New Life In A New Year

Two enormous pyramids jut from the sun-baked land like mother earth wearing my grandmother's conical bra. An eagle shrieks overhead. By the time of the Aztec empire, this ancient city was already a deserted enigma with empty streets so precisely laid-out that even fierce Mexica warriors found it downright spooky. Thus, Teotihuacan was dubbed "birthplace of the gods."

The divine sun actually rises at this site, when viewed from the Aztec capital that became Mexico City, plus who could've left behind such astonishing stone afterbirth but the gods? A serpent hisses under a white rock. The eagle and snake on today's Mexican flag recall the feathered serpent avatar of Mesoamerican worship, which is the pictorial equivalent of "In God We Trust." The spirituality of the Americas took shape where I stand.

The heart of the ruined metro is a paved avenue from the elegant Moon Pyramid to a vast plaza. Midway is the Sun Pyramid. This jaw-dropping pinnacle rivals those of Egypt, just as Teotihuacan's population peak rivaled that of contemporary Rome. This is a cradle of humanity.

I mount the 1st step. My face is red, but my head is uncovered, since this shrine is for adoring (not avoiding) the sun. Besides, I'd rather perish here than in a windowless office cubicle anyday. Intense sweating and increased breathing feel like enhanced living to me. I may be crazy or sunstroked, but I'm having a good time, which is the point of most things in Mexico, after all.

Reach the soaring pyramid apex. I gaze out over the yellow plain to the brown hills, where Mexica, Spanish and Gringo armies all crossed in victorious conquest. Yet, time conquers all men. Across these ancient battlefields littered with sun-bleached warrior bones, one can glimpse past and future, as the divine sun passes over its temple and marks the swiftly-passing days of its admirers. Where there's a sunrise, there's life. Where's there's life, there's hope.

While the rising sun offers 365 dazzling fresh-starts a year, modern humans rarely ascend from their beds to experience (much less ascend pyramids to worship) this phenomenon. New Year's Day is special. A vague awareness of a cosmic page turning and a new day dawning crosses the least-spiritual mind, like the sun's arc making its presence felt on the cloudiest day.

On January 1st, I'll put a new pen onto blank paper, beginning my next book and sparing no effort in order to compose the best work I'm capable of. Why? Because people with heart and soul strive to ensure that the fleeting marks they leave on the sands of time are of the highest quality. May the spiritual forces portrayed with such care on the walls of Teotihuacan help those lost souls who care not whether they leave this world better or worse than they found it.

So, whatever you pick-up on New Year's Day - a pen, a sword, a paintbrush, a dustbroom, a hammer, a spatula, a virtual gadget, or a real flesh-and-blood girl - do your scribbling on the etch-a-sketch of time with as much excellence and as little regret as possible. Happy New Year!