Tag Archives: 2012


More Four’s documentary on the Mayans and this year’s supposed apocalypse, in december, with the end of the thirteenth baktun from their “Long Count” calendar was rather good. In our age of super anxiety, all of it’s ideas are reflected in the thriller The GodHead Game. Though to help a sigh of relief, it is set in 2014. The documentary’s most fascinating moment was wandering around the excavations of the city El Mirador, from one of the world’s five founding civilisation, now folded back into the rainsforests. Highlighting how all civilisations have risen and fallen too, so we might start to wake up to something.

It mentioned religious and milarianist hysteria, which is as old as the hills. Also Europeans creating an industry, spawning thousands of books and websites. Well, it might be nice to see 62 Million copies of The Godhead Game sold, like the space-man Mayan “theorist” Erik Von Daniken. But, if meant to be enjoyable, a good narrative read, the thriller’s themes are more serious.

Perhaps it’s time we stopped talking about religion, or more importantly spirituality, as just wrong, but a very different kind of language to science. One contained in the emotional and indeed moral nature of man, as Jung believed human consciousness has an essential “religious” element, where science has no essential moral, but is obviously a vital way of deconstructing, understanding and redefining. For a copy of The Godhead Game, to read before December’s end, in your nuclear bunker, for several years just after, or just at home on the sofa, CLICK HERE

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Mayan Calendar, According To Poll One In 10 People Believe That The End Of The Mayan Calendar Points To Doomsday – it is a Friday 13th headline in the Latina section of The Huff Post, Click here, but perhaps folk might also read the article on the front page of The Weissman Report in New York, Welcome to The Mayan End of Everything, Click here, by The Godhead Game author David Clement-Davies. All the theories are also inside that other read, the thriller itself. If there’s time, that is!

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Well, you will get the facts around The Mayan Calendar and end of world prophecies in the thriller, The Godhead Game, which to reassure sceptical readers is set in 2014, but there are a great many websites catering to interest and more importantly wider themes around the subject. Try this one

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With an irresistible sports fest in the UK and Wimbledon and lovely summer weather in full swing, Phoenix Ark Press are also making the part sporting thriller and Mayan apocalypse story The Godhead Game available for download this Sunday, July 1st. Exclusively available at Amazon.com or Click here Enjoy.

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There is a great deal written about it on the internet, including sites dedicated to the so called Mayan prophecy and the end of the world.  That has been calculated as 21st December 2012, so just six months to go, although another caulcuation would place it on the 23rd.  The Winter Solstice was of course a hugely significant time, not only to the Mayans.   It stems from a reading of the Mayan Long Count Calendar and a stele in Honduras, the ‘6th Monument’.  That relates to the end of the 13th Baktun, Baktun’s being extended lengths of time, where one scholar has interpreted the incomplete inscription as reading Then it shall happen, the darkness.  There are also references to the Mayan Monkey God Bolon Yokte Ku. 

David Clement-Davies does not pretend to be a Mayan scholar, but his new thriller The Godhead Game incorporates many of the real theories about this year and the end of the Long Count, to discuss contemporary beliefs and fears, in our increasing Age of Anxiety.  Another theory is that it does not represent any kind of catastrophe at all, but the beginning of a new age of Man and even a new spiritual age. Perhaps that is what the story is really about, Mankind waking up to one another again and nature all around us, good and bad.

He started the book some time ago, researching at the British Museum,  and was especially interested in real totemic Crystal Skulls, that exist in various museums around the world, and in private collector’s hands.  Some may be Aztec, Mayan and Toltec.  But then the Spielburg film Indiana Jones and the Crystal Skulls came out and the project was shelved, until now.  A huge fan of the Indiana Jones stories, he found the use of the skulls less than satisfying.  So this is his take, crafting an adventure that incorporates both a physical contest and a strange mind game, with the search for a skull that could destroy the universe itself!  Full of philisophical ideas, it posits the existence of  a mysterious and deadly Council, and a group called the Imaginati.  So the Games begin –  A Game of Secrets, A Hunt for Skulls, A Battle of Spies.  “Read it, perphaps before it’s too late to read anything at all,” he jokes, with a grin like a Crystal Skull.

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Also available on Utube at http://youtu.be/Z62x9mzO5NA

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FACT: December 21, 2012 sees the end of the Mayan Long Count Calendar and the Tortuguero Stele exists pointing, thirteen hundred years ago, to some great contempoary happening.

