Fallacy 2012 Excerpts

Foreword
December 31, 2012, Filicudi.

The world did not end. But it was a close call, and we are not out of the woods yet. The human race will not be destroyed, as many have augured, by extraterrestrials, falling stars, atomic wars or a series of devastating natural catastrophes—or at least, not by them alone. We are the problem. You and you and you and me. Power and greed, selfishness and hedonism have been pouring out of us for centuries, like fumes from an exhaust, quietly and inconspicuously wiping out one life form after another. In the last 60 years we have created so much havoc that the earth now stands on the brink of asphyxiation.

Could anyone have prevented this race to the bottom? If the wisdom of the ancient Maya is to be believed, this chaos is entirely natural and necessary. It is part of a process choreographed by our Creator to move human consciousness forward. This is just another manifestation of the eternal cycle of birth, life, and death. What’s the big deal? The Maya believe that, after over 16 billion years of evolution, Homo sapiens is heading for a fundamental transformation.

We are right on schedule.

CHAPTER EXCERPTS

Chapter 1/39

One hour to midnight. 2013 begins in 59 minutes, 20 seconds. Does the end of 2012 really signal the beginning of anything new?

With a glass of limoncello in one hand and a cigarette in the other, I sway back and forth in a hammock. It is attached to two whitewashed columns which support the roof of the modest but lovingly furnished veranda in front of our rooms. The small bistro and eight rooms that make up this charming guesthouse are arranged across four terraces and blend in perfectly with the contours of the hillside. It is a simple lodging, to be sure, but the inside is much bigger than it appears at first sight. The steep incline runs from a volcanic ridge all the way down to the pitch-black sea in the harbor town of Filicudi Porto. From this elevation, the bobbing boats look like toys. It is hard to imagine that the footpath through the cactus groves gets us to the beach in just 20 minutes. My gaze drifts up beyond the roof. The night sky is strewn with glimmering dots and only the moon remains hidden behind the rim of the crater. No sooner has it emerged than the inky water is transformed into a carpet of golden disks. This kind of miracle is best preserved in poetry.

It looks as if I will be seeing in the New Year on my own at midnight. Nathan is exhausted and fell into a deep sleep an hour ago. I am fine with that. I have a sweet sensation that I can savor just as well alone: tomorrow at 11 o’clock I will be boarding the boat that will take me home to my daughter, Lia, who is with her father in Zurich. Nathan plans to stay a few more days.

Our journey together began here on the island of Filicudi almost four years ago in May 2009 when Lia, who was just three-and-a-half at the time, emerged from one of the alleys behind the guesthouse holding Nathan’s hand. I had seen this stocky, pale man with the furrowed face several times and had been struck by his reserve. Something was keeping him in check. This is precisely what had piqued my curiosity and precisely why I wanted to talk to him. But somehow the opportunity had never presented itself. So I was pleasantly surprised when Lia brought Nathan to our dining table and introduced him. Perhaps I was intrigued merely because my options here were so limited? Despite the good weather, only a handful of tourists find their way to Filicudi in May—a meditation group, the odd family with pre-school-age children, and a smattering of middle-aged singles who, like me, spent most of their time grumbling about the lousy hand life had dealt them.

But Nathan was completely bound up in his books, his little laptop, the endless expanse of the sea, and his own thoughts. Everything else just seemed to pass him by.

The hammock’s easy rocking gives me a primal sense of comfort and my thoughts roam free. I can even hear my own heartbeat in this deep quiet. Remembering that afternoon nearly four years ago makes me smile. Lia was leading Nathan by the hand, pulling him so purposefully towards our table. He and I were both flustered.

“Excuse me, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he said in fluent English, but with an accent I could not place. His gray-blue eyes looked tired, and his gaze was simultaneously soft and penetrating.

“Mommy, can I play with Nathan?” Lia blurted out in Swiss German in a tone that was more of a command than a question. She had put her little hands on her hips. This was a stance copied from her father and deployed only when she wanted something very badly. It was her way of threatening war. Nathan had a distinctly awkward look on his face.

“Sure,” I heard myself say spontaneously. In the same breath I felt guilt hit me and my gut contract. Was I putting my daughter at risk just to appease my own curiosity? Nathan’s soft, apologetic smile eased my maternal anxiety. He seemed to understand what we were saying, even though I was sure he did not speak a word of Swiss German.

“Lia, I have something to take care of first, but after that, all three of us can walk down to the harbor and eat ice cream, if mommy agrees.” Nathan looked at me equivocally. I would not say he was a ladies’ man, but he was interesting and sensitive—and intelligent to boot. I nodded and smiled benignly. Lia somehow understood us despite the language barrier and jumped into my arms for a big hug. She and I both knew we had narrowly avoided another mother-daughter blowup and were both equally relieved. This is how our story began, three years and seven months ago, on an early summer’s day in Filicudi.

