Migration is not a New Thing

"It is just a matter of scale."

Once upon a time, in the lush jungles of the Maya lowlands, there lived a wise oracle named Itzamna. His eyes, deep and dark as obsidian, held the secrets of the cosmos, and his wrinkled hands traced the intricate patterns of the sacred calendar. Itzamna served the great Lord Kukulkan, ruler of the mighty city-state of Uxmal.

One sweltering day, as the sun beat down mercilessly on the limestone pyramids, Itzamna felt a chill run down his spine. He gazed at the withering maize fields and the parched earth, recognizing the ominous signs that had haunted his dreams for months. With trembling fingers, he consulted the sacred calendar, aligning the celestial cycles with the patterns of nature.

Itzamna's heart sank as the truth revealed itself. A great drought was approaching, one that would turn the verdant jungle into a barren wasteland. He knew he must warn Lord Kukulkan, for the fate of their people hung in the balance.

The oracle made his way to the grand palace, where Lord Kukulkan sat upon his jade throne adorned with feathers of the quetzal bird. Itzamna bowed low, his voice quavering as he spoke, "My Lord, I bring grave tidings. The gods have shown me a vision of great peril. A drought unlike any we have seen before approaches. If we do not act, our people will perish, and our great city will crumble to dust."

Lord Kukulkan's eyes narrowed, his voice sharp as a flint blade. "What would you have us do, wise one? How can we avert this calamity?"

Itzamna took a deep breath, knowing his next words would change the course of their civilization. "We must abandon Uxmal, my Lord. We must journey 500 miles to the south, where a great lake awaits us. There, we can build a new capital, safe from the drought's reach."

The throne room fell silent, the weight of Itzamna's words hanging heavy in the air. Lord Kukulkan stroked his chin, his mind racing with the implications of such a monumental undertaking. After what seemed an eternity, he spoke, "Very well, Itzamna. If this is the will of the gods, then we shall obey. Prepare our people for the journey."

And so, the great migration began. For months, the people of Uxmal traveled through dense jungles and across treacherous mountains. Many perished along the way, their bodies returned to the earth they had once called home. But Lord Kukulkan never wavered, driven by Itzamna's prophecy and the hope of salvation.

At last, they reached the shores of a vast lake, its waters shimmering like polished jade in the sunlight. In the center of the lake stood an island, as if placed there by the gods themselves. Lord Kukulkan declared this would be the site of their new capital, a city that would stand for a thousand years.

The people set to work with renewed vigor, building towering pyramids and intricate canals. They named their new home Nojpetén, "The Great Island," and it flourished beyond their wildest dreams. The lake provided abundant fish, and the surrounding forests teemed with game. Lord Kukulkan's wisdom in heeding Itzamna's warning was celebrated throughout the land.

Years passed, and Nojpetén grew into a magnificent city-state, rivaling even the greatest Mayan capitals of old. Itzamna, now ancient and revered, spent his days in quiet contemplation, satisfied that he had saved his people from certain doom.

But as the oracle neared the end of his long life, a troubling vision came to him in the dead of night. He saw the waters of the great lake receding, leaving Nojpetén stranded on a barren plain. The vision filled him with dread, for he knew that without the lake, their paradise would become a prison.

Itzamna rushed to warn Lord Kukulkan's successor, but his aged legs betrayed him. He stumbled and fell from the top of the great pyramid, his frail body broken on the stone steps below. As he lay dying, Itzamna realized with bitter irony that in saving his people from one calamity, he had unknowingly led them to another.

The oracle's last words were lost to the wind, carrying with them the unheeded warning of Nojpetén's ultimate fate. And so, the great city continued to thrive, its inhabitants blissfully unaware of the doom that awaited them.

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Generations passed, and the prophecy came to pass. Slowly, imperceptibly at first, the waters of the lake began to recede. The people of Nojpetén, accustomed to abundance, failed to notice the gradual change. By the time they realized the gravity of their situation, it was too late.

The once-mighty lake shrank to a mere pond, and then to nothing more than a muddy puddle. The fish that had sustained them for so long vanished, and the surrounding forests withered in the relentless heat. Nojpetén, once an island paradise, became a fortress of desperation.

As hunger and thirst gripped the city, the people turned to their rulers for salvation. But there was none to be found. The descendants of Lord Kukulkan, grown soft and complacent in their island utopia, had forgotten the wisdom of their ancestors. They had no answer to the crisis that engulfed them.

In their desperation, the people of Nojpetén began to whisper of the legend of Itzamna, the oracle who had led them to this place. Some claimed that his spirit still watched over them, waiting for the right moment to reveal the path to salvation.

A young priestess named Ixchel, inspired by these tales, began to study the ancient calendars and star charts left behind by Itzamna. As she delved deeper into the old wisdom, she discovered a terrible truth: the drought that had driven them from their original home had been part of a greater cycle, one that would eventually bring devastation to their new home as well.

Ixchel realized that the only hope for their people lay not in finding a permanent home, but in embracing a life of constant movement, following the rhythms of nature and the wisdom of the stars. With this knowledge, she rallied the people of Nojpetén, urging them to abandon their city once more and embark on a new journey.

And so, in a twist of fate that echoed their ancestors' great migration, the people of Nojpetén left their island home behind. They became nomads, moving from place to place, always one step ahead of drought and famine. They carried with them the wisdom of Itzamna and the courage of their forebears, determined to survive no matter the cost.

In time, the descendants of Nojpetén became known as the "Children of the Stars," a mysterious people who appeared and disappeared like mist, leaving behind only whispered legends of their great cities and the oracle who had both saved and doomed them. And though they never again built a city to rival Uxmal or Nojpetén, they found a different kind of greatness in their harmony with the ever-changing world around them.

Thus, the legacy of Itzamna lived on, not in stone and mortar, but in the resilient spirit of a people who had learned to read the signs of nature and adapt to its cruel whims. And in this way, they achieved a form of immortality that no fixed city, no matter how grand, could ever match.

 

NEXT WEEK, I will explore this AI-generated children’s tale in greater detail, relate it to the actual story of the ancient Maya and their historical migrations in Mesoamerica due to climate change, and draw some lessons for the years just ahead.

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當人類被關在籠内，地球持續美好，所以，給我們的教訓是:
人類毫不重要，空氣，土壤，天空和流水没有你們依然美好。
所以當你們走出籠子的時候，請記得你們是地球的客人，不是主人。

When humans are locked in a cage, the earth continues to be beautiful. Therefore, the lesson for us is: Human beings are not important. The air, soil, sky and water are still beautiful without you. So, when you step out of the cage, please remember that you are guests of the Earth, not its hosts.

We have a complete solution. We can restore whales to the ocean and bison to the plains. We can recover all the great old-growth forests. We possess the knowledge and tools to rebuild savannah and wetland ecosystems. It is not too late. All of these great works are recoverable. We can have a human population sized to harmonize, not destabilize. We can have an atmosphere that heats and cools just the right amount, is easy on our lungs and sweet to our nostrils with the scent of ten thousand flowers. All of that beckons. All of that is within reach.

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