FACT: There is a real legend around 13 Crystal Skulls, used in the film Indiana Jones and The Kingdom of The Crystal Skulls. You can see examples in the British Museum, The Smithsonian, in Mexico City and Paris.

FACT: Details about the Skulls, the Dresden Codex, Archbishop Landa and the British explorer Frederick Mitchell Hedges are all true, including the libel case Mitchell Hedges fought with the Daily Express and lost.

FACT: Scientists do talk of a Polar Flip in the Rotation of the Earth’s axis and crystal fields at the centre of the Earth. Crystal is Silicone Dioxide, also common sand. Nicholas Boyle has predicted a World Crisis in 2014. Many around the World point to the significance of 2012, or seek different kinds of Spiritual freedom, meaning and expression. Perhaps there should be a realignment of human language.

FACT: The game of Ulama was perfectly real, as is the Skull chapel at Evora. Many of the strange events referred to in this story by the characters are true.

FACT: Tim Berners Lee is not a member of the Twelve and all references to real individuals, including additions to Eugen Boban’s story, has been used in a fictional context!

The rest is fiction. In almost every case the original Spanish and Portuguese used has a translation.


David Clement-Davies

PROLOGUE – June 10th, 2014, London
In London’s British Museum it was midday as an English guide and small group of eager tourists gathered around a little white plinth, in something called the Wellcome Trust Gallery. On top, a strange semi-transparent skull sat motionless inside its little perspex case, lit eerily by the museum lights – indeed almost seemed to be floating inside it.
“Crystal Skulls,” whispered a Turkish woman excitedly, to the guide, “They’ve been linked to the end of the Mayan Calendar, back in 2012? Is there not legend when thirteen sacred Skulls are brought back with each other, they will tell a great secret about the origin and true destiny of Mankind? ”
“Like that Spielberg movie?” said another tourist, “Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skulls?”
“Ah yes,” sighed the guide, rather tolerantly, “But no one knows just what secret, Madam. A lot is claimed for the power of the Skulls, and their links to 2012.”
The guide suddenly sensed someone was watching from across the Gallery and felt strangely nervous. She had seen him in the great museum before, hovering around the strange head, like a thief.
“But all we know about 2012 is the great Mayan Long Count, that started in 3114 BC, certainly ended then – dawn, December 21st, 2012, after five thousand years. Some believers really expected the End of the World,” added the guide, with a cheerful smile, “Although we still seem to be here. Always the way, I fear.”
At that very moment, in a museum in Washington, just before Monday opening, a crowbar smashed through a glass case and a pair of gloved hands reached in to snatch away a similar Skull, as the disconnected alarm bells failed to sound.

Brazil, 2014, World Cup Match

The US soccer star Mark Fabian stooped to place the shining white leather ball, then targeted the waiting goal mouth. If the striker could score now, the roar in a stadium would blast back like an H-bomb, but without the Mushroom Cloud, or the awkward dead bodies.
A touch down or a home-run, a basket or a goal – is there any feeling on Earth like it? A wall of approving sound energy, forty feet high, rolling towards you in a glorious vibration – a great Mexican Wave.
It was just what Mark Fabian needed too, with a yellow card threatening to flash red, and wreck the famous striker’s badly embattled career. Across the goal mouth in front of the pacing goalie the Jamaican mid-fielder who had just fouled handsome Mark Fabian was helping to form the defensive human wall, as the American had the urge to aim the kick straight at Jones’ head, or his wedding tackle.
The LA Galaxy star, representing the USA now, centred himself instead, breathed deep and in the stands, just near the entrance to the World Cup changing rooms, a pair of heavily tanned thugs looked on and waited.
“Go on, Fabian, bend it, bend it like…”

