“The Mayans and Immortality: What Newly-Discovered Inscriptions Tell Us About Mexican Mythology

January 4th, 2017

By K. Fresham Gratchen, Ph.D

“Archaeological excavations in the Yucatan Peninsula have unearthed a remarkable discovery: a collection of Mayan writings that provide new information on ancient Mexican mythology. Among the most fascinating revelations are insights into the Mayan concept of immortality, which appears to have been a central tenet of their religious beliefs.

“But the recently discovered texts also contain another unexpected element: strange inscriptions of a previously unknown species of fern. These drawings, which are unlike anything previously seen in Mayan art, have puzzled researchers and sparked intense speculation about their meaning and significance.

“According to the texts, the Mayans believed that the soul was immortal and could travel to different planes of existence after death. They also believed that certain individuals, such as rulers and priests, could achieve a kind of eternal life by undergoing a ritual transformation. However, it is the drawings of the mysterious fern that have captured the attention of many scholars.

“The fern appears in several of the newly discovered texts, often accompanied by elaborate descriptions of its properties and significance. Some of these descriptions suggest that the fern had magical or mystical properties, and that it played a crucial role in the Mayan concept of immortality. However, the exact nature of this role remains unclear.

“What is known is that the fern was held in high regard by the Mayans, and that it was often depicted in association with important religious figures and ceremonies. The drawings of the fern are highly stylized, with intricate patterns and details that suggest a deep symbolic meaning.

“While the meaning of the fern remains a mystery, the newly discovered Mayan texts offer a valuable window into the beliefs and practices of an ancient civilization. As scholars continue to study these texts and the drawings of the mysterious fern, it is likely that we will gain a deeper understanding of the Mayan worldview and the role that immortality played in their culture.”

As cool basement air floated around his shoulders, Hector stared at the screen of his dingy Windows computer. After three and a half hours of surfing the Internet, he had found this. This, and nothing else. The article’s thumbnail displayed an old archaeologist, presumably K. Fresham Gratchen, beaming next to a towering stone pillar covered with strange writing and drawings of some kind of fern.

Hector knew that fern well. It had saved his life.

So the Mayans were on to something. They were right after all. What if… I can really live forever? No. It’s impossible. Wouldn’t my cells still decay? Is there some kind of immortality-chemical contained in the fern? Does it prevent aging? Will I truly be immortal, or just live longer? Will it end up killing me? Hector’s mind wandered to the miraculous healing abilities the fern had shown. How did it- my heart had stopped- I probably wasn’t breathing! How could some plant just- fix me? The tissue would’ve been damaged beyond repair. This makes no sense. Did the Mayans really use this plant, and does it give eternal life? If so, why aren’t any ancient Mayans alive today?

He blinked to clear his head. A banging on the door upstairs catapulted him back to reality. His mind had a tendency to hurry through the world of logic and admire the scenery in the realm of fantasy.

“Open up! Open up! It’s the police! Anyone in there? It is the police, I repeat, POLICE!!!”

An icy chill slithered up Hector’s spinal cord like a hypothermic snake up a wet ladder. He stopped breathing.

The voice that he had just heard overhead was deep and raspy, like bass-boosted nails on a chalkboard. Hector didn’t recognize it- his run-ins with law enforcement had been relatively few since he moved out into the desert, and he couldn’t recall hearing such a distinct voice before.

“Pablo! Get over here.” The raspy voice fell to a dull moan. Straining his ears, Hector tried to make out any words. Suddenly a new voice spoke in a higher and supremely obnoxious pitch.

“Hmmmm… Hector… Domini? Supposedly he escaped the roundup at the Flores mansion… I don’t think he’s here. That’d be the third man today who fled the cage before we could catch ‘em.”

“Pablo! What kind of nonsense is this? He isn’t home?! By Jove, the man’s got to be in here! Intelligence said he was! Probably he’s just hiding somewhere… Come on. Let’s go in.”

Hector knew the door was locked, but that rotten hunk of wood wouldn’t last long against two policemen. He needed to get out of his house. Now. And he couldn’t let those officers see him doing it. The only problem? His house had just one door.

The door creaked and rattled as the knob jiggled. Times like this, Hector knew, called for drastic measures. His steps were muffled across the stone floor of the basement as he moved toward his AK. He painstakingly lifted it from its rack with the silence of a mouse. They’ll have a nice surprise. A nice… deadly… surprise.

And then the gun’s magazine, which Hector must have forgotten to secure correctly, plummeted to the stone floor below with a noise that was painfully in contrast with the stealth Hector so desired.

“He’s in there!” someone yelled from above.

Hector didn’t have time to think. He jammed the magazine into the gun as the front door splintered upstairs. Two pairs of feet stormed across the upper room to the staircase. Like lightning, Hector was peeking around the wall, gun raised and ready at the foot of the stairs.

At the top of the staircase, a fierce, muscular man in full police-captain garb and body armor met his eyes through the sights of a menacing triple-barreled shotgun.