{"id":3278,"date":"2025-10-21T19:21:45","date_gmt":"2025-10-21T17:21:45","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/tapirape.com\/blog\/?p=3278"},"modified":"2025-10-23T20:00:29","modified_gmt":"2025-10-23T18:00:29","slug":"dia-de-los-muertos-storytelling","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/tapirape.com\/blog\/index.php\/2025\/10\/21\/dia-de-los-muertos-storytelling\/","title":{"rendered":"D\u00eda de los Muertos Storytelling"},"content":{"rendered":"\n<p>This Thursday, the Tap\u00ed and Xoco hosted storytelling at the Tap\u00ed Camp. With D\u00eda de los Muertos approaching. Every tale stayed true to the theme and more than a few sent chills through the crowd, and some were unsettling enough to keep us glancing over our shoulders on the walk home.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\t\t<style type=\"text\/css\">\n\t\t\t#gallery-1 {\n\t\t\t\tmargin: auto;\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t#gallery-1 .gallery-item {\n\t\t\t\tfloat: left;\n\t\t\t\tmargin-top: 10px;\n\t\t\t\ttext-align: center;\n\t\t\t\twidth: 33%;\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t#gallery-1 img {\n\t\t\t\tborder: 2px solid #cfcfcf;\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t#gallery-1 .gallery-caption {\n\t\t\t\tmargin-left: 0;\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t\/* see gallery_shortcode() in wp-includes\/media.php *\/\n\t\t<\/style>\n\t\t<div id='gallery-1' class='gallery galleryid-3278 gallery-columns-3 gallery-size-thumbnail'><dl class='gallery-item'>\n\t\t\t<dt class='gallery-icon landscape'>\n\t\t\t\t<a href='https:\/\/tapirape.com\/blog\/06-8\/'><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"150\" height=\"150\" src=\"https:\/\/tapirape.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/10\/06-150x150.jpg\" class=\"attachment-thumbnail size-thumbnail\" alt=\"People gather around a central fire at a jungle camp under colorful banners\" \/><\/a>\n\t\t\t<\/dt><\/dl><dl class='gallery-item'>\n\t\t\t<dt class='gallery-icon landscape'>\n\t\t\t\t<a href='https:\/\/tapirape.com\/blog\/04-7\/'><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"150\" height=\"150\" src=\"https:\/\/tapirape.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/10\/04-150x150.jpg\" class=\"attachment-thumbnail size-thumbnail\" alt=\"Villagers gather around a fire as a storyteller speaks in the jungle clearing\" \/><\/a>\n\t\t\t<\/dt><\/dl>\n\t\t\t<br style='clear: both' \/>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\n\n\n\n<p><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Here follows the stories that were told. <\/p>\n\n\n\n<figure class=\"wp-block-image size-large\"><a href=\"https:\/\/tapirape.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/10\/02-scaled.jpg\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"1024\" height=\"768\" src=\"https:\/\/tapirape.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/10\/02-1024x768.jpg\" alt=\"Topless native woman reclines beside a villager on leaf-strewn ground in the jungle camp\" class=\"wp-image-3299\" srcset=\"https:\/\/tapirape.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/10\/02-1024x768.jpg 1024w, https:\/\/tapirape.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/10\/02-300x225.jpg 300w, https:\/\/tapirape.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/10\/02-768x576.jpg 768w, https:\/\/tapirape.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/10\/02-1536x1152.jpg 1536w, https:\/\/tapirape.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/10\/02-2048x1536.jpg 2048w, https:\/\/tapirape.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/10\/02-676x507.jpg 676w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 1024px) 100vw, 1024px\" \/><\/a><\/figure>\n\n\n\n<blockquote class=\"wp-block-quote is-layout-flow wp-block-quote-is-layout-flow\">\n<p><strong>Micke&#8217;s story<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author\u2019s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.&#8221;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The Ghosts, an elite military special forces unit, were renowned for their ability to execute missions in hostile, uncharted territories. Led by the unflinching Captain Gavora, the team was deployed to the Amazon jungle with a clear objective: locate the wreckage of a military aircraft that had disappeared under mysterious circumstances. Initial intelligence suggested no survivors, but the plane\u2019s cargo\u2014top secret material&#8221;\u2014was classified as a priority retrieval.<\/p>\n\n\n<div class='yrm-content yrm-content-1 yrm-content-hide  ' id='yrm-hvGes' data-id='1' data-show-status='false' data-after-action='' style=\"visibility: hidden;height: 0;\">\n\t\t\t<div id='yrm-inner-content-yrm-hvGes' class='yrm-inner-content-wrapper yrm-cntent-1'><br \/>\nAfter days of trekking through the dense, suffocating jungle, the team located a small Amazonian village near the suspected crash site. The villagers greeted them cautiously, their wide eyes betraying fear and desperation.