cerro Grande, and the surrounding countryside.While inspecting the property Andres took me on awalk around the perimeter where a road had been scrapedaway by a tractor. Along one side of the road I noticed afour-foot adobe wall with some old, intact Spanish roof tileslying about. Andres explained that these were remnants ofthe original Spanish settlement in this area. I stopped andpicked up one of these tiles and felt a great sense of excitementknowing that I was holding a four-hundred-year-oldSpanish artifact.As we continued to walk I happened to glance downand noticed something irregular on the ground. I stopped62

and squatted down to brush away loose earth that partiallycovered the object. To my great surprise I found a smallbottom piece of an ancient Indian clay bowl. I showed thepiece to Andres and he confirmed that Indians had livedin this area a thousand years before and that some of theobjects found locally were in a small museum in town. Hewent on to say that some people are always digging aroundlooking for “those” pieces and then pointed to a hole on hisproperty. “They digged here,” he said. Did he care? I asked.“No, I don’t care,” he responded. I then asked Andreas howthe “digger” decided to dig for relics on a specific spot onhis land.He explained that the treasure seekers would walkaround with long steel rods that they would plunge into theground. When they would find a soft spot they would probearound and guess that maybe something was buried there.Earlier that year I met an American treasure hunter in NewMexico who used the same method.63

That afternoon we visited the townmuseum and saw numerous intact and ancientclay bowls that had been found in thelocal area. Many of these bowls containedlinear striations on the inside bottom, whichmatched the fragment I had found on Andreas’land. It was also very exciting to seethat these bowls generally matched thepainted designs or styles of the fragments Ihad seen in Zacualpan, Guayabitos, and ElMonteon.Before I left San Pedro Lagunillas I returnedto the Terebinto trees and thankedthe gods of past and present for revealingthemselves to me. A Greek poet once said,“Look and you will find it—what is unsoughtwill go undetected.”My journey continues.64

Chapter 14Sacred Hot Springsand Deer RoastsDuring the course of our travels I learned that the Shamanof the Huichol Indian culture made sacred offeringsin lower Alta Vista at a place called the Sanctuary.The Huichols also purified their bodies and spirit in thenearby waters of several hot springs. I was not sure wherethese hot springs were located until I met Erendira, a locallady from the town of Las Varas. We had met by chance theprevious year and in our conversation she told me of severalhot springs located just outside of Las Varas at a place calledJamurca, where ancient stone idols had been found.Deciding to explore that area, my father and I, andRafael and his Mexican girlfriend, Paula traveled North fromLas Varas on Highway 200 until we saw a sign indicating thatthere were hot springs in the area. As with many locationsthat we have traveled to, there were no road signs indicatinga direction to the actual location of the hot springs. So, wesimply pulled off the highway along the frontage of severalabandoned buildings. We then spotted a dirt road or pathbetween two buildings and decided to follow it. The roadwound its way through several fields and then traversed amuddy stream. We stopped our car at the stream becausewe did not know how deep it was. We saw another car driveby us and it crossed the stream smoothly. We gladly saw thatthe stream was only several inches deep and so we continuedto follow the road for several miles. We eventually cameupon a parking lot, which was adjacent to a large pond.We pulled in and set out to explore. I noticed that the areahad been developed into a small, park-like setting for visitorsand that it had picnic tables and a large cement pool. Uponexamining the pool I noticed that natural hot spring waterconstantly flowed through it. To maintain this constant flowof water a small dam had been built below the natural hotspring, which formed a large pond behind the dam. Withinthe pond a circular brick enclosure had been constructedaround the ground from where the spring bubbled to the sur-65

Jamurca Hot Springs, Nayarit, Mexico.face. From this encasement water flowed through a pipe andinto the pool. The spring waters continually flowed into thepool from the pipe and then spilled out through an overflowpipe that was installed in the pool. I looked at the source ofthe hot spring from the pond shoreline and could actuallysee water bubbling up from the earth, steam rising from thewater’s surface, and smell a hint of sulfur in the air.Looking upon the site I could clearly envision an Indianvillage or place of worship adjacent to the natural hotspring. I started to explore the surrounding area and imme-66

diately found ancient pottery fragments lying on recentlyupturned soil. I then saw a small path and followed it forabout a kilometer. During my walk I observed that the hotspring was located in a fertile valley that was being activelyfarmed. While walking on this path I was surprised to findan ancient tomb marker laying flat on the ground. Farmerscultivating their land had long since cleared most ofthese tomb markers and their significance had been lost totime. I recalled having once spoken to a ninety-five year oldfarmer from Alta Vista who told me that his property oncecontained many tomb markers and ancient statues, but thatthey had been cleared away to make room for his crops. Heexplained that in the early 1900’s life was hard and that abountiful harvest was needed to sustain life. He said that notmuch had changed for him since those early days and thathis crops were his life.When I returned to the hot spring Paula met some ofher friends and we shared a meal with them. Before herfriends left they invited us to a deer roast, which was beingheld the following day at their home in Las Varas.67

The following day, my father and I and Rafael and Paulawent to her friend’s house thinking that we would be barbecuingdeer steaks. However, when we arrived I noticed thatthe deer meat was cut into small strips and had been cookedcharcoal black over the grill and looked just like beef jerky.We all helped with the cooking and Pepe, who was also aguest and a very funny and affable guy, instructed my fatheron how to prepare Mexican chili. We all had a great laughas Pepe sang, joked, and danced around my father while hegave the instructions. When we were served the deer meat itwas tougher than beef jerky and was almost tasteless. Nevertheless,it was the company that mattered and we all hada grand time.68Francisco, who was our host, took a liking to my father

and I and carried on a full conversation with us in Spanish.My father and I just kept nodding our heads and saying, “Si.”Or, we raised our eyebrows and made facial expressions toshow that we agreed or were sympathetic to whatever hesaid. While I was there I had a little air whistle in my mouthand every time I sat down or bent over for a beer I let out awhistle. Everyone laughed when I did that and that laughterwas what bound us all together. Laughter is truly a universallanguage. It was a wonderful time and reminded me that nomatter the language barrier, laughter, goodwill, overcomingour inhibitions, and trying to understand each other are thekeys to harmony and connection amongst all.Chapter 15Dad, Francisco, Grandaughter, and me, Mexican deer roast, Las Varas, Mexico.69

The Treasures of El CondeIt was another sunny, pleasant, and splendid day whileRafael and I ate lunch at a small restaurant situated infront of the Municipal building in San Pedro Lagunillas. Aswe were preparing to leave we started talking with a younglady sitting at an adjacent table who introduced herself asYolanda.During the conversation Rafael mentioned that wewere buying land in town to build a house and showed herour plot map. Yolanda said that she too wanted to buy behindthe town church and said that many farming people inthe outlying area found ancient figures on their land whentilling the soil. She told us that her brother, who lived nearby,had recently unearthed some ancient statues.I was not surprised; I had heard this many times duringmy travels in Mexico and had similar experiences myself.As we began to question her about these statues she lookedaround and in a hushed tone told us that she had severalof these objects in her home and that we could see themif we wanted to. She agreed to take us to her house, whichwas located four blocks from the Municipal building. As wewalked to her house she told us not to tell anyone what shewas showing us. Also, that if any of her neighbors would askher who we were, she would tell them we were friends ofone of her relatives living in the U.S.Upon arriving Rafael and I sat in the living room ofher home while Yolanda went to the back of the house. Icould hear scraping sounds and assumed that Yolanda waspulling her treasure trove out from a hiding place. Severalminutes later she called out to us and we went down a hallwayand into a kitchen area. Situated on the floor were twolarge, brown-colored, plastic containers that looked muddyand were filled with rags, newspapers, and old clothes. Rafaeland I looked down at the containers as Yolanda startedunwrapping the rags. Each rag or piece of clothing waswrapped around an ancient statue. I was astounded at thequantity and quality of the statues. I started helping Yolandalay several of these figures on the table and felt a real senseof amazement at the recent turn of events and what wasunfolding before my eyes.During my journey and fascination with the ancient70

Yolanda’s statues from a shaft tomb chamber……from San Pedro Lagunillas, Mexico.history of the Old World, I felt that there was some unseenhand guiding me along the way. I made no great efforts towarddiscovery. Rather, much of what I had heard or seenwhile following the thread of lost civilizations revealed itselfto me.After emptying the first container Yolanda pulled backan old rag from the top of the second container and unveiled71

its content to me. I was speechless. Laying before my eyeswas a thousand-year-old, three-foot, clay statue of a woman.I had seen similar representations in museums and art galleriesselling reproductions. But, to behold this original andancient figure arising from the depths was extraordinary. Ibent over and carefully lifted it onto the kitchen table asloose earth from the burial tomb fell from the statue ontomy hands and through my fingers. At that moment I felt as ifI was holding something divine in my hands.Yolanda said there were twenty-seven figures thathad been unearthed. She explained that her father owneda small ranch near the village of Amado Nervo and hadheard a rumor of an ancient burial tomb in El Conde. At thatsite her father and brother dug down about six meters untilthey discovered a large slab of stone covering a chamberentrance. They then dug under this large stone and entereda burial chamber, where the bones of four ancients werefound. Lying among these bones were the twenty-seven statues,which now lay before my very eyes.Five days earlier I had visited the town museum, wherethe curator proudly displayed its artifacts. Yolanda’s figures72

far surpassed the town’s own collection in scale and grandeur.I also remembered that in one room of the museum thecurator mentioned that the figures we were looking at wereactually reproductions from original statues maintained inother museums.I discussed what I had seen with my father that evening;he reminded me of some of the grand theatrics we hadobserved during our journey by those purporting to possessancient statues. Also, museums themselves displayed figuresthat appeared authentic, but were in fact reproductions. Andthat many a gringo had left Mexico convinced that the fivehundred dollars they paid for an “ancient statue” was spent73

on nothing more than a clever reproduction. So, in a sensethe question remains. Were they real? Did I see theatrics ona scale to match a grand performance? Or had I really feltthe sands of time spill through my fingers?I still feel a sense of awe at what I had seen, what I hadfelt, and what I had experienced. Perhaps, the true value ofwhat I had seen lies in the emotions I felt and had nothingto do with reality, for I am convinced that I truly did see thetreasure of El Conde while following the thread of lost civilizations.Chapter 16Ancient Tombs of NayaritStatues from the El Conde Tomb, Nayarit, Mexico.74