On the 5th floor of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, Washington DC, Daniel Fabian’s head was hammering like an industrial road drill, as he gazed back at his own brother on the plasma TV screen, from the door of the noisy systems room, 935 Pennsylvania Avenue.
The savage heat across Washington was nailing the steamy air to the melting tarmac outside, strung out like a singing copper wire, between the Lincoln Moument and the Whitehouse, where Barak Obama was getting into his stride in his second Presidential term, but now looking forward to a weekend of Golf at Camp David. In the great US political capital it felt like a storm was coming.
Dan Fabian had just arrived and wondered how his famous bro was doing in the World Cup match in Brazil. Inside the systems room a small group of colleagues were taking a welcome break to watch the TVs, that relayed news to the FBI, 24/7, on this floor, from across America and around the Globe too – Fox, CNN, NBC, BBC, Canal Plus, AL Jazeera. Below the famous Department of Justice insignia, with its red and white badge, and its great motto – Fidelity, Bravery, Integrity – silent world news scenes showed more violence in Afghanistan, Syria, Egypt and Libya.
Although here most gave States side news, effectively Federal news, and thus ordinary Federal crimes and disasters. Except the middle screen, now showing the World Cup thriller in Brazil, the USA versus Jamaica, courtesy of a nod from the boss, in the heatwave. They weren’t FBI field agents on this floor, but Human Resources, admin, systems and IT specialists, like Daniel Fabian. Most were in civilian clothes too: jeans, sneekers, or All Stars.
“Hey, your bro’s up, buddy,” said a guy called Bob Breckan, noticing Danny standing there, “Direct free kick, I think. Dumb ass game though, soccer. No one gets the rules.”
Daniel smiled limply. Didn’t they say you can’t understand America, he thought, its eagerness to let you step up to the plate and swing the bat, strictly for the team, unless you understand Baseball? When you reach the base, you are in the Safe Zone again, but otherwise you are out there on your own.
Dan was feeling like hell, as the FBI employee fiddled with the game Ap in his hands: Angry BirdsIII. He saw the flash of Mark’s blonde locks on the screen, dyed for the match, and thought how, since their final vicious bust up, the Fabian twins had done everything they could to differentiate themselves.
On the screen another US player was running onto the quilted green pitch, soaking up the digitalised love. A substitution had delayed the free kick, if Dan and his colleagues had understood the language, or rules, but in the glare of the camera, Mark Fabian took aim again, as the American tried to clear his mind. The mantra of sportsmen is see the thing as it happens, or find the Zone.
“Prefer Ice Hockey, Bob,” muttered Dan in Washington, thinking of the current Stanley Cup Finals, as he turned away, and beyond the screen Daniel’s twin struck hard, lifting the curving football perfectly around the human wall.
A roar erupted in the stadium, and the FBI room, from the guys at least, “Wer—ooooah”, a growl of sympathetic scrotal energy, just to prove this was far more important than a mere game. Out of the corner of his eye though, Dan Fabian saw two field agents come sweeping down the corridor.
“Hey, agent Koernig,” he cried, running to catch them up, “Koernig, look, I know you’ll be interested in my special report …”
“I don’t read novels, Fabian,” snapped Koernig, “Get out of my face. And you know what they’re calling you round here? Indianna Jonah, or the Washington Walter Mitty. Take your pick. Hey, are you guys all on damned vacation?”
“Yeah, nice shirt,” said the second agent sacrcastically,“from what I hear though you’d better keep your head down, Danny, with the Bureau shake up. Morrington’s moving the bases, even in systems.”
“The World Cup,” explained Dan, with a shrug, “and it’s Friday”.
In their ties and pressed if damp shirts, the Special Agents grinned patronisingly and pushed straight passed the mere IT man, to the lifts, as Danny Fabian turned towards the drinking machine, to ease his hangover and burning throat. He wondered what pieces they were carrying and felt jealous.
“So Scobey’s suspended,” said Koernig, looking rather furtive, as the two suites waited for the lift, “Internal Affairs are nosing around again, with the shake up. He’ll carry the can, for beating the crap out of those Florida dealers.”
Mark’s twin cocked his ears, as the roars coming from the TV down the corridor, blended into a great, familiar murmur: The mob. The crowd. The World.
“He should jump before he’s pushed. Where we headed anyhow, Koernig?”
“The Smithsonian,” answered Koernig wearily.
“A night in the museum?” the other joked.
“That frigging Skull theft, Monday. Now there’s talk of Higher Powers, so guess it’s up to us to make the weather.”
Across the screen in the systems room, the white leather football sailed true, but hit the post and bounced back out of the penalty box, to the US forward Caleb Andazio, who trapped it and was trying to turn, for a second strike. The Jamaican Raol Jones ratted in again and slipped the ball away from the American forward, racing back towards the opposing goal mouth, straight into wide open space.