<br \/>\nCaptain Gavora, inquired about the plane. The village elder shook his head, explaining that they had seen no plane, but their goats had been vanishing, stolen by the &#8220;shadowed monks&#8221; who haunted the jungle.<br \/>\n\u201cThey are not men,\u201d the elder warned, his voice trembling. \u201cThey whisper to the jungle, and it listens. They move without sound and leave no trace. Even the spirits fear them.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>The team exchanged skeptical glances. Ghosts didn\u2019t believe in legends. They dealt in facts, in enemies they could see and fight. But Captain Gavora, known for his instincts, decided to investigate.<br \/>\nThe Ghosts found the crash site as the sun began to set, painting the jungle in shades of amber and shadow. The wreckage was scattered, the twisted metal of the fuselage half-buried in the undergrowth.<br \/>\n\u201cStrange,\u201d muttered Sergeant Danick, examining the debris. \u201cIt\u2019s like the jungle\u2019s already reclaiming it.\u201d<br \/>\nNo bodies were found, only empty seats. The black box had been ripped from its housing, but claw marks on the frame suggested it hadn\u2019t been an animal.<br \/>\nCaptain Gavora surveyed the scene. \u201cThis doesn\u2019t add up,\u201d he said. \u201cSecure the site. We\u2019re staying here tonight.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>As darkness fell, the jungle came alive with its usual cacophony of insects and distant animal calls. But around midnight, the sounds stopped abruptly, replaced by an eerie silence. Then, faint whispers drifted through the trees, in a language none of them understood.<br \/>\nPrivate Maddox froze. \u201cCaptain, did you hear that?\u201d<br \/>\n\u201cYes,\u201d Gavora said, his voice low. \u201cWeapons ready.\u201d<br \/>\nThe whispers grew louder, circling the camp like a predator stalking its prey. Suddenly, the fire extinguished itself, plunging them into darkness.<\/p>\n<p>When the Ghosts switched to night vision, they saw them: shadowy figures their faces obscured by wooden masks carved to resemble animal skulls. The monks moved unnaturally fast, their bodies seeming to flicker in and out of existence as they approached.<br \/>\n\u201cIdentify yourselves!\u201d Captain Gavora barked.<br \/>\nThe figures raised their hands, and the jungle seemed to respond. Vines coiled like serpents, roots tore through the earth, and a cold, unnatural wind howled through the trees.<br \/>\n\u201cOpen fire!\u201d Gavora commanded.<\/p>\n<p>The Ghosts unleashed a torrent of bullets, but the opponents seemed unaffected. Their forms shimmered, and the bullets passed through them like mist. One monk raised a staff, and a wall of vines erupted from the ground, separating the team.<br \/>\nDMaddox screamed as he was dragged into the darkness by unseen hands. \u201cHelp me!\u201d<br \/>\nGavora fired blindly into the shadows, but the monks were everywhere and nowhere at once. \u201cFall back!\u201d he ordered.<\/p>\n<p>The Ghosts regrouped near the river, panting and shaken. Maddox was gone, and the jungle was silent once more.<br \/>\n\u201cThese aren\u2019t men,\u201d whispered Danick. \u201cWe can\u2019t fight this.\u201d<br \/>\nGavora\u2019s jaw tightened. He hated retreating, hated leaving a mission incomplete. But he wasn\u2019t foolish. This was a fight they couldn\u2019t win.<br \/>\n\u201cWe\u2019re pulling out,\u201d he said, his voice firm. \u201cWe\u2019ll report what we\u2019ve seen and let others decide what to do with it.\u201d<br \/>\nThe trek back to the extraction point was tense. Every rustle of leaves, every snap of a twig made the Ghosts flinch. But the monks didn\u2019t follow them. It was as if they had been allowed to leave.<\/p>\n<p>Back at base, Gavora filed his report. He described the supernatural phenomena, the missing black box, and the villagers\u2019 warnings. But the higher-ups dismissed it as hysteria. The Ghosts were reassigned, their warnings ignored.<br \/>\nWeeks later, a supply helicopter flew over the jungle, searching for any sign of the missing black box. The crew reported seeing nothing unusual, but as they passed over the crash site, their instruments malfunctioned, and their radio was flooded with faint whispers.<\/p>\n<p>The Ghosts never spoke of the mission again, but Captain Gavora couldn\u2019t shake the feeling that they had only glimpsed the surface of something much darker. Deep in the Amazon, the monks remained, their secrets intact, their domain untouched. And the jungle continued to whisper its warnings to those who dared to listen.<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div><div class='yrm-btn-wrapper yrm-btn-wrapper-1 yrm-more-button-wrapper  '\n\t\tdata-custom-more-class-name='' data-custom-less-class-name=''><span title='' data-less-title='' data-more-title='' class='yrm-toggle-expand  yrm-toggle-expand-1 ' data-rel='yrm-hvGes' data-more='Read more' data-less='Read less'><span class='yrm-text-wrapper yrm-text-wrapper-custom-dimensions'><span class=\"yrm-button-text-1 yrm-button-text-span\">Read more<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n<p><\/p>\n\n\n\n<figure class=\"wp-block-image size-large\"><a href=\"https:\/\/tapirape.