* * *

Chapter 3/39

“Can I make it any clearer? Why the hell are people refusing to see the truth about the end of the world?”

Nathan sits at a small table on the main street in Milazzo harbor, his luggage stowed safely at his side. He has managed to get a seat.

The May sun warms his big back and beads of sweat glisten on his forehead. He wipes them away with his sleeve. As he waits for the boat, Nathan’s thoughts jump from one century to the next. He thinks back to Galileo and Columbus—both had, in their own way, pushed back the frontiers of knowledge, presented entirely new paradigms. The anger that had been welling up inside him begins to dissipate.

He reaches for his cell phone and dials the number of the conference organizer in Berlin.
“Have you heard about Hollywood’s 2012 movie, Nathan? That’s sure to generate a lot of public interest.”

“I know, Rob, these guys are so profit-hungry. They have no idea how much damage they are doing with their cataclysmic thriller.”

“Profit comes before ethics and morality. People ride roughshod over nature and humanity. A handful of industries have been scouring the Amazon for decades, knowing full well that deforestation is wrecking the ecological balance of the region, perhaps the entire world. It’s the same kind of arrogance that is driving all this scaremongering about an apocalypse.”

“Who knows what will happen? People are disillusioned. They’re becoming short-sighted and fatalistic. Many are already taking precautions, hoping to avert the worst. Pandemics, natural catastrophes, terrorism, paranormal phenomena—they are all fueling these fears worldwide.”

“Did you know that almost ten million Americans have already bought space in a bunker that’s commercially linked to the 2012 movie? Is this some kind of perverse joke?”

“What sickens me is that these big filmmakers claim they’re basing their movie on Mayan prophecies. This is a grave mistake.”

Nathan squints at his watch, then at his ticket: May 27, 2009, departure 1.15 p.m. He discusses a few other key points with Rob before hanging up. He has no desire to get drawn into this debate right now, even though he has known Rob for over five years and the two of them work well together.

Nathan concentrates on his text again. There is just enough time for him to polish off the last two or three pages, but he does not want to miss the boat under any circumstances.

The oldest Mayan writings, which foretell the collapse of their own and several other powerful cultures, date back to around 1000 B.C. However, nowhere do they predict the end of the world in 2012. On the contrary, the Council of Mayan Elders, which is still active today, has vehemently denied any such interpretation. Don Alejandro, the Council’s spokesman, has publicly and unequivocally stated that “December 21, 2012 is pure invention.”

Official voices within the Maya community have refrained from announcing a fixed date. But, according to my research and calculations, October 28, 2011 is the end date of the calendar and all its spirits. Above all, it is important to understand that this date does not signal the end of the world but, at most, the end of an era in which materialism and individualism have held sway.

Nathan types the text into his laptop and smoothes a few rough edges. He always ends up saying things more passionately the second time around.

We are not talking about a switch being flipped, we are talking about a gradual shift in the way we feel, think, and act. This shift will be favored by the Universal Underworld in the years 2011 and 2012 and this process is already starting to take shape. The fundamental change of direction will emerge very gradually and will take root over the course of several decades or centuries.

“Why don’t people understand this? The wheel is turning so fast, there’s no time to lose. We’ll bring the world to an end all on our own,” he mumbles to himself as he continues editing.

The Book of Genesis also talks about a great transformation. However, unlike Christian theology, the Maya genuinely have no idea what will happen after this, that, or any other magic date because their calendar gives them no concrete information after the end date. All they predict is that polarization will give way to unity, a dialectic process; thesis and antithesis will give way to synthesis. But what will this new world look like? How will it work? How quickly will it evolve? The Maya have no answers to these questions.

* * *

Chapter 12/39

Zurich, late June, 2009. It is 86 degrees Fahrenheit. Kathi, my best friend, is waving at us through the thick glass partition separating baggage claim and the arrivals hall at Terminal 2. She seems very excited. We spoke on the phone yesterday, and I know that, over and above the usual stresses in her life, her mother is still in hospital and the wedding ring has not been found. All of this is weighing on her. I hope I can make her feel better. Despite talking regularly and telling each other pretty much everything, my attempt on Vincenzo’s life drove a small but jagged wedge between us. Hardly surprising, if you think about it. Restoring my integrity in her eyes, and in the eyes of everyone else who knows, will not be easy.