One month after I had seen the treasure of El Condethe following story appeared in the Mexican newspaper,El Universal.Ancient tombs found in NayaritEl UniversalJueves 15 de marzo de 2007Mexican archaeologists found more than 100 bodiesin 29 different pre-Hispanic tombs dating back about2,000 years in Nayarit.Raúl Barrera, who leads the archaeological projectfor the National Institute of Anthropology and History, orINAH, said most of the remains belonged to women betweenthe ages of 35 and 40.Archaeologists have not yet been able to determinewhich civilization the remains are from, although they knowthe find dates back to the period 200 B.C. to A.D. 600.The tombs—located in vertical chambers—were ina type of burial ground found in Nayarit, Colima, Michoacán,Zacatecas and parts of Jalisco, but they have notbeen found in Mesoamerica.The tombs have, however, been found in Colombia,Ecuador and Venezuela, Barrera said, noting thatthere may have been cultural and trade links between theregions.Artifacts from these countries have been discoveredon the coast of Nayarit, he said.This type of tomb may have signified some type ofa “return to the womb of Mother Earth,” the archaeologistsaid.The content of the tombs varied depending on thesocial status of the individual, since “they held the beliefthat in making the crossing to the next life the dead personneeded certain items for the journey,” Barrera said.Archaeologists found figurines of warriors, ball players,pregnant women and animals in the tombs, as well asvessels and various types of jewelry.Barrera said the sites contained only burial groundsand no dwellings, which may have been located on mountainsor other locations at higher altitudes.Of the 29 tombs, 28 were found at the La Playasite and the other was at Las Lagunillas. Only 12 were still75

intact, the others having been looted at some point.The actual digging and recovery work lasted fouryears.This article was a confirmation that the El Conde relicsI had seen were genuine, as El Conde is a locality of SanPedro Lagunillas. However, what I found interesting is thatsimilar tombs had been found in South America, which ledto the hypothesis that there were cultural links between theinhabitants of Nayarit and those regions. This could very wellexplain why the ancient petroglyph symbols I had seen inAlta Vista were similar to the carving of a stone shown to mein Guadalajara, which originated from Machu Pichu, Peru.The western boundary of Nayarit is the Pacific Ocean andseafaring trade could very well have occurred. The peopleof ancient West Mexico, whose culture was markedly differentfrom the Aztec and Mayan civilizations, remain largelya mystery. Unfortunately, there are no hieroglyphic text oreven oral traditions available to archeologists to aid in thereconstruction of the histories or beliefs of those peoples.Much is left to speculation; what is known is principally derivedfrom the study of artifacts recovered from shaft tombs,which is why the inhabitants of the State of Nayarit are oftenreferred to as the “Shaft Tomb Culture.”Chapter 17False Idols RevealedStatue from Shaft Tomb, San Pedro Lagunillas area, Nayarit, Mexico.76

Ancient pottery, San Pedro Lagunillas, Nayarit, Mexico.77

The previous year my father, Rafael, and I had been treatedto a magnificent theatrical performance in Layod’sBoutique, a woman’s clothing store in Compostela.Art truly does imitate life and just like a scene from amovie, I remember the store owner of Layod’s speaking tous in a secretive, hushed tone with a finger to his lips as hetook us to the back of the store. Furtively glancing to his leftand right he withdrew a black plastic bag hidden behind ashelf and then extracted a statue, which he claimed was anunearthed ancient relic.At the time I felt that the statue was probably a fakebecause the style was not indigenous to the Compostela region.However, I was not certain and thought that there wasan outside possibility that the statue or “mono” as the boutiqueowner called it, was truly a relic.When Rafael and I entered the boutique this time, theowner greeted us with a nod of recognition after we askedhim if he had any more statues. There were no theatrics nowand only a smile. We walked directly to the back of thestore, where he retrieved a black plastic bag from his hidingplace. With business-like precision he unwrapped ten statuesand lined them up on the floor for us. “I’ll sell them allfor one thousand pesos,” he said. We started laughing and Isaid, “What would I do with ten fake statues?” “Eight hundredpesos,” he replied. Business must be bad, I thought.“I’ll take four, for five hundred pesos,” I told him. We shookhands and made the deal.Earlier in the year while browsing the eBay site I sawthat fake pre-Columbian statues, circa the 1920’s, were beingauctioned. Even fake ancient statues, if they were oldenough, had some value.Before I left I told the owner I wanted some reproductionsthat represented ancient art from the local area. “Okay,next week,” he replied.I left smiling. Maybe I could sell one of my “monos”to a gringo treasure hunter. Yes, sometimes a grand tale anddramatic performance are as enjoyable as reality.Chapter 18The El Monteon Trail -78

Fake relics, Compostela, Mexico.79

Finding a Shaft TombTo seek and then to discover or learn brings about a typeof satisfaction that is central to humans’ continued developmentbeyond their origin.During my journey much of what I had learned or foundwas accidental. However, as each small discovery was madethe desire to learn and rediscover somehow propelled meforward. Strangely, there seemed to be some kind of familiarityto everything I saw and learned and I was not sure why. Ifound it interesting that the symbol of the Zacualpan and AltaVista spiral petroglyphs etched in boulders seemed to hold ameaning to this familiarity, which I could not discern. So, itis with great amazement that I am about to recount my taleof how I stumbled upon the site of an ancient Tecoxquinecoastal village and the discovery of a shaft tomb. But, first letme provide you with a brief historical perspective.Hundreds of years ago large trails and small pathsconnected the ancient villages of the Tecoxquine Kingdom80

along the Pacific coast of Nayarit. After the annihilation ofthe Tecoxquine in the 16th century most of these coastalpaths became overgrown and the existence of these interconnectedvillages became lost in time and to nature. Also,since these villages were primarily constructed of woodthey were quickly overcome by the cycle of jungle growthand decay. The implements they used in everyday life andevidence of their existence are waiting to be rediscovered.As previously noted, a Greek poet once said, “Look and youwill find it—what is unsought will go undetected.”My father and I frequently swam in the tranquil Pacific,which washed upon the shores of the small village ofLos Ayala. The town sits in a small valley bordered by lowcoastal mountains to the east, north, and south. At the southend of the beach a small path that rises from the sands andmeanders along a cliff that leads to another small beach sittingat the bottom of a mountain stream flowing into theocean. It was a tranquil setting and the locals referred to thisarea as Playa del Beso—The Kissing Beach. Set back fromthe beach and at the junction of where the mountain streamflowed into the ocean is a restaurant called La Jungla.We had visited this location on several occasions buthad never ventured beyond the beach because a smallbarbed wire fence had been constructed behind the restaurantand prevented access to the mountains. One afternoonwhile I was lounging on the beach I saw several peopledescend from the mountains from behind a palm tree andcontinue along the trail to Los Ayala. Out of curiosity, myfather and I went to the palm tree and were surprised to seea small and steep trail wind its way up the mountain. Wedecided to follow the trail and began walking up the mountain.Half way up we stopped at a junction and tried to fig-81

ure out which way to go. I looked down and noticed that theground was littered with pottery fragments next to a toppledtree. I ran my hands through the soft earth and was surprisedat the quantity of pottery shards that lay beneath the soil.We decided to follow the path to the crest of the mountain,where we met two other “locals” who explained that if wefollowed the path in a southerly direction it would lead usto the village of El Monteon. When we reached the crestof the mountain I noticed there were several crisscrossingpaths, one of which headed in a westerly direction towardthe Pacific. I also noticed that the crest of the hill was actuallya small plateau and that the vegetation was much lessdense than on the slopes of the mountain. I was astoundedat the number of pottery fragments littering the path near theplateau junction. There were so many on the ground that Iliterally could not take a step without walking over them.I closed my eyes and traveled within myself. I wassearching, going back, deeper and deeper, trying to get asense, a feeling, or a vision of where I stood. Slowly, as Itraveled back I began to see, to hear, and to feel life. I wasstanding in a village and this place had been my home formany generations. From here the ocean and the fertile valleysprovided for my family and life was good for us. Yes, thiswas my home and I felt happy and content. I opened my eyesand started to walk around the plateau in search of a signindicating that life had once existed here. Stepping aroundseveral trees and into a small clearing I saw what looked likea pile of stones. Although elated, I was not surprised that Ihad found an ancient fireplace. I began to scrape away thesoil next to the fireplace and immediately started to unearthpottery fragments. I then went to another location and foundan ancient stone implement used to grind corn. Around theslopes of the plateau were many pottery fragments and variousstoneware items that apparently had been washed fromthe plateau. My father and I then started to follow the pathleading to another small beach below the village. Lookingdown at the beach and then back up to the plateau I understoodthat this site was a natural place well-suited to supportand sustain life.Returning to the plateau I looked at the embankment,which began to slope upward because of the rise in themountain. I saw pottery fragments embedded in the slopebanks, which rose about five feet from the round. The shardswere located from the ground level all the way up to the82