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/10\/03-scaled.jpg\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"1024\" height=\"768\" src=\"https:\/\/tapirape.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/10\/03-1024x768.jpg\" alt=\"Tribal woman in ornate attire lounges on a woven mat in the jungle camp\" class=\"wp-image-3300\" srcset=\"https:\/\/tapirape.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/10\/03-1024x768.jpg 1024w, https:\/\/tapirape.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/10\/03-300x225.jpg 300w, https:\/\/tapirape.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/10\/03-768x576.jpg 768w, https:\/\/tapirape.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/10\/03-1536x1152.jpg 1536w, https:\/\/tapirape.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/10\/03-2048x1536.jpg 2048w, https:\/\/tapirape.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/10\/03-676x507.jpg 676w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 1024px) 100vw, 1024px\" \/><\/a><\/figure>\n\n\n\n<blockquote class=\"wp-block-quote is-layout-flow wp-block-quote-is-layout-flow\">\n<p><strong>Goo&#8217;s story<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\/me looks around shyly, then takes a deep breath and begins her story. Her voice is more of a fragile tone, as if it were thin ice that could give way at any moment under the weight of her words.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>&#8220;The story is called &#8216;The Feast of Roots&#8217;, and nobody can say whether it&#8217;s true or not.&#8221;<\/p>\n\n\n<div class='yrm-content yrm-content-1 yrm-content-hide  ' id='yrm-EMGw1' data-id='1' data-show-status='false' data-after-action='' style=\"visibility: hidden;height: 0;\">\n\t\t\t<div id='yrm-inner-content-yrm-EMGw1' class='yrm-inner-content-wrapper yrm-cntent-1'><br \/>\n\/me &#8220;Here we go.&#8221; After a little break she starts &#8220;The villagers along the black waters of the Amazon whisper a warning every year on the Day of the Dead: &#8220;Do not follow the river into the forest at night. Do not call the dead where the roots still breathe.&#8221;<\/p>\n<p>Long ago, two young women &#8211; Candy and Qoo &#8211; ignored this warning.<\/p>\n<p>They were inseparable, bound by laughter, secrets, and a tenderness neither spoke aloud. On the Day of the Dead, when families prepared altars of marigolds and candles, Candy dared Qoo to go upriver with her, away from the crowded village.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhy should only the men go hunting for spirits?\u201d Candy laughed, eyes glittering in the candlelight.<\/p>\n<p>Qoo hesitated. Her grandmother had told her stories of the Otros Muertos &#8211; the \u201cOther Dead\u201d the forest kept for itself. The ones who drowned in swollen rivers, were taken by jaguars, or vanished under the canopy without prayer or remembrance. Their souls, abandoned, turned to roots and vines, hungry for anyone who dared to forget them.<\/p>\n<p>But Candy\u2019s hand was warm on hers, and the thrill of being alone together was stronger than fear. So they paddled until the river narrowed into shadow, and there they built their altar: petals scattered, a candle lit, sugar skulls grinning in the dark.<\/p>\n<p>The night pressed close. Sweat glistened on their skin, and Qoo felt every brush of Candy\u2019s arm, every nervous laugh. For a heartbeat, she almost leaned closer, lips parting.<\/p>\n<p>The candle flared green.<\/p>\n<p>The marigold petals shriveled black. The air grew thick with a sweet, rotting perfume. And from between the trees came the Otros Muertos.<\/p>\n<p>They looked at first like villagers in skeletal paint, faces white, eyes dark. But as they neared, their flesh peeled back like bark, ribs split open to reveal orchids pulsing wetly. Their hollow sockets fixed on the girls, and the forest itself seemed to breathe with them.<\/p>\n<p>Qoo clutched Candy\u2019s hand, trembling.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYou honor yours,\u201d the tallest figure rasped, chest hollow as a shrine. \u201cBut who honors us?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>The soil writhed. Roots uncoiled, slithering up their ankles, brushing against their legs like searching hands. Candy gasped as vines slid over her skin, first gentle, then tightening. Qoo tried to pull her free, but the vines only entwined them closer, twining their bodies together in the dark.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cDon\u2019t let go,\u201d Candy whispered, her breath hot against Qoo\u2019s ear. For a moment, the fear and the closeness blurred into something deeper, something unsaid for too long. Their lips almost met \u2026<\/p>\n<p>\/me looks round again, wondering if anyone else is awake. Then she continues, almost whispering: &#8220;The candle went out.&#8221;<\/p>\n<p>With a violent shudder, the roots yanked them into the soil. Their screams echoed once, then the forest swallowed all sound.