Quetzalcoatl

Many a pagan faith believes that we donae choose our Earth Spirits. They choose us. When I allow myself to dance with those theories, Quetzalcoatl is one of the more enigmatic characters of the ghost pack. I first met Quetzalcoatl somewhere in the 60's during a history lesson on the conquest of Mexico. In that history lesson, Quetzalcoatl was a very brief yaddah about how that Mayan legend inspired the discontented locals to use the Cortez Army against their long-time enemies, the Aztecs. For me, Quetzalcoatl morphed into an independant study. I was enchanted.

Fast forward a few decades and Quetzalcoatl wasnae forgotten, but she was seldom thought of in the busy busies of middle aged chaos. During the years I probably would have divorced Hubby if I could stomach lawyer talk, there was a deeply troubled night on the shores of human-made lake that is now occupied by the world's most indebted fashion enthusiasts rattling around in highly pretentious cages. I cried the last time I visited that lake shore. Legally, it is now a public park, but you will be watched by the HOA guard. Designer shoes required. All natural and organic, of course.

YS was about 8 years old on the night which has been haunting me since his death. He was clinging like a child whose parents were STBX waltzing and when he saw my flight instincts escalating, he was frequently waiting for me at the car when the wander needs became unbearable. I amnae certain, but I believe this night might have been somewhere in the midst of a multiple day wandering. On this particular night, we were with one of my therapy supporters as he drifted off to sleep, sandwhiched between my brother-in-healing and myself. I donae believe I slept that night, but I at least came close as I listened to the gentle breathing of my companions, watching the predawn flight of the sirrus clouds which characterize the hill country dawn. While I drifted, I was jolted by a bolt of ? ? ? and a not so typical shape in the sirrus march which hit my hyper-vigilant senses as Quetzalcoatl. "Take good care of him," a voice crooned. "I'll be back for him."

The phrophecy of Quetzalcoatl didnae fulfill with the march of the yellow bird (Cortez was a blonde). The rest of the prophecy was that Quetzalcoatl would return to reunite the two continents which are her wings. North and South America.

I have resisted the urge to wonder, but. . . How's the air on Quetzalcoatl back, beloved son?