Modern Day Mythology

By Jessica Ysasi-Tagle

Science, archeology, and Mexican folklore come to life in this modern day tale of how stories are powerful and prophetic.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Aug 1, 2020
• ISBN: 9781716687662

Book preview

Modern Day Mythology

By Jessica M. Ysasi-Tagle

Modern Day Mythology

By Jessica M. Ysasi-Tagle

For my  entire family who  inspires me, especially for my father who told me his

stories.

Disclaimer:

CAUTION: Never Publish For Any Reason

Do not make public under any circumstance!

If this book ever gets leaked into the public, all who have read it  are

advised to seek professional help.

The writer and all affiliated with this book relinquish all responsibility for

any thoughts provoked or feelings created by reading this book.

Thoughts that could occur after reading this book include: questioning your

existence, challenging your established beliefs, changing your mind, quitting your

job, or moving away from known society.

Sometimes the most precious gifts are wrapped in the most unsuspecting packages.

A large portrait of a man with pale skin and green eyes hung uncontested in the center of a small, sparsely furnished dining room. On the wall adjacent to it was a long wooden scroll with a prayer written in cursive print. The space between the prayer and the portrait was bare except for a small wooden cross that hung a couple feet from the portrait on the same wall. Two large plastic empty lard buckets served as extra seating for guests at the table. She was trained in a time we worshiped a white Jesus, but she knew more than the surface required. She knew that while everyone seemed to know how Jesus looked, not everyone knew his heart the way she did. She stood only 4 foot eleven inches tall, but was the fiercest spiritual warrior ever lived on this Earth. God does these kinds of things to throw you off.

What makes a warrior if not physical strength and agility? A life forged in the fires of hell and then cooled the Sea of Galilee proves to be mighty and agile against all opposition. This small difference made the warrior spirit, or maybe it was just the neighborhood.

The small town looked quiet and friendly enough. During the languid afternoon the trash trucks were the only sound that could be heard besides the loud calls from the chachalacas. Sometimes the sound of a screen door slamming would have the neighbors looking around in concern. But nothing was ever wrong. The whole place was the picture of boredom. I thought I was the most exciting thing that ever happened in Raymondville. I would soon learn that I was mistaken.

Behind the squeaky screen doors of every small wood frame home was a history of  secrets, some more dangerous than others.  Opening your screen door could let in the biggest flies you’ve ever seen, hybrid stray cats, or strange friends who wanted no more than to gossip a bit. With so much interesting things that go on in a small town there is much to be lost by refusing a friend a cup of coffee.  It is this cup of coffee that makes time for the stories. Yes, and so there they are...all of them...the ones about the lady who makes store bought tamales and sells them for profit...the ones about the lady who went crazy when she caught her husband with another woman...or the story about the man who gets frequent visits from young girls. Each story tells a deeper story of struggle, one that often goes unseen.

But in the absence of struggle there can be no strength as there is no exercise for the soul. While the world makes haste to put out the fires of hell there lies the consequence. If there be no more fires of human struggle there too will be no exercise for the spirit and no new warriors could arise...and like a candle without air...the light would go out.

This light burns in souls of everyone...even brighter for some. She was a small reminder of the times past when the fires scorched the Earth with stealthy waves that could hardly be detected except in the presence of it's complete opposite. With her strength and with her faith she ravaged the fabric of society. How it fell in heaps around her. Now she was 68 years old and her life on Earth would soon be over. She knew the time would approach and she made plans to prepare her granddaughter for her place.

You will have to learn to read the stars in the cards.  She placed a worn deck of cards on the table.  This is the beginning for you here and for me over there. She looked up passed the ceiling of the old brown house.

Oh, how exciting! My 16 year old mind felt in it's innocent, naive understanding of the world. I stared wide-eyed at the cards and wondered.

Cut the cards. She asked in a serious tone that startled the air and stirred the dust. The young girl took the cards clumsily and dropped them twice before she was able to cut them and place them in two similar stacks side by side in the center of the table.

Now cut them again. The intensity in her eyes pierced the cards through her thick swollen eyelids. As I took the worn cards in my small clumsy grasp, the cards began  to shift subtly into the lines of my palms and settle into the creases.

There, now what? I asked with an immature impulse that marked my age. The wait was an unopened box wrapped in pretty paper.

Now the cards can tell you what the spirit says. She placed her hands on either side of the table.

Can I? My eyes fixed on the deck.

Take them. An encouraging smile warmed the stillness on her expression.

And then what? Perplexity locked my joints in stone and I could not move passed the center of the table. My arms and hands froze in mid air.

It is said that within  every poison lies an antidote.  Her voice cradled my anxieties and oiled my frozen joints. I picked up the cards.

Think of a question. I thought first of what I wanted to know more than anything. No, that is not important. Now how about the future of the world.? That’s it. Now keep it in my mind. Take the cards and move them through each other asking the question. Take the whole deck and break it into five parts. Take the top card from each stack and place it face up. Now read them.

I sweep my eyes across the spread and ask. Are they good or bad?

There are no good ones and there are no bad ones. They are all the same. Only thing that changes is how they fall. Grandma’s face showed no fear, not a bit.

What the Cards Say About The Present

The warm glow of the sun streaked through the thick air stirring up the dust and filling the room with a gentle light. Silence dominated the abandoned library until the day I moved in, a day I remember very well. A paradox, it remains one of the my most joyful and dreary days of my life. This stillness made way for the decay of the darkness and the rebirth of light.

Between the dusty black ash in the air and the