As I took the long bus rides to return to the United States I could not help but to remember my first long bus ride from Tahlequah, Oklahoma across Texas into Mexico on Christmas Eve and Christmas morning.
During that bus ride I had a nightmare, early on Christmas morning, that awakened me screaming. And then my screaming awakened many on the bus, screaming.
It was the judgement of these two wise old men, who were sitting across the bus aisle from me, that I had dreamt a dream of El Senor Diablo.
I then told El Senor Diablo to bring it on - bee-otch.
El Senor Diablo has brought it on. But I still say he is a bitch.
During my last days in the Lacondon Jungle the blood and pus spewing volcanoes rose from my flesh and erupted. Two of them in my right arm.
But this time I knew what it was. I knew what had to be done. I had no fear, no anxiety.
I showed the volcanoes to Ismael soon after I arrived in San Christobal de las Casas with him, his wife Cha-Nuk, his three daughters, and the boyfriend of his oldest daughter Gardenia, 15.
Ismael said that the next day I would be rid of the worm.
But then, the next day, I was unable to find Ismael or anybody else in his family.
And next day I did not have a peso, or a centavo to my name.
I had arrived in San Christobal expecting a Western Union to be waiting for me. But the only thing you should expect is to be surprised.
It was not there.
My bruddah, Pullitzer winning journalist Colin Poitras, from the oldest bad newspaper in the English speaking world, sent me a Western Union. But he sent it to Sam Libby. The name on my passport is Samuel. Western Union would not give me the money.
It was the fulfillment of what I had thought was a worse case scenario. I spent much of my week stay in San Christobal without a peso or centavo to my name.
But it was no problem. There was no time when I wasn't feasting in wonderful company and being amply housed thanks to Duena Maria, to Mikki, to Lea, Jugo and Nene (makers of the best felafels in Central America).
At the end of the appointed day for being rid of the worm, when I returned to my room at the Posada del Centro, there was a note from Ismael. He told me to come to the place of Sergio, 16, his oldest son, who is going to school in San Christobal.
When I arrived, Ismael told me that the reason he could not be found that day was because he had spent the day in the hospital.
He had awoke that morning with a real bad stomach ache (much for a stoic Lacondon Mayan to confess). The doctors said it was an ulcer. He showed me a picture of his lacerated stomach.
Ismael's father had been a great shaman, the spiritual leader of the pueblo. When he died of stomach problems, it had given the Pentecostal Evangelico missionaries the opening to begin their destruction of the Lacondon Mayan Gnostic tradition. Ismael's mother Carmelita suffers from terrible stomach problems.
In spite of his ordeal. In spite of his concerns about the doctors diagnosis, Ismael wanted to rid me of the worms. First thing we had to do was buy scotch tape.
When we returned to Sergio's place Cha-Nuk and Ismael prepared their weapons for the struggle with the worms. There was a spray can of industrial strength insecticide. There was a sewing needle. There was the scotch tape, and a knife to cut it.
Then with determined and somber expressions Cha-Nuk and Ismael engaged the worm.
They squeezed the volcanoes until the face of the worm, two eyes, a nose, and the hideous mouth emerged, and then they let them have it with prolonged blasts of the insecticide can.
The worm had maleviolent, evil expressions on their faces. The face of the worm sceeved us all.
Then Cha-Nuk went in with the sewing needle, repeatedly, adamantly stabbing the worms.
The worms appeared to be dead. But they could not be extracted. Ismael wrapped the volcanoes in an entire roll of scotch tape.
During the night the last respiration of the worm fogged the scotch tape. In the morning - there was no doubt - they were dead.
Next morning Ismael and his family returned to the jungle with the Lacondon Mayan translation of the biblical denounciation of Don Castellano,the richest, most powerful Evangelico pastor in Communidad Laconja.
They were delighted with it.
The first book in an indigenas peoples' language is always 'The Bible.' Ismael and Cha-Nuk were delighted the book that was used by the Evangelicos as a weapon against them, could be used to so elegantly denounce the Evangelicos. They were delighted that Castellano could be hoisted with his own petard. And they were delighted with the beginning of a literature in their indigenas language.
Soon after I was in the shute - on a bus bound for Vera Cruz, then a bus bound for Reynosa on the border, then bus rides across Texas, then I was arrived in Tahlequah, Oklahoma, capital of the Cherokee Nation. Now I am returned and arrived at the missile base in Kansas.
And now I send my love and gratitude for all those who make me a man of means by no means. I am your niggah: Chief Rolling Rock, my poor Jewish mother, Jim McCarthy, Colin Poitras, Michael Mahoney, Ed Peden, Jack Murray.
Because I love ya - I am your servant - the servant of the higher self.
As I write this at the missile base, 18 miles west of Topeka, I can not help but to think back to my bring it on - bee-otch that I gave da devil.
You did break out a can of wop ass, a can of worms on me. No doubt you sent something that came straight from hell.
But I always found the right people, the right places, the right circumstances to be rid of the worm of the worm that eats you while you live, to be rid of fear, to see the kingdom that is spread over the face of the earth - if you are only able to see.
And to you El Senor Diablo - I still say:
Bring it on - bee-otch!