surface. I was looking at hundreds upon hundreds of yearsof history. I wondered how many years of history this embankmentcontained. If one inch of soil represented decadesof decaying vegetation, my sense was that the embankmentrepresented a history of several hundred years. Yes, life hadonce existed here a long, long time ago.We continued to walk the site and in a small clearing,my father and I found a boulder with a bowl chiseled outfrom the top surface, which was similar to the type we hadseen in Zacualpan and Alta Vista. We then heard voices anddecided to see who else was on the plateau. We followeda small rise and as we came closer to the voices we couldalso hear the sound of shovels and perhaps a pickaxe strikingthe earth.We called out several times so as not to surprise thepeople we were approaching. However, as we came closerwe did not hear any response. The plateau became silentexcept for the sounds of our footsteps. We suddenly cameupon a clearing, which was the crest of the rise we had beenfollowing. We immediately saw it was an excavation in progress.I then saw several large stone slabs lying on the ground.Adjacent to these slabs I saw that a pit had been dug and83

ealized this was the site of a tomb. Historically, the peopleof ancient West Mexico are identified by their burial practiceand are often referred to as the “Shaft Tomb Culture.” Manyof these tombs consisted of a vertical shafts about 15 feetdeep leading to one or more burial chambers below. Sometimes,the position of the shaft was marked by a stone abovethe shaft. At the bottom of the shaft, the burial chamber en-Shaft Tomb cover, El Monteon Trail, Nayarit, Mexico.trance would also be covered by a large stone slab. Thesetombs were usually located on higher elevations than thevillages where the people lived. However, since simpler andshallower sites have also been unearthed it is known that noteveryone was provided an elaborate shaft-chamber tomb.I felt the thread of lost civilizations pulling me again.Why was I here? Was it coincidence, fate, luck, or destiny?Or was it simply an innate urge to seek, to learn, to know,or discover that propelled me further? Regardless, I felt I wason familiar ground and that gave me comfort. I realized thateach action led to another action that has a consequenceand so, instead of going back, I continued to step forward.As I neared the shaft tomb I noticed that the earth excavatedfrom the shaft contained many pottery fragments.I also saw several bowls and pottery jugs that were mostlyintact. Next to the pottery I saw a small amulet (about twoinches in length), which was shaped like a forearm with aclosed fist. Lying next to the amulet were two small clayfigures, which looked as if they had been damaged duringthe excavation. Both figures were the head portions of largerfigures. One figure was the head of a deer-like animal, thesecond was a human image.84

Shaft Tomb contents, El Monteon, Nayarit, Mexico.After examining the objects lying near the tomb Istepped into the shaft. The shaft was only about fourteen feetdeep. However, at the bottom I could see that a stone slabhad been pried away from the side of the shaft, revealinga small burial chamber. I looked inside, but it was empty.My father and I had apparently discovered an excavationin its final phase—all that was left were the items I havedescribed.Before we left this ancient site I went into a clearingand, as I had done many times before, raised my head to85

86Standing at Tomb entrance, El Monteon Trail, Nayarit, Mexico.

Damaged figure from Shaft Tomb excavation, El Monteon Trail, Nayarit, Mexico.87

the skies and lifted my hands up to the heavens. I closedmy eyes and felt the power of the sun and its energy flowthrough my body. I turned slowly and began traveling withinthe deepest reaches of my consciousness until I passed aportal that opened into another world.As we left this ancient site and followed the trail backto Los Ayala I knew I had walked that path before.Chapter 1988

Sacred Places,The Kingdom ofThe TecoxquinesAnd theApostle MatthewDrinking from a coconut shell under the cool shadeof the Terebinto trees in San Pedro Lagunillas, my fatherand I started speaking to several of the old men whogathered there on a regular basis to recount legends, tales,and days of good times past. While talking of the ancient inhabitantsof the region one of the old men exclaimed, “TheApostle Matthew traveled in this area and preached the gospel.”I was somewhat astonished at this remark and triedto elicit more details. The old man insisted that prior to thearrival of the Spaniards, the ancients worshipped Christ andthat evidence of this could be found through the symbols ofthe Sanctuary, which was located in Alta Vista. As was thecase with many legends or rumors, the old man confirmedthat he had not actually visited the Sanctuary, but that hehad “heard” about this when he was a young man.The previous year my father and I had visited a Tecoxquinesacred site in upper Alta Vista. We had heard of theSanctuary then, but had not visited it. We were very intriguedby the Apostle Matthew story and with great excitement weagreed that we would search for the Sanctuary of Alta Vistato find evidence of Christ worship by the Tecoxquines.That evening I decided to do some research before weset out on our quest. I learned that at the beginning of the17th century a belief emerged among the Spanish that theApostle Matthew had traveled to the New World in pre-Hispanictimes to evangelize the Indians. Apparently, this beliefarose after the first written historical reference was made ofAlta Vista in the year 1621, which described complex writings,symbols of crosses, and devotion to a Christ. However,a historical time line reveals that after the arrival of the SpaniardFrancisco Cortes Buenadventura in 1524, the scourges89

of disease, warfare, and slavery led to the extinction of theTecoxquines. Because the Tecoxquines left no written recordand became extinct within just a few decades, littlewas known about them and much was left to speculation ormyth. For example, when the legend of the Apostle Matthewarose the Tecoxquines had already become extinct, so thetrue origin of their crosses is only speculative. But becauseof the number of petroglyphs found at Alta Vista it is believedthat this area was their central religious site.Although my father and I had visited Alta Vista the pre-Spiral and cross at the sanctuary, Alta Vista, Nayarit, Mexico.90

Cross petroglyph, Alta Vista, Nayarit, Mexico.91

vious year, all I knew was that the Sanctuary was actually locatedbelow the town and adjacent to a stream that flowedfrom the mountains. Also, that the path to the site was anunmarked dirt farm road that traversed through several farmfields with cattle gates that had to be opened manually. Thismade our quest all the more interesting.Several days later while in the town of Las Varas my father,Rafael, and I asked a local cab driver if he knew wherethe Sanctuary was located in Alta Vista. He told us he didand we set off in search of the Sanctuary. As we took the turnoff to Alta Vista from Highway 200 it became apparent thecab driver did not know where he was going. We got lostin a farm field and he admitted he had not actually visitedthe site, but had “heard” about it. With some persistence,determination, sheer luck, and several miles of dirt road wefinally found the site of the Sanctuary.The Sanctuary is located in a tropical forest settingalong a seasonal creek called Las Piletas, which flows alongthe west side of the El Cop Volcano. At the entrance thereis a path that follows the upslope of the creek and ends atthe most sacred point of the site. At this location there is aseries of rock shelves and small pools that were carved intothe basalt rocks eons ago. Beside these pools sheer verticalwalls rise to the mountainside from the creek bed. At thisspot the creek bed has an amphitheater appearance and isoften referred to as La Pila del Rey, The King’s Fountain. Theroute from the entrance to the pool area is about a kilometerand all along the path there are numerous petroglyphs. TheSpiral petroglyph was consistently carved or etched into numerousboulders along the entire length of the path. I don’tknow why, but I never tired of finding a Spiral.I found two other types of petroglyphs, which had probablygiven rise to the legend of the Apostle Matthew. One setof petroglyphs depicted various forms of a cross and anotherone resembled a human stick figure with open arms. Thisfigure is often referred to as the Maiz (Corn) Man, whichwas also revered by the people of the region who appearedafter the Tecoxquine had died out. Since the Tecoxquine nolonger existed, each succeeding culture of the region reinterpretedthe symbols to fit their own perception, notion, orbelief about their meaning, which gave rise to speculation,legend, and myth.While at the Sanctuary pool area I decided to explore92

Sanctuary pool, Alta Vista, Nayarit, Mexico.93

94Maiz Man, Alta Vista, Nayarit, Mexico.