<\/p>\n<p>At dawn, villagers found the clearing. No altar remained \u2014 only two orchids blooming from the same vine, red and white, their petals curved toward each other as if whispering a secret kiss.<\/p>\n<p>Now, the elders tell it every year: on the Day of the Dead, if you go too deep into the jungle, you must leave an offering not only for your ancestors, but for the Otros Muertos. And if you find two orchids twined together, do not touch them \u2014 those flowers still remember. They say if you lean too close, you can hear two voices in the wind: Candy\u2019s laughter, and Qoo\u2019s sigh.<\/p>\n<p>And the roots beneath your feet will stir.<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div><div class='yrm-btn-wrapper yrm-btn-wrapper-1 yrm-more-button-wrapper  '\n\t\tdata-custom-more-class-name='' data-custom-less-class-name=''><span title='' data-less-title='' data-more-title='' class='yrm-toggle-expand  yrm-toggle-expand-1 ' data-rel='yrm-EMGw1' data-more='Read more' data-less='Read less'><span class='yrm-text-wrapper yrm-text-wrapper-custom-dimensions'><span class=\"yrm-button-text-1 yrm-button-text-span\">Read more<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n<p><\/p>\n\n\n\n<figure class=\"wp-block-image size-large\"><a href=\"https:\/\/tapirape.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/10\/05-scaled.jpg\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"1024\" height=\"768\" src=\"https:\/\/tapirape.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/10\/05-1024x768.jpg\" alt=\"Shirtless villager sits on a log among colorful flowers and candles in the jungle camp\" class=\"wp-image-3302\" srcset=\"https:\/\/tapirape.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/10\/05-1024x768.jpg 1024w, https:\/\/tapirape.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/10\/05-300x225.jpg 300w, https:\/\/tapirape.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/10\/05-768x576.jpg 768w, https:\/\/tapirape.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/10\/05-1536x1152.jpg 1536w, https:\/\/tapirape.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/10\/05-2048x1536.jpg 2048w, https:\/\/tapirape.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/10\/05-676x507.jpg 676w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 1024px) 100vw, 1024px\" \/><\/a><\/figure>\n\n\n\n<blockquote class=\"wp-block-quote is-layout-flow wp-block-quote-is-layout-flow\">\n<p><strong>Kart&#8217;s story &#8211; Holes<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><br>Once ago, there were two Tapirape fishermen. Jon-ass and his young son Poo. As the fishing grounds around the camp got more and more empty due to the arrival of pale men, Young Poo`s Fathers decided, to show his son, the old fishing grounds far out , from Mount Gedi. Filling their canou with nets and Spears and some water , they sailed south from the volcano. Into , the sun , smiled at them and soon the land gets out of sight. After a while , Jon-ass checked the wind , listened to the waves and smiled \u201ehere we are now where my grandfather fished the biggest amount on food ever\u201c. Both eager to get more pray home than their ancestor, they throw out nets and tried to spear. Hour over hour they caught many fishes, even lobsters and clams. The tribe will no suffer from hunger anymore and they cheered, throwing again and again their nets. Pacha Mama, the earth mother, blessed them as it seems, but with all that fortunate work , they did not realize that darkness appeared around them.<\/p>\n\n\n<div class='yrm-content yrm-content-1 yrm-content-hide  ' id='yrm-1DL8C' data-id='1' data-show-status='false' data-after-action='' style=\"visibility: hidden;height: 0;\">\n\t\t\t<div id='yrm-inner-content-yrm-1DL8C' class='yrm-inner-content-wrapper yrm-cntent-1'><br \/>\nA short glimpse on the light face of Mama Quilla , the moon, was the last light they saw , as dark clouds raised around them. The wind became stronger as their sail filled, and the movement of waves let their canou sway like a cork in a wine glass. And they get afraid that Supay might chase them, after they might have caught too much , even more than their ancestors. Jon-Ass bound his son with a rope against the mast, and tied himself too, as they bounced on the waves. A big dark storm hooded them in their wet and cold claws and they already thought , that their lives have ended, while praying desperately to all known gods, silenced by the turmoil and rage of the storm, with no sight of land around.<\/p>\n<p>They opened their eyes, their body hurting, in a dim light. Laying with now dried clothes on a hard ground, wondering what happened. A far away, rhythmic sound surrounded them, like if strong waves crash against big rocks ..bumm\u2026..bumm..in a very slow pace . Nothing of her boat could be seen nor any of the sea animals they caught, wearing only their torn loins, unarmed, the first looked at each , to secure they survived without bigger injuries, and then, looked around in the dim light. Only a seemingly endless dark cave vertically above them, through which they had apparently fallen, could be guessed. The will to survive and rescue his son, was strong in his father\u2019s heart, and he started to explore the cave.