Mark Fabian came hurtling towards him though, at a diagonal, wanting to inflict maximum damage now. His outstretched boot struck Jones hard in the upper thigh, his studs puncturing the skin, as sheer momentum carried him on. The wayward footballer heard a scream and the whistle screech, as he sensed the referee’s hand go to his top pocket. “No, God damn it, no.”
Just then, in Washington, as the system’s man turned towards his office, Mark’s twin collided hard with another Bureau man, coming down the corridor, Special Agent Butcher. It knocked his hand back, crushing the Angry Birds game and the iced water cone against his chest.
It soaked both of them and Butcher, gunning for Section Head in the shake up, dropped the file he was carrying. He swore and shook out his shirt, as Dan bent down to pick up the file, seeing it was marked Classified. It was open and headed Missing Athletes, Potential Kidnap Cases, Europe and USA.
On the World Cup soccer pitch in Brazil Daniel’s twin, who like Danny looked a bit like the actor Russell Crowe, was cussing, protesting furiously, as he picked himself up, but it was already too late. The world can change, in a split second. The card was out of its sheath and like a Samurai’s sword, once drawn, it had to be used on the erring striker. To draw blood. “Jesus Christ”.
The human sound vibration of expected love had turned to a furious hiss, as Jones played up the agony, screaming and bellowing for the cameras, milking the sympathy. Mark strained against the decision, as the hissing grew in the crowd, then tore off his strip and stamped it in the grass, in full view of the catcalling World Cup crowd.
His bare muscles flexed at them like iron bars, and across his chest was a huge tattoo of a panther. The LA Galaxy Star, though representing his country now, had had it done in prison. The American lifted a clenched fist, then let his middle finger uncurl.
“Missing Athletes?” Dan Fabian whispered in surprise, seeing Carl Whitfield, Detroit, and thinking he recognised the name of a famous American Football player. He wondered with a smile if someone would be kind enough to kidnap his damn twin, live on TV.
No such luck, Dan realised, not when protected by all those eyes, and all that glorious adoration. Mark’s life, a no-bained footballer, was one of dough, celebrity and adoring babes, and he was in the safest place on Earth too.
“Hey, give me that,” snapped Butcher, snatching the Classified report. “Jesus, Fabian, get your dick out of your hand. Folk here have real jobs to do.”
On the pitch the hissing got worse, as Mark spat on the grass and strode passed his own bench, his team, ignoring them all, on up the gangway. The blonde American striker was sick of the beautiful game. He was sick of the world in fact. As Mark did so, outside in the stands the two heavily tanned thugs slipped around the railing, straight after him.
His twin brother frowned back at Agent Butcher, on Pensylvania Avenue, dickhead he thought, as Butcher noticed the Angry Birds game, which had started beeping, and Dan fumbled to turn it off.
“Systems!” Butcher snorted, “Can’t you take anything fucking seriously, Fabian? You’re your own worst enemy. Three months our team spent tracking a supposed Mexican Drugs Cartel, on your brilliant leads, and what do they turn out to be? Just what they said. A Cancer fund-raiser on God damn Facebook. Indianna Jonah they’re calling…”
“Hey, Butcher, there was every chance…”
“The point’s there shouldn’t have been any damned special reports, not to Morrington,” hissed Butcher, “You’re in systems, not a field agent. Stick to Websites, and the Fun and Games. Jesus it’s hot.”
Daniel glared back at him. Butcher was always on his damned head.
“And you applied for a transfer to Langley?” added Butcher suddenly, raising an acusing eyebrow. “Fifty US States not big enough for you, Fabian? Getting ideas above our Pay Grade? Wanna see the World?”
“A High School buddy at the Company,” said Dan, with a guilty shrug, “He thought I could do with a change of weather. Friendlier faces, maybe.”
“And they made you Agency Director, right?”
“Told me to try again in a few years,” shrugged Daniel, feeling like a punctured football.
“Where’s your damned loyalty? Your Fidelity. It’s about the team.”
In the empty US World Cup dressing rooms, Mark Fabian’s sweat drenched forehead shone with a halo of frustrated fury. “Jesus H fuck,” the footballer shouted, pounding his fist straight into his locker and buckling the metal.
Daniel’s twin tried to relax, as he thought of his humiliation in front of the World, and he had just pulled a towel and his cell phone from his dented locker, when the footballer heard a noise right behind him. He supposed it was one of the assistant coaches come to pour oil on troubled waters.
“Hey, not now, guys,” he growled, wiping his face with the towel, “Just leave me….”
The famous Striker was aware someone was right behind him and as he swung round, for a second he thought some of the opposing team had slipped into the changing rooms too. Yet the two large bone crushers glaring at him weren’t in kit, but cheap dark suites and polyester ties. He decided they must be officials sent to drag him back onto the bench for a roasting.
“Look, guys,” he growled, hurling the towel back into his locker, “I’m not coming back out. Not after that World Cup farce. I’ve reached the end of my fucking…”
“No, Senor Fabian,” said one bone breaker, in a smoothly murderous Spanish accent, as he punched the soccer star straight in his pretty face, “like all of us, Senor, you’ve reached the End of the World.”