Cross petroglyph, Alta Vista, Nayarit, Mexico.Christ on crucifix, Alta Vista, Nayarit, Mexico.the area beyond the apparent path and headed through thebrush at a right angle from the stream bed. It was difficult tomove because the area was dense with jungle overgrowth.Nevertheless, I continued and after a short while I cameupon a clutter of stones and boulders among the trees anddecided to rest. I leaned against a boulder and noticed therewas a bowl-like impression in it that had been covered withdry leaves. I brushed away the leaves and saw that the boulderwas similar to one I had seen in Zacualpan, which hadstriations from the lip of the bowl that ran down its side.Next to the bowl I noticed a four- or five-foot rectangularcarved stone that was about the width of a human body. I recalledthat the Tecoxquine were known to offer the heads ofcaptured warriors as a sacrifice to their gods and wonderedif at this very spot human sacrifices had been made usingthe rectangular block to spread out a victim on his backwith his head hanging over the edge. Using my pocketknifeI began to scrape away the soil at the base of the sacrificial95

owl. After digging for about fifteen minutes I unearthed apottery fragment and a small, dirt-covered circular object. Iretrieved a water bottle from my backpack and poured waterover the item. Amazed I saw that the object was a humantooth. I sat down, leaned against the sacrificial boulder, andclosed my eyes. In my hand I held a sacrifice, an offering toa god. I asked myself how many sacrifices had been madeat this spot. How much blood had run down this boulderand stained the very ground I sat on? I sensed fear aroundme and felt the vibration of pure terror swelling from theground. I slowly rose from the ground and let the tooth fallfrom my hand. I kept walking and did not look back until Ireached the main trail. How many? I asked. How many havebeen killed in the name of a god?As I walked away from the Sanctuary following a pathconsidered by many as sacred, I unexpectedly came upona Huichol Indian Shaman dressed in native clothes. I don’tknow why, but as we came abreast of each other I raisedmy palms to him and with one hand I pointed to the skyand with the other I pointed to the earth. He looked at meand with a nod of affirmation he gently placed his hand onmy left shoulder as he continued on his path. Apprehension96

from having found the remnants of a sacrifice left my consciousnessand I felt at peace. I was soon returning to California:I knew that destiny had brought me to this place fora reason and that my journey would continue beyond AltaVista. I learned that Huichol means “Healer of the Earth.”Chapter 20Huichol Indian sacred offerings, The Sanctuary, Alta Vista, Nayarit, Mexico.97

98See striation on the side of the bowl. Did water or sacrificial blood run down the side of this bowl?

Signs explaining Tecoxquine human sacrifice ritual practices, Alta Vista, Nayarit, Mexico.99

100Ancient stone artifact found laying on the ground in San Francisco, Nayarit, Mexico.

The Mexican WayThere are many ironies in life and the discovery of ancientartifacts in the Mexican town of San Francisco issomething my father and I will never forget.The main entrance to this town is bordered on bothsides by a series of old warehouses that once housed a cooperativeventure involved with food processing. Long sinceabandoned, these buildings sit idle except for a few that areinvolved in the production of furniture from local raw wood.The buildings on the south side of the main street sit along aseasonal stream bordered by many large tropical trees thatgive the area a tranquil park setting. Having driven by thesebuildings many times, my father and I decided to explorethe abandoned site. I stepped off the sidewalk and walkedabout twenty feet onto the grounds and noticed what appearedto be a round-shaped rock laying among some scatteredstone and small boulders. Turning over the stone I wasamazed to see that I was actually looking at the remnant ofan ancient stone bowl. These types of bowls predate the useof pottery implements and are several thousand years old.My father and I rejoiced at this small discovery and wereamazed that this ancient implement lay on these groundsfor hundreds of years as modern man walked around obliviousto its historical significance and origin. In many of ourdiscussions my father often remarked to me, “You see whatyou want to see.” How true, I thought.We continued into town and decided to follow a dirtroad that meandered north along the coast. While drivingwe came upon a secluded beach and decided to exploreit. We collected many shells and found a large dead turtlewashed ashore. We then returned to San Francisco and atelunch along the town’s beach. After lunch we walked alongthe shoreline and found many wonderful colored rocks thathad been tumbled by the ocean surf. As we collected theserocks I felt very happy and fortunate that my father, who is83, and I could experience the same joy in finding rocks,shells, and exploring this country. Since we had collectedmany rocks and walked a long distance I asked my father towait on the beach while I went to get the car. I then droveback to the beach and parked my car alongside a house that101

Dead turtle washed up on the beach.was next to the beach area where I had left my father.When I walked around the corner of the house I sawmy father laid out on the ground and several people tendingto him. I was stunned!The beach was very hot and when my father walkedback to the street, he lost his footing while stepping over achain across as path and fell shoulder-first. I gasped when Ilooked at his shoulder; it appeared collapsed and I was worriedthat he had broken it. Four of us lifted my father andput him in my car. There is a hospital in San Francisco, HospitalGeneral Dr. Reynaldo Saucedo Y Andrade, and I droveus there. My father was in great pain and the drive was slowand difficult because the streets of San Francisco are cobblestones.But when we arrived the gods were smiling upon usas we discovered that Dr. Edgar Plantillas, an orthopedicsurgeon, was on duty. He shook my hand and told me not toworry because he would take care of my father. He had myfather’s shoulder X-rayed and the gods blessed us a secondtime. My father had no broken bones, but his shoulder wasdislocated. Dr. Plantillas said he could set the shoulder “theMexican Way” or with a general anesthetic, which he saidwas painless and preferred. But, he could not do it with a102

general anesthetic for another five hours because my fatherhad just eaten lunch. Dr. Plantillas also said that he had toleave and would not be available later to reset my father’sdislocated shoulder. We knew that if the shoulder needed tobe set the best course of action would be to have an orthopedicdoctor do it. My father said he would do it the MexicanWay. God, it was just like in the movies. We laid myfather out on a table and one doctor wrapped a long sheetaround my father’s right shoulder. As this doctor pulled thesheet slowly, Dr. Plantillas manipulated my father’s rightarm straight. I held my father down and encouraged himto relax. It was awful—my father moaned and cried out inpain. I was very worried because of his age and these eventswere certainly a very big shock to his system. The procedurewent on for several minutes as the one doctor pulled whileDr. Plantillas manipulated my father’s arm. He was loudlymoaning, his body as tight as a bow string, and then I feltand heard a pop. His shoulder had been set.I really admire Dad’s strength and courage—at 83 hedid it the Mexican Way!!! God bless him.However, our story does not end here. One thing leadsto another, forming a chain of events or consequences thatseem to defy any logic. Let me explain.After my father’s shoulder was set I left the emergencytreatment room to buy some medicines that Dr. Plantillashad prescribed for my father’s shoulder. As I was passingthe emergency room admittance desk I felt an unseen force,power, or aura to my left. I slowly glanced over to my leftand to my utter amazement I saw about seven ancient stoneartifacts laying on the floor in a pile along the wall.One of the items was a stone bowl similar to the one I103

had found several hours before laying on the ground at theentrance to San Francisco. Once more I felt as if the ancientswere speaking to me. The thread kept pulling me closer.When I returned to the hospital I found out from Dr.Plantillas that these ancient fragments had been unearthedduring the construction of the hospital. Later, my friend Pepetold me he had found similar stone artifacts in Alta Vista andelsewhere in the mountains of Nayarit.I have seen many petroglyphs, ancient statues, altars,104

tombs, pottery, and Old World implements. However, oneof the most memorable pieces I have seen lay there on thehospital floor. The people of today walk around that pieceoblivious to the thought that the ancients are watchingthem.Ancient stone carving, hospital floor,San Francisco, Nayarit, Mexico.105

106Old Gringo sitting under San Francisco’s patron saint before his fall from grace.

Old Gringo recovering after his fall from grace and his “Mexican Way” treatment.107

Chapter 21A MYSTIC JOURNEYOne evening my father and I walked through theGuayabitos town square and saw Huichol Indiansselling colorful handcrafted dolls, beads, and handbags. Ihad seen these Indians almost every weekend when I was intown and always stopped to look at their artwork and commenton how beautiful they were. Also, I had bought severalknitted shoulder bags from them. They were a gentle andfriendly people and we always shared a laugh. Once whenI bargained with them I told them I was a poor gringo. Weall laughed and whenever we met they would say, ”poorgringo,” and we would all laugh again.I remember one time haggling with the Huichols aboutthe price of one of their colorful shoulder bags. They wantedtwo hundred pesos and I offered one hundred and fifty. Wecould not agree on a price and I did not buy the shoulderbag. Later that evening I walked by the town square andsaw the Huichols huddled up and preparing to sleep on theground in the square. When we saw each other we wavedand one of them yelled out, “poor gringo.” We all laughedand I walked up to them and asked if everything was okay.They said, no problem. As I walked away I thought of howI had haggled over the shoulder bag. Essentially, the fiftypesodifference was only about four dollars and fifty cents.As I was walking home to a warm and comfortable bed Ithought about the Huichols sleeping on the ground and Ifelt very humble and foolish for haggling over a few dollars.That evening my father and I gathered together severalpairs of shoes, clothes, and food that we would not takeback with us upon our return home. We then took all theseitems and presented them to the Huichols. I also paid thefull price they had asked for the shoulder bag. The Huicholswere very grateful for the clothing and in return offered me asmall Huichol shoulder bag as a sign of appreciation. We allshook hands and I felt a sense of kinship and solidarity withthese people. I have encountered this type of feeling andkinship with all peoples throughout my travels and experi-108