<\/p>\n<p>Jon-Ass never heard of this place before, in no legends or myths, but for his son he wanted to find a way to escape, and found finally the walls of the cave they awoke and guided by their firm hold, guiding his son by the hand, they followed the walls of the cave , to finally reach an opening. If good or bad they did not know, but their only hope for escape they followed the tunnel behind the opening , downwards . A more and more foul smell making their breaths more and more difficult. Rotten and preserved for aeons it seems, his son started to throw up in weakness , but his father held him and pushed him forward, just still the far away Bumm..bumm sound keeps to stay around them. Feeling along the wall, they felt the warmth of it , and the soft parts, like fleshy stones inside the wall. Through sheer willpower in the foul air they moved on.<\/p>\n<p>Until they finally reached a bigger cave with a flickering light to be seen. A very wide and big cave with rocks everywhere around and \u2026moving shadows. Carefully they sneaked closer, watching what moves there. With big hesitation they saw people moving , crawling or just laying around around small stinking huts out of fishbones , every where lay also fish bones , and the clothes of the people made from fish scales and rotting cadavers . Like undead that people moved and searched for food on the ground, like rotten fish and old clams, Fast they moved further, afraid of that newly dead fishmen, not wanting to discover if they are really human and afraid they moved faster , after leaving the village to another tunnel.<\/p>\n<p>Stumbling more than a day through the darkness, drinking from small puddles with foul and shale water , the reached another cave with a pale green glow and a lake of acid. Where bodies of men and fish decomposed not recognizable anymore which body was which. But they found a path along the rim of that disgusting lake crawling along. Jon-Ass praying to Supay as he believed they reached his realm of death. The spark of life burning hot inside the father, pulling his son forward shouting \u201ethere must be an end and a way out of that place\u201c and so they finally found another exit to another tunnel, they happily moved in.<\/p>\n<p>Without any light , they crawled forward on all four now and recognized a stinky foul mud on the ground thy tried to eat it even to survive, still accompanied by the constant bumm..bumm\u2026. Hours and hours they moved bit by bit forward, and the warm mud got thicker and thicker and higher and higher. Until they finally stuck inside it and lost all hope. The father holding his son tight to his body full of fear and without any hope to see Intis light again, he felt the foul ,mud moving forward with them ..very slow but moving and loosing consciousness.<\/p>\n<p>He awoke, his more dead than alive son in his arms, as the pressure of the mud gets stronger against him, fortunately all his senses were numbed already from the foul smell as mud enters his screaming mouth.<br \/>\nHe felt acceleration , unable to move by himself he was pulled and pushed with the thick mud ..and finally pressed out to a blinding sunlight, slashing with the mud on a hard ground.<br \/>\nHe and his son inhaled finally fresh air laying in that now dark brown stinking mud..as they crawled very slow at the end of their powers away.<\/p>\n<p>Surprisingly an old smiling men threw them a rope to pull them further, \u201eI will not touch you but get away from that fast\u201c said the old man. In safety he gave them fresh water and some food, which seemed like a royal dinner to them and they praised Pacha mama, together with the old man. After a nights rest, the old man, a shaman as it seems, told them they were in the belly of Kukulcan, the world snake ..and left at her rear end, here in Deep drop\u2026.<\/p>\n<p>Of course they went home safe, but since that time , the tunnel entrance on the chaos highland in Deep drop, is called Kukulcan`s hole. Which explains that most treasure seekers there are called ass-kissers, and chaos place was called a shithole. And if you go there , despite the foul scent, and feel the rim of the entrance, you feel a dirty softness \u2026and if you are silent, can hear the far away heart beat of Kukulcan..bumm bumm.<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div><div class='yrm-btn-wrapper yrm-btn-wrapper-1 yrm-more-button-wrapper  '\n\t\tdata-custom-more-class-name='' data-custom-less-class-name=''><span title='' data-less-title='' data-more-title='' class='yrm-toggle-expand  yrm-toggle-expand-1 ' data-rel='yrm-1DL8C' data-more='Read more' data-less='Read less'><span class='yrm-text-wrapper yrm-text-wrapper-custom-dimensions'><span class=\"yrm-button-text-1 yrm-button-text-span\">Read more<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n<p><\/p>\n\n\n\n<figure class=\"wp-block-image size-large\"><a href=\"https:\/\/tapirape.