Copyright David Clement-Davies 2012. The cover image and text are the Copyright of David Clement-Davies and Phoenix Ark Press.

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THIS YEAR, 2012, sees the end of the Mayan Long Count Calendar, prophesying some hugely significant event, seen 1300 years ago, and inscribed on the Tortuguero stele in Mexico. Millions around the World know about it, and have waited to see what it heralds. Could the Mayan Calendar, the great Baktun Cycle, have really foreseen something in the Stars, something unfolding over 5000 years, and is December 21st this year, the Winter Solstice, to witness no less than the End of the World? Other legends revolve around thirteen real Crystal Skulls too, of Mayan, Aztec and Toltec origin, in famous museums and private collectors’ hands, right around the World: The Skull of Doom, ET, Max and Micantelcuti. These things are not just myth, but fact, and though used in Indiana Jones and The Kingdom of the Crystal Skulls, their real story is yet to be told…

It is the the very close future, in a World gripped by economic unrest and mounting terror, but in Washington, Dan Fabian, FBI systems man, is getting bizarre email invitations, Webworld Tickets, to join a strange treasure hunt, to crack a God Code, and to play a Game that will change his life forever. Simultaneously, a Crystal Skull is stolen from the Smithsonian Institute, and an attempt made on a Skull in the British Museum, as his twin brother Mark is kidnapped, during a World Cup football match in Brazil, live on TV. Mark Fabian and other pampered World Sportsmen are being made to play a very different sort of Game, a Game of Life and Death, somewhere in the ancient but dwindling jungles of Central America. On to the World stage appears a strange organisation, The Imaginati, a strange, semi-financial website that challenges all the rules of Banking, and a Council with a very mysterious purpose indeed.

If the battle now is belief versus science, spirit versus materialism, from the pen of award-winning fantasy author, David Clement-Davies, comes a Mayan Da Vinci Code, a thriller with a philosophic edge, that nails the story of the Skulls and the Mayan Calendar forever. Read it, spread the word, join the hunt, even change your life forever, it may be your last chance to read anything at all!


The cover image, Godhead Game title and text are in the Copyright of David Clement-Davies and Phoenix Ark Press.

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Just to prove here we are all vaguely nuts, the next Phoenix Ark Cultural essay is on 2012 itself and the much muted Mayan ‘Prophecy’. Much as there is a delight in boyish Professor Brian Cox being so much to the fore at the moment, and all the wonders of Science too – closing your eyes a second to the horror of those Chemical cataclysms like the First World War – it was slightly irritating to hear him say on the Jonathan Ross Show the other day, who like Madonna is of course simply divine, darling, that the end of that calendar is just garbage. Not of course because it is the End of the World, although for someone, somewhere, it always is, and for another a new beginning too. But because of the general interest in it, and the idea it represents some end or change, in the dawn of a new age for Human Consciousness. The Mayans believed in cycles of being, and strange new worlds, until The Spanish and West discovered their old world, or the rival Aztecs, and got away with pretending to be Gods, in their nasty hunt for gold and Christian servitude, in its formalised understanding of it. Well, human consciousness is a very nice idea, as Ghandi said of Western Civilisation, especially new dawns of it, while we need good narrative stories. Tell it to Assad in Syria, by close accounts just the crony of a family regime who have no interest in a political solution, and whose ‘Intelligence Services’ deny the very meaning of language in their horror and stupidity. But in the horrors we have witnessed in the last decade, especially out of unreformed Islam, is there not something more enlightening to be said on the language of God, religions, or at least the Spirit, that might be more helpful than Richard Dawkins going on and on about how Religion is just a virus? Even for Rushdie to write the Satanic Verses, or Phillip Pullman to so astoundingly go to the heart of fantasy and science, but with his final communion still being in some ‘republic of heaven’ demands a certain appreciation of the language, although perhaps a rule of thumb might be when anyone overtalks Science, talk Spirit or imagination, and when they overtalk God, talk Science.