ences. I am optimistic that goodness in people is the prevailingcharacteristic of mankind. Since that day my father andI became good friends with the Huichols in the town squareof Guayabitos.As I was preparing to go back to California I returnedto the town square to see what wares the Huichols were selling.I came upon an old and weathered man who was sellingseveral plastic jars containing a white cream. I asked himwhat it was and he made a rubbing motion with his handon his arm. He then said, “peyote, peyote.” I looked at himand made a motion with my hands indicating I was eatingsomething and said, “peyote.” We both started laughing andhe motioned for me to sit down next to him. As I sat downhe began speaking Huichol and at some point his voice tookon a rhythm that sounded as if he was reciting a poem orprayer. He then pointed toward the mountains of Nayaritand made a sign indicating that the two of us should go intothe mountains. I nodded my head up and down. It seemedlike the old man was the grandfather as there was alwaysa middle-aged man and woman and a beautiful youngerwoman with the group. The younger woman always had asmile and that night she wore a turquoise linen dress andHuichol Indian, Nayarit, Mexico.109

pink shirt. They then all started packing up and put theirwares in an old 1960 Ford pickup truck. The son, his wife,and daughter got in to the front seat. The old man got in tothe back bed of the truck and motioned for me to join him.I was somewhat skeptical, but everything I had experiencedthus far made me feel safe with them. A guidebook I readsaid the Huichols are the most original and pure people inMexico. They lived in the isolated mountains of Nayarit andsteadfastly maintained their cultural lineage and ways withoutintermixing with the early Spaniards, settlers, and othertribes of Mexico. There was something trusting about thesepeople and so I climbed aboard. The truck headed in the directionof the coastal mountains in an easterly direction towardthe town of Tepic. Somewhere along the road the truckturned off the roadway and started following a single-lanedirt road that continued up into the mountains. We traveledabout another half hour and stopped. It was a half moonand I could tell the road ended in a small clearing. I lookedaround and noticed a small stable housing about six mules.The family loaded their wares on one mule and motionedfor me to climb onto one of the mules. When I did they allgot on their mules and we started to ascend further alongthis path, which appeared to wind itself further toward thetop. After another thirty minutes we reached an area that Icould best describe as a plateau with a slight depression.The area looked as if it were sitting in the cone of an oldvolcano. In this clearing I noticed there were about fifteenearthen and straws huts formed into a circular pattern. As Ilooked around I realized I had entered a Huichol village. Iwas somewhat surprised, as the Huichol are known to livein isolation deep in the Sierra Madre Mountains. While thehusband and wife and daughter unloaded their wares theold man took me around to several huts and introduced me.I saw that the families were all working on handcraft itemsthat were being sold in towns along the coast. My guesswas that these Huichols used this small village as some sortof way station from their homes as they went to the coastalarea to sell their artwork. The old man then took me over tohis hut and motioned me to sit down. I looked around andsaw that it was one big room partioned into cooking, eating,and sleeping areas. As I sat there the mother and daughterwere preparing food. Using a mix of sign language, Spanish,English and gestures I tried to tell them that I was fromCalifornia. When the food arrived there was this interesting110

and tasty mix of vegetables, cactus, and fruits or plants that Ihad never eaten or seen before. Essentially, it appeared to bea vegetarian meal. After we ate the old man motioned me tofollow him. We walked through the village to this lone strawhut that had several village men sitting on the floor around afire. The central point of the hut roof was open and you couldlook out to the moon and stars. As I sat down next to the oldman he began an Indian chant that was picked up by theother men in the circle. As the men were chanting they werepassing around a cup made from a coconut shell. As the cupwas passed to me I took a sip. It tasted like sour hibiscus tea.As the cup was passed around the circle the chant wouldpass over to each man in the circle. After several sips of thecup I began to feel very relaxed and somehow connectedto everything around me. I could hear every sound aroundme, from the chanting to the crickets outside. As the cupcontinued to be passed around I began to realize that I wasalso chanting with the men in the room. I don’t know howor by what power, but at one point the chant passed ontome. I closed my eyes and became one with the room andthe Huichols. To this day I can’t tell you what I chanted, butI did chant in congruence with the circle around me. Later,as I opened my eyes I felt transported through that openceiling. I felt as if I were standing next to the Milky Way andthat I could reach out and touch the half moon next to me.I was floating in the skies, I was one with the universe, andI was at peace. I closed my eyes again and felt drawn backdown to the hut. When I opened my eyes I was laying on astraw mat. Kneeling next to me was that young and beautifulHuichol girl. In her hands she held some sort of smolderinggrass or moss, which she gently blew onto me. The smokedrifted over my body, which she then fanned across me. Ilay there in a trance amazed by her beauty. I wanted to bewith her, to feel her, to touch her, to caress her. I stretchedout my right arm toward her and turned sideways. She tookmy hand and laid with her back to me. With my left handI reached over her and pulled her in close to me. I thenfell asleep. I awoke the next morning alone and not certainwhether I had dreamed last night’s event. I decided that itdid not matter whether the evening was real or imagined. Ifelt wonderful and grateful for the experience.I was now ready to return home.111

Chapter 22The Collective UnconsciousIn August 2007 I was in the town of Soccoro, New Mexico, when I stoppedat the tourist information office and picked up a brochure describing a placecalled Tomé Hill. I was immediately astonished to see that the Zacualpan and AltaVista Spiral petroglyphs of Mexico were also depicted on a boulder in the foregroundof the brochure for Tomé Hill.Were the Tecoxquine Indians of Zacualpan and Alta Vista, Mexico, related tothe Indians who lived in Tomé, New Mexico? What was the meaning of the Spiral?Just as I had experienced in Mexico, I felt that thread of lost civilization againweaving its way through me. There was a presence in my subconscious and I wasembarking upon a journey that seemed preordained. It mattered not whether myeyes were open or closed. I was walking a path I had never followed before, butyet it was all so familiar. What would I find? What would I learn?So I went in search of the Spiral on Tomé Hill.112

Tomé Hill, southern slope.113

Tomé Hill rises 500 feet above the Rio Grand Valleyand is bordered to the east by the Manzano Mountains andthe Rio Grande River to the west. The hill is a prominentpoint in this valley and is considered a religious and sacredsite. There is a shrine at the top of the summit with threelarge wooden crosses erected in 1947 by the Brotherhoodof the Pennitente. As I climbed Tomé Hill along its southernslope I felt as if I had followed this path before.114

Crest of La Tomé Hill.115

Tomé Hill—western view.When I reached the summit I recalled the feeling ofserenity I had experienced when I found the Tecoxquine sacredsite at Alta Vista and when I stood upon the crest of apyramid in Chicomostoc. Mankind throughout the ages hasselected prominent sites as places to commune with theirgods. And Tomé Hill was certainly such a place. As I haddone before in other sacred places I raised my arms to theskies and gave homage to the unseen force that had broughtme to this location. The horizon opened up to me and Icould feel the power of the sun upon me and felt my spiritrise up to the heavens. I turned to the north; I turned to theeast and then to the south and then to the west, coming fullcircle. I felt the power of life flow through me and rise aboveto the skies.116

Handprint petroglyph, Tomé Hill.117

Tomé Hill, eastern slope.On Tomé Hill I did not feel the heat of day, nor did Ifeel thirst. I was filled with energy I could not explain exceptto say that some force was drawing me to the Spiral.Possessed, I searched the western slope, and then the southernand northern slopes. At each point of the compass I feltstronger and my pace quickened. The thread of lost civilizationswas pulling me closer and closer and I felt a gatheringsense of excitement as I started running from boulder toboulder along the eastern slope. And when I saw the Spiral,a burst of joy and happiness released itself from within meas I have never felt before. The thread of lost civilizationshad brought me to this place.118

Throughout this journey I have felt some force or powerguiding me, revealing itself here and there. I learned thatarcheologists from the University of New Mexico have discoveredmore that 1,800 petroglyphs on Tomé Hill. Amongseveral of the common petroglyph types encountered includedsymmetrical crosses, human figures, circular designs,handprints, spirals, and geometric designs. Interestingly, asmall number of petroglyphs are isolated circle elementsthought to be more than 2,000 years old. At the time thesefirst petroglyphs were chiseled or pecked into rocks on ToméHill, the desert culture of the region was greatly influencedby the arrival of several innovations from Indian groups tothe south in what is present-day Mexico. However, the mostfascinating aspect of Tomé Hill was that the site also containedpetroglyphs similar to those in Alta Vista, Mexico,which were also estimated to be around 2,000 years old.Although I felt as if I was on a path of new discovery, muchof what I felt also seemed very familiar. My sensing was thatmy journey would end when the Spirals would reveal themselvesto me.It is an interesting journey when one finds that whathe believes to have discovered actually has been previouslySpiral, Alta Vista, Nayarit, Mexico.revealed by many others. The author Max Firsch said it wellwhen he observed that it’s precisely the disappointing stories,which have no proper ending and therefore no propermeaning, that sound true to life. After leaving Tomé Hill Ilearned that the connection between the Tomé Hill Spiral119

120Spiral petroglyph, Zacualpan, Mexico.