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/10\/01-scaled.jpg\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"1024\" height=\"768\" src=\"https:\/\/tapirape.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/10\/01-1024x768.jpg\" alt=\"Topless native woman stands in the jungle camp with a monkey on her shoulder\" class=\"wp-image-3298\" srcset=\"https:\/\/tapirape.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/10\/01-1024x768.jpg 1024w, https:\/\/tapirape.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/10\/01-300x225.jpg 300w, https:\/\/tapirape.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/10\/01-768x576.jpg 768w, https:\/\/tapirape.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/10\/01-1536x1152.jpg 1536w, https:\/\/tapirape.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/10\/01-2048x1536.jpg 2048w, https:\/\/tapirape.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/10\/01-676x507.jpg 676w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 1024px) 100vw, 1024px\" \/><\/a><\/figure>\n\n\n\n<blockquote class=\"wp-block-quote is-layout-flow wp-block-quote-is-layout-flow\">\n<p><strong>Whisper&#8217;s story &#8211; Night songs of the Jungle<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>&#8220;That night, the moon rose swollen and red \u2026 not the gentle moon that watches over hunters and children, but the moon that sees everything the jungle tries to hide. The air was thick with the scent of orchids, smoke, and rain yet to fall. Even the frogs were silent.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>&#8220;I sat by the fire. Zazulu twitched on a branch above me, tail coiled like a vine. \u201cWind\u2026\u201d he whispered, \u201cthe jungle\u2019s holding its breath again.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n<div class='yrm-content yrm-content-1 yrm-content-hide  ' id='yrm-U31ay' data-id='1' data-show-status='false' data-after-action='' style=\"visibility: hidden;height: 0;\">\n\t\t\t<div id='yrm-inner-content-yrm-U31ay' class='yrm-inner-content-wrapper yrm-cntent-1'><br \/>\n&#8220;And there was Catten, clever as ever, crouched beside his latest invention \u2026 a little box of copper and stone that blinked like a beetle\u2019s eye. He called it his ghost listener. We laughed when it hummed. But then the ground beneath us began to hum back.&#8221;<\/p>\n<p>\/me lowers voice &#8221; It started as a murmur, like wind through roots \u2026 but soon we heard voices. Hundreds of them. Whispering from beneath the soil, weaving together in sorrow.&#8221;<\/p>\n<p>&#8220;Catten looked at me, pale as river clay. \u201cYour jungle\u2019s talking again.&#8221; he said. I threw marigolds and crushed sage into the fire \u2026 offerings for the ancestors, for their time to walk among us was near. The flames turned blue. And in the smoke, faces began to form \u2026.faces made of ash and moonlight, eyes glowing like old river stones.&#8221;<\/p>\n<p>&#8220;But they were not peaceful. They were angry. Someone had broken the bond between the living and the dead. Someone had dug where they should not dig.&#8221;<\/p>\n<p>&#8220;We followed the whispers through the vines, deeper and deeper, until the air itself seemed to tremble. Finally, we came to the old ceiba, the tree that connects the underworld to the stars. Its roots were torn open \u2026 the soil ripped, bones scattered.&#8221;<\/p>\n<p>&#8220;Catten knelt, running his hands over the broken earth. \u201cSomeone\u2019s been here recently,\u201d he said. And there, half-buried in the mud, we found a red cloth, the kind worn by men from the logging camp beyond the river.&#8221;<\/p>\n<p>&#8220;Those men had come to steal the ceiba\u2019s heartwood, believing the stories that it could make charms of power and wealth. They had hacked at its roots, laughing as the jungle cried\u2026 never knowing they were cutting through the resting place of the ancestors.&#8221;<\/p>\n<p>&#8220;Now the dead were awake. Their whispers filled the night with sorrow so deep it made the stars flicker. The ceiba wept sap like blood. I felt the fury of Tupi, the spirit of the jungle, rise in the wind \u2026. slow, ancient, and merciless.&#8221;<\/p>\n<p>&#8220;I called on the sacred words \u2026 \u201cTupi, hear me. Forgive the living. Remember your children.\u201d<br \/>\nAnd Catten set his machine into the soil, letting it pulse with the heartbeat of the earth.&#8221;<\/p>\n<p>&#8220;Together we sang the Song of Returning, the chant that calls lost souls home. Light rippled through the roots, golden as sunrise.&#8221;<\/p>\n<p>\/ me sings softly \u2026Tupi anaka, Tupi maru,<br \/>\nEcha nou, echa uru.<br \/>\nRoots that sleep, roots that weep,<br \/>\nHear the drum of earth so deep.<\/p>\n<p>Soulu, soulu, takarima,<br \/>\nReturn to soil, return to dreama.<br \/>\nLet no spirit walk in pain,<br \/>\nLet the forest breathe again.<\/p>\n<p>Tupi, Tupi, omo yara,<br \/>\nGuard the hearts where shadows are.<br \/>\nLet the fire die, let green arise,<br \/>\nAnd peace be sung beneath the skies.