The Mayan end date for jolly old us relates to a Stella, a carved stone, that has the start of what is called one of their Long Counts on it, ending in 2012. Actually the Mayans had various calendars, that worked in complex cycles, and relate both to their astrological and religious years. They were also able to count, and therefore supposedly conceive, in terms of vast periods of time, backwards and forwards, at least their controlling Priests or Royal initiates were, which is supposedly more sophisticated and true than the Christian West’s Six Days Creation, or Archbishop Usher setting the start date of the Earth as Sunday, 23 October 4004 BC. The Mayans knew a little something then, 1200 years before the language, discovery and awareness of modern Science, a word coined in the Eighteenth century, tipped the scales into our realisation of the elements, the fossil record, dinosaurs, Darwin’s rather upsetting Natural Selection, although Evolution is an intrinsic concept in Ovid’s Metamorphoses, and seismic geological activity on Earth. That accumulated knowledge allowing us to contemplate staggering Deep Time, with understandable vulnerability at being so tiny, and now has us peering out into the furthest reaches of spacetime too. Freeing us from the crosses of Sin, guilt and ignorance, perhaps, but at times leaving us just as lost in the void, or unnconnected with one another. So of course did the Babylonians, Egyptians and Greeks know things, looking up and out, and round about. But that is one up for the Mayans, even if, in the 1066 and All That vein of history, human sacrifice is a BAD IDEA.

When you think about it is also a Christian idea, in that very troubling story that reaches back to Abraham and Isaac, in any search for any loving God the Father, and in the eucharistic practice of ‘God Swallowing’, that goes back to very primitive societies. Perhaps drinking the wine and breaking the bread in memory is a gentler way of talking about the feast of life and good fellowship, if you do not want to argue the magic of transubstantiation, but if the Mayans intuited the Gods of their Underworld from the huge underground wells and chasms of Mexico, they also seem to have intuited a bloody great asteroid that may have wiped out the Dinosaurs, and ended their particular lizardy stint on the planet. Now those Underground pools are being threatened by building rods from holiday homes, so there’s one down for Science, or its oversuccesful children.Not wanting to be arcane, but still wanting to resist the contempt some scientists launch at the spiritual and cultural history of tricky, brilliant Mankind, and its journey out of what it could not know, because you can only inhabit the language and knowledge you have – or perhaps, if you like books like The Tao of Physics, always sensed somewhere, like waking up – it is delightful to see scientists like Cox, with Darah O’brien at his side, on telly and looking up, live, at the night sky and the marvellous stars and sharing it with the rest of us. Though we seem so driven by the TV or Internet, and the eye cannot easily resist a moving object, perhaps we wouldn’t need to be instructed on it, if we stopped watching TV and looked up in the night in person instead. Good too to see Brian Cox on the very celebrity driven Royal Society Lecture attacking ‘mumbo jumbo’ in talking about how certain theories in Quantum Mechanics are overused or misquoted. His example was the likelihood of electrons suddenly jumping out of their ‘box’, though not impossible, being billions and billions to one, so in fact we are stuck with various kinds of reality, even if at certain levels matter exhibits a simultaneous wave and particle form. Yet at the same time he said to Mr Ross that ‘that everything can happen in the Universe will happen’ , obviously stressing the possible, and the number of tilts we have at Parallel Universes nowadays would please the Buddha in his supposed love of numbers, or suspicion at the ‘10,000 things’. But if it is a fundamental Law that electrons cannot occupy the same space, so any movement affects any other on ‘the other side’ of the Universe, can Scientists not speak up and say what that might mean to human action, or even thought, and whether we should look again at ideas like Koestler’s psi functions of the mind, kinds of telepathy, Jung’s notion of a connected Universal Unconscious, or some really very wacky theories indeed like, dare we say, Holistic Relativity. When Doctors rightly talk of quacks, fakes and manipulators, though who was the quack in the 17th Century, they also frown at the fully acknowledged effectiveness of sugar pills and placebos, and now seem to acknowledge the vitally important interrelation between the mind and the human immune system.