Hohokam Indian Spiral, Phoenix, Arizona.Spiral in Italy.and the Alta Vista Spiral was very mundane. Apparently, ancientSpiral petroglyphs, drawings, and paintings aboundthroughout the world and in many disparate cultures. Spiralshave been found in Europe, all the Americas, and elsewhere.Although I was initially disappointed I still could notexplain the energy I had felt as I embarked upon my quest.Nor could I explain my compulsion to follow as the threadof lost civilizations pulled me forward. My dreams, my visions,and the familiarity I felt when I walked these sacredplaces was truly genuine!As I continued my quest I was reminded of author KurtVonnegut who said that he wanted to stay as close to theledge as he could without falling over. Out on the ledge yousee all kinds of things you can’t see from the center.I too wanted to peer over the edge!121

Spiral in Scotland.Spirals in Ireland.Carl Jung theorized that in addition to our immediateconsciousness there existed a layer of the unconscious thatwas inborn and not derived from personal experience. Thisdeeper layer he called the “collective unconscious,” whichhe believed was a system of a collective, universal, and impersonalmakeup that was identical in all individuals. Heused the term “collective” because he believed that this partof the unconscious was not individual but universal; in contrastto the personal psyche, it has contents and modes ofbehavior that are more or less the same everywhere and inall individuals. Another theorist observed that all cells comefrom other cells and that as these cells evolved they conveyeda collective and instinctive memory. And that eachindividual both draws upon and contributes to the collectivememory of the species.122

Visual patterns that seem to be universally found inchildren and in man’s earliest artwork consist of grids, dots,spirals, zigzags, circles, and curved lines. This implies thatsymbolic imagery is part of the ancestral mind embedded inour collective unconscious.My experience of familiarity was not unique. One authorwrote, “We have all some experience of a feeling, thatcomes over us occasionally, of what we are saying and doinghaving been said and done before, in a remote time—of ourhaving been surrounded, dim ages ago, by the same faces,objects, and circumstances—of our knowing perfectly whatwill be said next, as if we suddenly remember it.”I had a vision and I had a dream and I felt the pull oflost civilizations. Although I believed the collective unconsciousprovided a meaning to the familiarity I felt as I followedthe Spiral, I still thought that another revelation wasawaiting me.As writer Kahlil Gibran said, “Trust in Dreams, For InThem is The Hidden Gate To Eternity.”123

124A journey’s end, Cabo San Lucas, Baja California, Mexico.

I am nothing more than an accidental tourist and I havenot followed a course I charted. Every time a revelation occurredto me during this journey I was truly surprised.Interestingly, about a month after seeing the Spiral onTomé Hill my vision became clearer when I visited Faces ofMexico, a small ethnic art shop in Cabo San Lucas, Mexico.There I came upon a copy of a female figure found in a tombfrom the Shaft Tomb Culture of Nayarit, Mexico. When I sawthe figure a sense of calmness overcame me and I smiledwith joy, for I finally understood.The Spiral symbolizes creation and infinity. It is ourconception, birth, life, and the human spirit. It is the beginningand a time without end—the Spirit of Mankind.In the end, the only thing I can say with certainty isthat I am still amazed by this experience and do not fullyunderstand it. I can only speculate and remind myself thatwhen thinking in terms of the vast cosmos—the significanceof the individual man—adds up to nothing, except to thatindividual—during that brief instant that he existed—if heeven existed in the being or essence he thought he did.125

FINDING LOST CIVILIZATIONSThe Riviera NayaritEpilogue126

Epilogue:Returning to ZacualpanThe thread of lost civilizations has woven its threadupon the path that my father and I have followed forseveral years. We have often walked upon the ashes of thepast with a sense of familiarity and it has always pained usto see this thread become thinner and thinner as we haveMy father and I traveled with great anticipation toZacualpan to return to the sacred site where the lost Tecoxquinecivilization had once thrived. I was eager to visit theancient petroglyphs and worship spots, which were situatedat the bottom of a small hill below Pablo’s cow pasture locatedbehind the town cemetery. As we drove up to the areawe immediately saw that a large metal corral had been constructedadjacent to Pablo’s pasture and that acres of landhad been scraped clear by a bulldozer to make way for newseen in Zacualpan, Chacala, Guayabitos, and elsewhere. Asthe coastal zone of Nayarit from Puerto Vallarta to San Blasdevelops, many of these ancient sites have fallen prey tooblivious progress and developers who devote themselvesto the god of profit and the commercialization of what isnow known as the Riviera Nayarit. Let me recount my visitsto the towns of Zacualpan, Chacala, and the Luz Del Mondepetroglyph site.127

homes.We parked and followed a path downhill that paralleledthe old cow pasture. At the bottom I started looking forthe very large bouldersupon which the ancientTecoxquines had carvedtheir symbols.As I walked the baseof the hill I could not findmost of the petroglyphsI had seen the previousyear. I then started to noticethat in those locationswhere the petroglyphsonce stood the groundseemed freshly dug. It beganto dawn on me thatsome of the ancient bouldershad been ripped from the earth and taken away. Wherethese magnificent boulders once stood was now a vacantsite. I searched several times and was very dismayed to seethat many of those wonderful and ancient petroglyph carvings,which had been there for more than a thousand years,had finally fallen prey to thieves, ignorance, or greed.I saw a barbed wire enclosure below the metal corralwhere an ancient ceremonialsite once stood. Icrawled through the wireand was again dismayedto see that much of thesite had been destroyed.The previous year manyboulders with ancientcarvings and ceremonialbowls surrounded thissite; it was easy to envisionit as a sacred place.But all that remainedwere three bowls that hadbeen carved into a naturalstone formation. The essence of the site had been desecrated.I stood there in disbelief and shocked silence. I recalled theamazement and joy I felt last year when I had been shownthe site. Now, all I felt was disappointment and sadness.128

As I followed the circumference of the hillside I wasagain deeply dismayed to see that another ceremonial sitehad been seriously damaged to clear the area for the town’ssmall sewage pumping station. However, I understood thatwhat was important to the people of this area was basicsustenance. Taking care of life in the here and now was thefirst priority.129

Petroglyph site below Pablo’s cow pasture, Zacualpan, Mexico.Unfortunately, the history of this once-thriving and ancientcommunity is lost. What is known is that the originalpeople of this region were known as the Tecoxquine orTequectequi, which translates to “Head or Throat Cutters.”This name apparently derived from the Tecoxquine religiouspractice of using warrior prisoners for sacrifice; their severedheads were later offered in a ritual ceremony to theirgods. They inhabited an extensive region covering the entiresouthern coast of the State of Nayarit and the neighboringcoastal and mountain regions of Jalisco. They were mainlyfarmers, fishermen, salt producers, and traders in cacao andcotton. The Tecoxquine were organized in a series of villagesunder the control of Teuzacualpan in the Chila Valley,the modern-day town of Zacualpan. Apparently, theircommercial links allowed them to establish intensive trade,which reached the southern portion of the State of Sinaloaand to Michoacan in the southeast.130

I walked amongst the ancient fields of Zacualpan andI came upon an excavation site for a new home. Lying thereamid the soil of past and present I saw the cycle of time immortal.In the midst of the debris lay an ancient tool used togrind corn; lying next to it was a broken Coca-Cola bottle.Like the Spiral petroglyphs of the Tecoxquines, a convergenceof the past, the present, and the future lay before me.On this site a new generation will rise from the ashes of theold. And again I wondered if, a thousand years from thismoment, will they know us or would someone ask, “Whowere these people?”131

Epilogue:Returning to Chacalawhere the town petroglyphs were located. He told me thatthey were once located at the north end of the bay at a highpoint that looked over the bay and town. However, he alsoDuring my wanderings I learned that ancient petroglyphswere located in Chacala, which sits upon anatural bay and a fertile valley. My father and I set out oneday to learn where several of these petroglyphs were located.I met a local fellow there and asked him if he knewmentioned that except for one or two boulders, the petroglyphshad been excavated to make way for development.My father and I then drove down to the wharf belowthe office of the Port Captain and asked a local fisherman ifhe knew where the petroglyphs were located. He gesturedover to the north point of the bay, which was located severalhundred yards from the wharf. I noticed that the shorelinealong the northern tip of the bay was below a hill and containedmany large boulders. I then started clambering overthese boulders toward the north point and saw that the hilltopappeared to have been leveled with heavy machinery.When I reached the north point I stopped below a largeboulder and immediately noticed an ancient Spiral petroglyphetched into it.Higher above the Spiral, I saw some sort of plaque thatlooked like an open book, which appeared to have been attachedto a boulder just below the crest of the hill. I couldalso see that freshly tilled earth covered a portion of the132

destroyed, the memorial to his wife damaged, and the spiritof this place ruined.As I left the hilltop I remembered the ancient summitof Tel Megiddo in Israel. There, researchers have found evidencethat the city upon that mound had been destroyedand rebuilt about twenty-five times. The cycle of life continues,but I found the Chacala hilltop somewhat disturbing. Inone swoop, evidence of an ancient civilization—includinga present-day memorial to a loved one—had been simplyswept away.plaque and that it was partially damaged. I then climbedatop the hill and was dismayed to see that the site had beenleveled to make way for building sites. Nearby, a man satalone next to a boulder and appeared to be somewhat distressed.When I asked him if he was okay he nodded andwent on to say that since his childhood he had visited thissite, which he considered spiritual. After his wife passedaway two years ago and in accordance with her wishes, thefamily had placed a small memorial at this site to honor theplace she deeply cherished. But now it had all been desecrated.The land had been excavated, the ancient symbols133

EPILOGUE:La Luz Del MundoSituated on the other side of a hill to the south of Guayabitosis the small town of Los Ayala. It was from LosAyala that I followed the El Monteon Trail to the Playa delBeso and then onto a hilltop plateau where I found an unearthedtomb and signs of an old civilization.The road out of Los Ayala is Highway 208 and it meetsHighway 200 at a “T” intersection. Across from this intersectionon the east side of Highway 200 is a church called LaLuz del Mundo, which means, The Light of the World.Much of the coastal region of Nayarit is open to landspeculation and business ventures to develop it into a favoredresort destination—The Riviera Nayarit. Consequently, landaround Guayabitos, Los Ayala, and the surrounding area israpidly being commercialized and sold to resort developers,speculators, and the baby boomer generation from theUnited States and Canada. So it is not surprising that historyand evidence of a lost civilization that has sat dormant formany years is now in jeopardy.La Luz del Mundo archeological site is such a place.134

Construction around petroglyph boulders.Petroglyphs next to home construction.135

New road for development through a petroglyph site.Petroglyph.Petroglyph site being cleared and sub-divided.New subdivision homes on site.136

In March 2008 we celebrated my father’s 83rd birthdayin Guayabitos. Somehow we both sensed that this wasthe end of our four-year journey into Mexico following thethread of lost civilizations. As my father and I close thischapter in our lives we thank the gods for letting us heartheir whispers and opening our eyes to the beauty that laybeneath our feet. And we shall always be ever so grateful forthe wonderful people of Mexico we met during our journey.But, most of all I felt a great sense of contentment that notonly was I able to follow the thread of a lost civilization, butthat I was also fortunate enough to have rediscovered thelove of a son for his father.137

138Alex, “Sometimes life is hard.” – Manual, “But it’s beautiful.”