<\/p>\n<p>\/me looks around silently pointing finger to the night\u2026..the jungle wind answers softly, carrying the scent of wet leaves and smoke. In the distance, owls cry once, then fall silent. then continues telling&#8221;The spirits began to calm. Their voices changed from grief to song \u2026 low, soft, full of peace. But balance required more than song.&#8221;<\/p>\n<p>&#8220;The jungle demanded that the wrong be righted. And so, as dawn approached, we heard screams in the distance \u2026faint at first, then swallowed by the mist. The loggers\u2019 camp was gone. Their axes were found days later, rusted solid, vines curling through the handles as if the jungle had taken them back.&#8221;<\/p>\n<p>&#8220;Some say the men ran, cursed by guilt and fever. Others whisper that the ceiba took them, binding them into its roots, turning their greed into silence.&#8221;<\/p>\n<p>&#8220;When the sun finally rose, the tree glowed green again \u2026 alive, peaceful, whole. The whispers faded, the earth closed, and Zazulu landed on my shoulder.\u201cSpirits happy now,\u201d he murmured. \u201cThey go dance in the light.\u201d I smiled. \u201cThe dead do not leave us,\u201d I said. \u201cThey walk beside us \u2026 in the water, in the wind, in the roots beneath our feet. We must only listen\u2026 and never forget to respect what sleeps.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\/me lets voice fade with the last line. Looks at the fire. Pauses. Then says softly &#8220;And so, every year when the veil grows thin and the moon turns red, we sit by the fire, we whisper their names,and we tell this story again \u2026 so that no one forgets what happens when greed cuts through sacred roots\u2026 and the jungle remembers.&#8221;<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div><div class='yrm-btn-wrapper yrm-btn-wrapper-1 yrm-more-button-wrapper  '\n\t\tdata-custom-more-class-name='' data-custom-less-class-name=''><span title='' data-less-title='' data-more-title='' class='yrm-toggle-expand  yrm-toggle-expand-1 ' data-rel='yrm-U31ay' data-more='Read more' data-less='Read less'><span class='yrm-text-wrapper yrm-text-wrapper-custom-dimensions'><span class=\"yrm-button-text-1 yrm-button-text-span\">Read more<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n<p><\/p>\n\n\n\n<figure class=\"wp-block-image size-large\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"1024\" height=\"768\" src=\"https:\/\/tapirape.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/10\/07-1024x768.jpg\" alt=\"Tribal woman in leaf attire stands among carved statues in the jungle camp clearing\" class=\"wp-image-3304\" srcset=\"https:\/\/tapirape.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/10\/07-1024x768.jpg 1024w, https:\/\/tapirape.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/10\/07-300x225.jpg 300w, https:\/\/tapirape.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/10\/07-768x576.jpg 768w, https:\/\/tapirape.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/10\/07-1536x1152.jpg 1536w, https:\/\/tapirape.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/10\/07-2048x1536.jpg 2048w, https:\/\/tapirape.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/10\/07-676x507.jpg 676w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 1024px) 100vw, 1024px\" \/><\/figure>\n\n\n\n<blockquote class=\"wp-block-quote is-layout-flow wp-block-quote-is-layout-flow\">\n<p><strong>Sara&#8217;s story &#8211; Kijimuna<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The strange looking girl with bright red hair bows to the assembled people.&#8221;Hello! I am Kijimuna, a tree spirit of Okinawa.&#8221;<br>.<br>Kijimuna are common in Okinawan folklore. They are known to be mischievous spirits, sometimes playing pranks on people. A common one is to lay on someone&#8217;s stomach while they sleep, keeping them from moving even when they wake up. If you see a strange light bouncing along the beach at night, maybe a Kijimuna stole your paper lantern as a prank.<\/p>\n\n\n<div class='yrm-content yrm-content-1 yrm-content-hide  ' id='yrm-k3hMF' data-id='1' data-show-status='false' data-after-action='' style=\"visibility: hidden;height: 0;\">\n\t\t\t<div id='yrm-inner-content-yrm-k3hMF' class='yrm-inner-content-wrapper yrm-cntent-1'><br \/>\nBut Kijimuna can also make good friends. They sometimes help fishermen and give them all the fish they catch. But only after eating the eyeballs (they&#8217;re the best part, yum!) But their friendships can be fragile, often short-lived, as they are fickle and easily offended.<br \/>\n.<br \/>\nI will tell you one such story.<br \/>\n.<br \/>\nA young boy from a small village was very sad, walking slowly though the mountains, all alone. He sat down to rest under a banyan tree and fell asleep. Some time later, somebody woke him up. As he rubbed his eyes, he looked up to see a figure with bright red hair. In an instant he knew it was a Kijimuna!<br \/>\n.<br \/>\nThe boy had just happened to fall asleep under the spirit&#8217;s tree, but proper greetings were still required. &#8220;Hai sai!