“Sophia, this is just too much for me. You know, I have my own things to worry about, too. In the last four years, your life has been one long drama. You’ve had no time for my problems.” Kathi uttered those words the day after the last day of my trial, over coffee. I had no idea how to respond and was deeply hurt. Fornow, all that matters is that she is here to pick us up at Zurich airport. I trust her more than anyone else. There she stands, graceful and elegant. The same slim, fair-skinned face; the same delicate skin, cat’s eyes, and thin, pale-pink lips. She means a lot to me and I am happy to see her.

On the way home, Kathi has to make an urgent phone call. One of her projects is unraveling. She keeps her composure, obviously in damage-control mode. The conversation sounds as if it could drag on. Lia sits in her child seat, looking out at the scenery. It will take some time to re-acclimatize to the hectic pace of life here. She stares in silence. Our mother-daughter time on Filicudi has done us good and given us some much-needed distance, both geographical and temporal, to come to terms with the recent past. I sink back into my seat and reflect on my unusual meeting with an unusual man under unusual circumstances. After our intense conversation that night, I only saw Nathan again twice, briefly. We exchanged platitudes about how beautiful the island was, and talked about the lives of the locals. We both avoided referring back to our long conversation and both, probably for very different reasons, kept our cards close to our chests. Then he left to attend his conference in Berlin and I breathed a sigh of relief. I looked forward to reading his book at my own pace. Lia had brought it to me one day after running into Nathan in the bakery on her way back from the beach with Saida.

To Sophia, the lady with seven faces. See you, Nathan was his dedication, in gentle, wavy black handwriting.

See you? Whatever gave him that idea? I would never dream of dating anyone living in Australia. Not to mention that I have had it up to here with unusual men.

A few days later, having finished the book, I looked at those two lines on the inside cover again. His arguments had completely won me over. I was fascinated and moved. I was still slightly uneasy about the weighty subject matter, but any fear had shifted from being about Nathan as a person to the topic of his research. In his book, he explains in detail how evolution takes place according to a specific rhythm and in specific units of time. Key developmental phases in the evolution of flora and fauna, human beings, civilizations, technology, economics, and politics can be mapped onto an intricate and complex timeline.

This timeline is Nathan’s life’s work. It is a logical and precise summary of the theories that the Maya have been advocating for over three thousand years, and gives their prophecies a whole new meaning. They can no longer be dismissed as shamanism, voodoo, or the frenzied rhetoric of marginal sects. No longer the far-out realm of clairvoyants, Nathan’s research has made the Mayan prophecies accessible to the average Westerner whose universe is constructed almost entirely around reason and logic.

* * *

Chapter 13/39

The city lights reflect off the dark surface of Lake Zurich just as the moon had shimmered on the eddying swell at Filicudi Porto. Both have their own distinct charm, and a certain romance. At the end of a hot July day, Nathan and I are sitting in a lakeside restaurant eating battered whitefish and enjoying a glass of wine. It is humid and Nathan is sweating. His shirt is clinging to his back.

“Life is not just a random string of evolutionary episodes,” he says forcefully. He lifts his glass and lets me digest this stark sentence. Why does he shoot straight for where it hurts most? Intuition? Is he doing this on purpose?

“I understand your fear, Sophia,” he continues, “but that won’t get you anywhere. You are a woman of our time. Trust yourself and trust in the life you are living. Your most important task is to look after your daughter, but you also have untapped potential. You’ll get to know new people, they’ll get to know you, and you’ll give them strength, hope, and clarity.”

“Are you a medium or something?” I ask, flustered

“I just watch what’s going on around me. I’m a good observer,” he replies.

“Nathan, I don’t want to become one of your followers. I’m not into that kind of thing.”

“I know. I expect nothing. You don’t even have to look at the Mayan Calendar if you don’t want to. Your own, inner strength will show you the way.”

Gulp. Quite unexpectedly, Nathan stands up and excuses himself for a few minutes. Inner strength? I have plenty of that. I am capable of virtually anything, including pulling the trigger on my husband. Since that time I have become more and more convinced that some external force guided me through those darkest moments of my life—the birth, the depression, the split second before I fired that second shot, custody, and the final court hearing. I used to wallow in my sham autonomy. It made me feel secure and empty at the same time. Suddenly, when my life went off the rails, I was a nobody, dependent and helpless. Today I know that charity begins at home and there is indeed a higher power that we can all draw on if we so choose. Father Rodolfo—a pastor whom the Police Commissioner had ordered to come into my cell—had comforted me during my time in Bellinzona. We spent hours debating the existence of God.

Meeting Nathan and finding out about his Mayan Calendar theory has put everything into a broader context. It all makes more sense to me now.

Nathan looks exhausted as he walks back slowly to our table. 

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