FINDING LOST CIVILIZATIONSPart 3 – Year 2009: The Journey ContinuesEach time my father and I visited Mexico we had no plan or idea where our journey would take us. And each time thatwe left we never made plans to return. We simply followed a path in our lives that revealed itself with each step we tookforward. In 2008 I published Finding Lost Civilizations and thought that was the end of my journey. But in 2009 my father and Ireturned to Mexico and found ourselves on a road to discovery that we had never experienced before. We met many wonderfullocal people and I was often taken to locations where no one other than the original inhabitants of this region had set foot.Many people have said, “Write another book.”And perhaps one day I will. Instead, I have decided to publish a second edition of my book and include two marvelousevents that occurred in 2009. One very memorable event will hopefully serve as an inspiration to all of us about the optimisticnature of the human spirit. Thank you, Manuel.The journey continues.139

140Shaft tomb, Nayarit, Mexico.

Chapter 23The Forgotten Souls ofIxtapa De La ConceptionWhile at the La Penita market a lady named DebDrew approached me and said she was building apool at her house and that I was invited to join her and herhusband to sift through the dirt during the excavation. Onthe day of the excavation I spoke with the Mexican backhoeoperator, who told me he had been working a backhoe formore than 20 years and that his home garden held manyremnants of old civilizations that he had dug up during excavations.He said he did not believe we would find anyancient artifacts in La Penita. I then asked him which areacontained the most relics. He thought for a while and saidthat the area must fertile and filled with ancient artifacts wasin a small town called Ixtapa De La Conception. By chance,I had planned a trip the next day to the fishing village ofPlatanitos and would be passing through Ixtapa.The following day on the way to Platanitos I exited themain roadway and entered the village of Ixtapa. The villagehad only one small, dusty main street and as I entered Isaw a man walking down the road and introduced myself. Iexplained that I was a writer regarding the history of the regionand asked him if he knew of any ancient Indian sites orsymbols that were engraved into large boulders in the area.He said there were ancient sites and petroglyps in the area,but he did not know their exact locations. However, he saidhe knew a man that did and volunteered to walk me over tohis house. I followed this man through town and we eventuallyarrived at a brick building that was painted yellow. Iimmediately felt that this individual was certainly an artifactcollector who was knowledgeable of the ancient sites in thisarea. Hanging over his doorway and across the front of thehouse were the skulls of very large rams—something likea medicine man would have over his hut or tepee. Unfortunately,the local historian was not home. But the helpfullocal man, Jose, agreed to let the historian, Donicia, knowthat I would return later in the day.141

My father and I and several friends then went to thefishing village of Platanitos to visit the lookout point fromwhere we saw migrating whales. Later, we ate some superbshrimp ceviche and a specially prepared fish in a palapaalongside Platanitos beach. It was a very wonderful and specialday and I was thankful that my father and I shared thesame joys.On the way home I drove to Donicia’s house and sawseveral people sitting in the backyard. Two other men arrivedlater and I introduced myself. After explaining my interestin the archeology of the area, Donicia and his friendManuel agreed to show me some ancient sites the followingday. However, they also volunteered to take me directly toa site a short distance away. I agreed and we drove over toManuel’s home, which is a small adobe and brick houselocated behind the town cemetery. From there we followedan old path up a hill. I saw a large excavation to my leftand learned that this was a very old mine the Spaniards hadexcavated hundreds of years ago. The tunnels, I was told,stretched for several kilometers and once yielded silver. Wecontinued along the trail, traveling to the backside of the hilland then to an elevated pasture atop another hill.There I immediately noticed a large boulder severalhundred feet ahead that had some sort of petroglyph art.Walking toward the boulder, I came upon a tomb excavationand observed tomb markers strewn upon the groundalongside a depression in the earth. Manuel told me someonehad excavated the tomb to a depth of about one footand then stopped. He pointed to another hill where he saidmany tomb markers were still standing in a vertical positionover ancient graves. This information was exciting, as I hadseen many such tomb markers but most were lying on theground, having been either knocked down or moved fromtheir original location. I went to the petroglyph boulder andimmediately noticed a cat-like figure pecked into the stone;Manuel referred to this as a coyote. There was another animalnext to it that I could not discern what it was.Adjacent to these figures were some interconnectingSpirals and lines. These two different petroglyph designswere produced using separate styles. The cat-like figure waspecked into the boulder whereas the Spirals were etchedinto the stone.142

The Coyote.Interconnecting Spirals.143

Continuing to survey the pasture, I found many potterypieces and obsidian on the ground. I also found several othertombs and one huge boulder that contained a large Spiral.The east side of the pasture was the backside of the hill.Manuel told me that many tomb markers in that locationwere lying on the ground and belonged to French soldiers.I found this very exciting because there indeed had been aperiod in Mexico’s history where the French invaded Mexicoand installed an emperor. He was referred to as MaximilianI, Emperor of Mexico. He was born Ferdinand MaximilianJoseph and was a member of Austria’s Imperial Habsburg-Lorraine family. With the backing of Napoleon III of Franceand a group of Mexican monarchists, he was proclaimedEmperor of Mexico. His reign did not last and in 1867 hewas captured and executed by the Mexican forces of BenitoJuarez. The thought of French Foreign Legionnaires buried inthe vicinity of this long-forgotten hill was intriguing.I decided to walk down the hill to inspect the Frenchgraves and as I approached the area I saw a reflection fromthe ground and walked over to see what it was. To my uttersurprise I saw the handle of a small sword. I scraped awaythe dirt and Mother Earth opened her treasures to me. I hadfound an old military sword. Was it one of the items buriedwith a French Foreign Legionnaire? Did he die fightingwith his last breath, sword in hand, for a glory that meansnothing today? Who was he, what was his name? I resolvedto return to that spot and give homage to these lost soulsburied on this lonely hill and forgotten in time. Later, as wewalked off the hill we met another fellow along the trail whomentioned that the grave markers were also German. This Ifound interesting because when Maximilian was defeated,his Imperial Army also had several legions of Austrian andBelgium volunteers.144

As we walked back to Manuel’s house he pointed out arise off in the distance toward the ocean and said there was apyramid on the top of that hill, which he called San Ignacio.As I gazed at the hill the crest was indeed pyramid-shapedand we both agreed that we would explore it someday.Manuel later invited me into his backyard, where hepointed out many artifacts that were laid out on a concreteplatform. Everything had been found in the hills and pasturewe had just walked through. There was an ancient stonehead to a battle-ax (shown below), a stone ax, various corngrindingplatforms and stone grinders, several small clayheads from ancient figures, and many other implementswhose use I could not identify.After I returned home to Los Ayala I swam in the oceanand watched the sunset from the water. I then floated on myback and saw the half-moon appear behind a red and bluehorizon. Closing my eyes, I floated into the inner reachesof my mind, suspended in time, space, and water—truly awonderful day of discovery.145

Chapter 24The Temple of San IgnacioMy friends John and Bill and I rose early in the morningin order to arrive at Manuel’s house at 6:00 a.m.Our plan was to climb Cerro San Ignacio, which is locatedin Ixtapa De La Conception, about four miles north of Zacualpan,in search of a pyramid, petroglyph markings, and anancient temple. Manuel said they all existed at the peak ofSan Ignacio. However, being accustomed to the local cultureI was certain we would not leave Manuel’s house withGermanic precision at the appointed hour.As expected, when we arrived, Manuel had just wokenup and was scratching himself as I entered his humbleabode. His wife, Maria Del Rosario Rivera Bautista, wasstoking the fire of her cooking hearth, much the same as wasdone hundreds of years before. After we entered we all satat the kitchen table and were provided with a cup of coffeeand a fat tortilla for breakfast.146