Science’s liberating power from superstition and Religion, or bizarre moralities, in showing us how the world really works is vital to what we are now, and yet, what about those who feel a kind of impoverishment at the all dominating and often extremely arrogant language of scientists, many who just learn it as a given, and could never themselves have cracked the weird counter intuitions of Relativity? It is good to be ‘rational’ but sometimes not too rational, and while we are animals as well, Coleridge believed there was no great thought without feeling. It was of course that marvellous scientist and wild haired man, Einstein, who said that “The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious. It is the source of all true art and all science. He to whom this emotion is a stranger, who can no longer pause to wonder and stand rapt in awe, is as good as dead: his eyes are closed” and on professor Cox’s part he is trying to share the wrapt awe, like a new religion. Although quotes are just that, out of context from the difficult or extraordinary labour or journey, Einstein also said that you can either see “everything as a miracle or nothing as“, because he understood the double-edged sword of language and probably the need to encompass full, even ancient meanings, not close them down, or banish.

So, being a tad brilliant, like mathematical Wittgenstein stressing language itself is a tool, and not the thing itself, Einstein knew how we are also contained within communicating, reaching languages, if we don’t grunt too much. Science is a language too though, or direction for one, sometimes easily provable, and vital in that methodology to prove and reprove, but very often guided by ‘quantum’ or visionary leaps into the unknown, that are quite as bizarre as imagining God or Gods. In Newton’s and Einstein’s cases couched in the specific language of reaching for ‘God’, like some magnificent seeing out, or seeing in. In saying “God does not play dice with the Universe“, with the confidence of some creating God, he grasped the power and ambition to know absolutes. As mathematics is a language, perhaps aspiring to the language of music, but as ‘religion’ and spirituality were or are a valid language too, if well used, especially in the long emergence of human emotional identity. As Arthur C Clarke said though “To any primitive society any advanced technology will appear as magic’, and 400 hundred years ago, and in places today, they would have burnt you for Witchcraft, for coming up with the science of now, which is exactly why Rome had to be pitched off its infallibility ledge. But on the other hand, perhaps anyone nowadays who travels in time back to that very reaching towards other, the constant push to truth or a whole, is publicly ‘burnt’ for being ridiculous. That is not to encourage David Ike believing the Royal Family are all lizards. Perhaps the very success of Harry Potter though is that bright sparks know we don’t always have to start from scratch and, like muggles, reinvent the wheel.

Yet the very history of Science has seen those absolute steadily pushed from their perches, or at least rearranged, which is not quite the same as encouraging ‘magical thinking’. First Newton’s clockwork vision of the heavens and Gravity, then in the grasping of light, relativity and spacetime, and now the suggestion that a quark may have arrived at one end of the CERN Large Hadron collider faster than the speed of light, which according to Einstein is impossible. To which, by the way, we would dearly love an invite, so we can share some glimpsable meanings with the rest of the laymen in the office, or get out of the box of our heads, where we ‘see’ things too. Meanwhile the gurus of abstract physics chatter with excitement at the muted discovery of the so-called ‘God Particle’ – the Higgs Boson Field. So what is the point, or the wave, of this article? Perhaps it is simply to remind about language, and its connecting vibration of metaphors and multiple meanings too. Perhaps to say too that without art, poetry, music, spirit, the vastly powerful tradition of mythological storytelling, even mumbo jumbo, we are not what we should be, and are reduced to particles and units that can drive us all mad. Like the scientist in William Boyd’s stunning Brazzeville Beach, having a nervous breakdown, as his lover goes off to Africa to discover the brutality of cannibalistic chimpanzees, and the corrupt need for cuddly Flagship species to bring in those popular research grants, as he tries to get his head around the Mandelbrot Set. It is a very beautiful play like Tom Stoppard’s Arcadia, which out of so much cleverness really starts to dance to the music of time, that suggests the aching mystery of how genius is always ahead of its time and can appear completely out-of-place.

But that spiritual and emotional tradition is a langauge absolutely vital to human beings, and a parallel language, that should walk boldly side-by-side the language and purpose of Science. Two super languages trying to be one, and not so much at war, perhaps. They meet, they interconnect, they fight, and hopefully they vie to illuminate, but we for one, if such a thing is possible, do not want to live in a Universe that does not have the language of the human heart, of blessings, love, of the spirit, even sacred and profane, and the extraordinary mystery that still lies on the edge of spacetime, inside and outside the box of beginnings and endings, that it is even possible we have to evolve out of Ovidian nature in order to even comprehend fully. How do you become the thing itself, to understand yourself, or as Yeats put it, “How can we tell the dancer from the dance?” Then you have to be careful how you use that language, and what it transmits to the hearer, because perhaps someone very ill in hospital might not want to hear that the Universe is composed of so much Dark Matter, it can be far too frightening, but their spirit or heart wants to hear that they are going straight to Heaven instead. We are certainly convinced the only Hell is one we make for ourselves or each other, here on earth, inside or out, so fear not dreary death. Scientists are now the high priests, but sometimes they might be less smug about it, or reduce it to silly electrical experiments, that had Jonathan Ross’s hair literally standing on end. We did that in mid school science classes, but if the old madmen and Alchemists did talk garbage, like the Mayans, as well as helping to discover the elements in their cooking pots, Mendeleev also cracked the Periodic table in a dream. Go up to Linton in Devon, with a poet like Shelley in your heart, long before they harnessed the water and streams to create the early hydro-electric dams, and you will sense those immortal intuitions that produced the likes of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. Or sit on a Tripod over the Delphic Oracle and contemplate the real vapours that brought psychedelic visions to the Sybles, as they dealt in a reaching abstract language of Gods, that also counted the clock and marked the seasons. But then, yet again, Cox talked of high psychics being real because it was ‘beautiful’, as Crick and Watson said they cracked the structure of the Double Helix because it was beautiful, or New York super scientists speak of the Symmetry theory of particle physics. So perhaps the struggling spirit of a poet like Keats did have something right in his “Beauty is Truth, Truth beauty, that is all ye know on Earth and all ye need to know.”

Or take the mutative and enormously fertile language of Shakespeare, where, out of the ‘dialectic’, to touch a pun, of changing Chaucerian, you can hear the origins of English itself being translated into a new awareness, and a genius was born who might find it impossible to come today, in all our linguistic systematization, that certainly produces accuracy and precision, but can also create profound human impoverishment and separation. In comparison Shakespeare had the most connective imagination of all because there was not split between gods, art and science. Perhaps Scientists need to tell us to keep believing in the phenomenally extraordinary too, but like Bottom in Midsummer Night’s Dream, we love to be translated, and flourish in finding new languages to translate us, and new cultures to be cross fertilised on too. But Shakespeare still has so much to teach about the creative power or the tragic agony of the whole or divided Self. Richard Dawkins may sometimes be inspiring on Unweaving Rainbows, but he ain’t Shakespeare, and for Newton, Einstein, Hubble, so many, it was and is a far, far bigger and more fascinating and, as Einstein said, mysterious journey, born in both Art and Science, than celebrity tricks, and usually wrong to patronize different kinds of searchers through the ordinary miracle of everything.

So, at this end, with Two Languages in the kitbag, and trying to remember a child’s wonder at looking up and reaching out with confidence into the stars, Phoenix Ark are making the Mayans some kind of Flagship Species and thoroughly looking forward to the End of the World – around the December Solstice, although it would be, wouldn’t it, because they liked solstices – and hope you are too.


The picture shows the Crystal Skull in the Wellcome Trust gallery at the British Museum, one of several such skulls in London, the Smithsonian in Washington and the Musee de Quay Branly in Paris. It was bought from Tiffany and Co in New York in the 19th Century by the French collector Eugene Boban and is connected to the writings of the English ‘explorer’ Frederick Mitchell Hedges, who sued The Daily Mail in the 1920’s for libel when they accused him of being a fraud, and lost. The British Museum have tested it and far from being pre-Columbian, metal tool wheel scorings prove it is 19th Century, although original pre-columbian skulls exist. It would have been the centre of a world plot in ‘The God Game’, for all to enjoy, if the forces had massed, or perhaps George Lucas had not got there first, in the rather overblown and silly Indianna Jones and The Crystal Skulls, much as Spielburg is a god.

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