During breakfast and some conversation, Manuel suggestedthat we drive to San Ignacio in his small Toyota pickuptruck, as the road was rough and isolated, which wouldleave my Suburban at risk to potential thieves. However, hehad no gas in his truck and asked that I fill it with the fuelfrom my spare five-gallon container, which was loaded ontop of the Suburban. I laughed inwardly because I knewbeforehand that more likely than not, my emergency gaswould be used to fill a Mexican vehicle instead of my own.After we filled up Manuel’s truck, his starter would notwork so we pushed the truck until it started. Once underway,our route took us north from Ixtapa toward San Blas.About four miles from Ixtapa, the south face of San Ignaciorevealed itself. From this vantage point, the top of the smallmountain certainly crested in a manner that let a viewervisualize a pyramid.However, the culture of West Mexico was not knownfor building grand pyramids like those of the Maya or theAztec. Rather, their pyramids were somewhat circular andnot grand in scale; in fact I saw such a mound in a field notfar from San Ignacio. As we approached San Ignacio fromits side, the small mountain took on the shape of a head,which let a viewer visualize the profile of a nose, a chin,and the top of a head. After passing San Ignacio we turnedwest and headed up a dirt path until we came upon a smalland muddy stream that was about twenty feet wide.Across the bank at the water’s edge a wire gate hadbeen strung across the property line. Manuel entered thestream and drove his truck right up to the gate while a friendjumped from the cargo bed of the truck, over the cab, andonto the hood to unlatch the gate. At that moment the truckstalled in the middle of the stream. Manual tried for about147

five minutes to start the truck, but the starter would not engage.He then released the truck’s hood latch, took off hisshoes and socks, rolled up his trousers, and stepped out intothe creek.I looked at Manuel and said, “Sometimes life is hard.”With a big smile, he said, “But it’s beautiful.” I was struckby the power and inspiration of what Manuel had said. Lifetruly is beautiful. Anyway, by the grace of the ancients anda power unseen, Manuel was able to start his truck and wemade our way to the base of San Ignacio. As we started ourassent Manuel pointed out several large circular stone formationslying on the ground. I noticed many of these alongthe way and initially thought they were evidence of somesort of a structure at the top of the hill. We continued ourclimb until we reached a flat area under a sheer wall of basaltstone. We examined this wall; I was surprised to see thatthe basalt had formed in a manner that resembled hundredsof circular columns all stuck together and rising from theground to form a cliff face.Persevering, we climbed and reached a second ledgethat also featured similar basalt formations. As we inspectedthese formations Manual pointed out a series of steps thathad been cut into the basalt, which appeared to lead into acave. I climbed the steps and at the top noticed that thereseemed to be a natural fissure into the wall face. A cut hadbeen made into the fissure and the cliff face, which wasabout four feet wide, ten feet high, and about five feet intothe basalt wall. There were no petroglyphs or other markingto indicate who had carved out the steps or the indentationinto the basalt.We continued our assent until we reached the summit,which was a flat area that measured approximately thirty by148

forty feet. Unfortunately, all the stones and boulders werecompletely covered over with brush and vines and it wasnot possible to determine the layout of the boulders, petroglyphs,or stone columns strewn about the hill. There wascertainly no sign of the pyramid we had envisioned.As Manuel and his friend began clearing the brush withtheir machetes, John, Bill, and I started searching amongthe boulders. One of the first things we noticed was a largeboulder with simple slash marks in a fan pattern. They wereclearly man- made. Along the southeast corner of the hillManuel pointed out two large circular shaped columns onthe ground and indicated they formed the entrance to a temple.I looked down at these columns from the crest of thehill and noted that the layout and the characteristic of theground around them indicated that they had been part ofan entranceway. I went down for a closer look and immediatelynoticed that one column had horizontal lines etchedinto the stone.Looking up, I saw another shorter column that appearedas if it once formed the top piece of a rectangular entranceway.We began to pull back the vines and undergrowth andfound many boulders with petroglyph markings. However,they all appeared to either be horizontal or vertical etchinginto the stone. One stone appeared to have vertical lines in afan shape that seemed to represent the sun’s rays. Then I noticedthat the entranceway faced the direction of the sunrise.This was significant, as most Mesoamerican cultures practicedsome form of sun worship. Although these columnsand markings were a strong indication that the ancients hadused this site, I was still looking for a significant petroglyphthat would further verify our observations.Horizontal column over temple entrance.149

I felt a great sense of joy and excitement when I heardJohn yell out that he had found a Spiral petroglyph! Examiningthis petroglyph, I noticed that it was carved into a largestone column that had been toppled over.Vertical column to temple entrance.Vertical column with spiral petroglyph.150

Then I found another toppled column adjacent to theSpiral and noticed several symbols etched into the stone. Tomy great surprise I clearly saw a sun, but then to my greatersurprise I saw the name “Arturo” etched into the stone. Ipondered how we often find ourselves at a crossroads wherethe past and present meet. A thousand years from now Arturo’sname will be considered a symbol of ancient man. Buttoday it was graffiti!It appeared that at one time, many columns had beenerected in a vertical manner around the summit, perhapssomething akin to a smaller scale of the columns found inStonehenge, England. I wondered what would have toppledthese stones. This area is in an earthquake zone and severaltremors over the centuries certainly could have toppled thecolumns. I also noticed that much of the mountain was usedto grow some sort of cattle hay and was subdivided intofarming parcels. Many substantial ancient sites have beenplowed and furrowed over by succeeding cultures; this siteclearly suffered a similar fate. In addition, the earth aroundthe Spiral column had been excavated. Two days later I meta fellow from the nearby town of Otates who claimed he wasa protector of ancient sites. But then he mentioned he hadaccess to sixty clay bowls, plates, and figures from severalexcavated tombs. When he heard I had visited San Ignaciohe became very inquisitive; my impression was that he wasinvolved in some excavations atop San Ignacio.Before we left the hilltop Manuel said that during thedry season when the summit is cleared of vegetation, manyof the boulders are exposed and reveal petroglyph symbolsof snakes and birds. And indeed we found a nesting areaamong the boulders that contained two large eggs laid by abird that Manuel described as large and colorful and similarto a parrot. I felt a sense of joy during the descent because Iwas probably the first “gringo” to have visited this site sincethe dawn of mankind. Although we did not find a pyramidwe certainly discovered strong evidence that the crest of SanIgnacio had once been an ancient worship site. I also felt agreat sense of kinship and gratitude to Manuel and to all thewonderful, gracious, and common people of the land whoI had met along my journey as I followed the thread of lostcivilizations. Whenever I think of Manuel I remember anold quote that said something to the effect that “Commonpeople are the best in the world—that is the reason theLord made so many of them.”151

HeadNoseChinEast view of San Ignacio.152

Northeast view from the crest of San Ignacio; the town of Otates is in the foreground.153

Petroglyph Photo LogSun Spiral, La Luz del Mundo site, Nayarit, Mexico.154

The work crew: Leucrecia, Old Gringo, Pepe, and Angel—preparing to find ancient petroglyphs,armed with Lay’s Potato Chips, watermelon and walking sticks. Alta Vista, Nayarit, Mexico.155

156La Luz del Mundo site, Nayarit, Mexico.

Alta Vista, Nayarit, Mexico.157

158Crocodile petroglyph, Alta Vista, Nayarit, Mexico.

Armadillo petroglyph, Alta Vista, Nayarit, Mexico.159

160Connecting Spirals, La Luz del Mundo site, Nayarit, Mexico.

Spiral representing falling star or comet, La Luz del Mundo site, Nayarit, Mexico.161

162Bowl and squares, La Luz del Mundo site, Nayarit, Mexico.

Spirals and circular grooves, possible star chart, La Luz del Mundo site, Nayarit, Mexico.163

164Spiral boulder within a ceremonial circle, Zacualpan.

Spiral and sun boulder in ceremonial location, Zacualpan.165

166Large boulder containing 13 communal grinding bowls—behind the boulder is a large sacrificial altar—in Zacualpan.

Communal bowls carved from volcanic stone, San Pedro de Lagunillas.167

168Ram or deer with spiral horns, Alta Vista, Nayarit, Mexico.

Los dos Alejandros, Alta Vista, Nayarit, Mexico.169

170The Spiral, La Luz del Mundo site, Nayarit, Mexico.

What became of them? And what will become of us?The Universal Law of Karma … is that of action and reaction, causeand effect, sowing and reaping. In the course of natural righteousness,man, by his thoughts and actions, becomes the arbiter of his destiny.Paramahansa Yogananda171

Remember, We Are All Connected

My Journey Continues

Archeology/Travel/MysticismFINDING LOST CIVILIZATIONSThis story begins with the discovery by a son and father ofseveral ancient artifacts under a cross in a small Mexicancoastal town, and chronicles their journey to learn about alost civilization that left behind these artifacts. As clues arerevealed, interesting local natives are encountered, ancientsymbols and artifacts are uncovered, and the bonds of a fatherand son are rediscovered. Intriguingly, the meaning of onesymbol reveals a universal connection between all mankind.TRAVEL IN THE STATE OF NAYARIT, MEXICOHISTORY OF THE TECOXQUINES INDIANSDISCOVERY OF ANCIENT ARTIFACTSDESCRIPTION OF LOCAL PEOPLESFOLLOWING THE SPIRITUAL PULL OF SYMBOLSREDISCOVERY OF THE BONDOF A SON AND HIS FATHERPRINTED IN THE USAPublished byPark Place PublicationsPacifi c Grove, Californiawww.parkplacepublications.com