&#8221; blurted the Kijimuna, making the boy jump. &#8220;Hai sai,&#8221; replied the boy, still surprised at the spirit&#8217;s unexpected appearance. But the boy was not afraid, as he knew Kijimuna did not normally bully humans.<br \/>\n.<br \/>\nThe Kijimuna looked at the boy curiously. Something seemed wrong. &#8220;You look sad\u2026 Why do you look so sad?&#8221; The boy lowered his head in shame and spoke.<br \/>\n.<br \/>\nI come from a poor family, the poorest in our village. All the other children have more money, they have new clothes, they buy nice things. But my family has no money for such things, so I feel ashamed every time I see the other children.<br \/>\n.<br \/>\nThe Kijimuna&#8217;s eyes brightened. &#8220;Then I will help! Be my friend and I&#8217;ll take you to my secret fishing spot. We&#8217;ll catch many fish, and I&#8217;ll make you very rich! But you must be my friend forever if we are to become friends. And we&#8217;ll meet every morning at my tree to go fishing&#8221;<br \/>\n.<br \/>\n&#8220;Really? Thank you! Thank you very much!&#8221; The boy jumped with joy. He knew that Kijimuna were well-known for their fishing skills.<br \/>\n.<br \/>\nThe next morning they met as planned. The Kijimuna took the boy on his back, flew him to a special fishing spot, and they fished all day. They caught so many fish! The Kijimuna let the boy keep all the fish (after it ate the eyeballs, of course. Yum!)<br \/>\n.<br \/>\nThis went on for weeks. They went fishing every day, the boy brought back loads of fish, sold them in the village, and made lots of money. Eventually he had more money than any of the other children. He was so happy, being able to buy new clothes and nice things for his family and himself.<br \/>\n.<br \/>\nBut one day, the Kijimuna waited and waited, but the boy never came. Maybe the boy was sick? That evening, the Kijimuna secretly entered the village to see what had happened to the boy.<br \/>\n.<br \/>\nThe Kijimuna heard voices near the center of the village. He hid in the shadows and crept closer. It turned out that the boy wasn&#8217;t sick after all. The boy was talking loudly to all the other children. He was bragging about all the nice new things he bought for his family and himself. And he was bragging about how he was a great fisherman, that he had caught all those fish by himself!<br \/>\n.<br \/>\nAs you might guess, this did NOT go over well!<br \/>\n.<br \/>\nThe next morning, the boy woke to see that all the money was gone. All the nice things he had bought were gone too. In a panic, he ran to the forest to find the Kijimuna. He ran to the exact spot, but the banyan tree was gone. It was as if the tree was never there. The Kijimuna had flown away to the mountains, and the boy never saw him again.<br \/>\n.<br \/>\nThis story teaches us several lessons. Always act and speak with honor. Never brag and tell false stories about yourself. And never, ever break your promise to a Kijimuna!<br \/>\n.<br \/>\nThank you for allowing me to share my story of Kijimuna, tree spirit of Okinawa. smiles<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div><div class='yrm-btn-wrapper yrm-btn-wrapper-1 yrm-more-button-wrapper  '\n\t\tdata-custom-more-class-name='' data-custom-less-class-name=''><span title='' data-less-title='' data-more-title='' class='yrm-toggle-expand  yrm-toggle-expand-1 ' data-rel='yrm-k3hMF' data-more='Read more' data-less='Read less'><span class='yrm-text-wrapper yrm-text-wrapper-custom-dimensions'><span class=\"yrm-button-text-1 yrm-button-text-span\">Read more<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n<p><\/p>\n\n\n\n<figure class=\"wp-block-image size-large\"><a href=\"https:\/\/tapirape.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/10\/10-scaled.jpg\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"1024\" height=\"768\" src=\"https:\/\/tapirape.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/10\/10-1024x768.jpg\" alt=\"Native woman topless holds lantern surrounded by villagers in the jungle setting\" class=\"wp-image-3307\" srcset=\"https:\/\/tapirape.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/10\/10-1024x768.jpg 1024w, https:\/\/tapirape.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/10\/10-300x225.jpg 300w, https:\/\/tapirape.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/10\/10-768x576.jpg 768w, https:\/\/tapirape.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/10\/10-1536x1152.jpg 1536w, https:\/\/tapirape.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/10\/10-2048x1536.jpg 2048w, https:\/\/tapirape.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/10\/10-676x507.jpg 676w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 1024px) 100vw, 1024px\" \/><\/a><\/figure>\n\n\n\n<blockquote class=\"wp-block-quote is-layout-flow wp-block-quote-is-layout-flow\">\n<p><strong>Kwanita&#8217;s story &#8211; The Watchman of Souls<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>(Sound of wind whistling between the graves\u2026 distant percussion, like a slowly beating heart\u2026)<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>In the small village of San Lucero, deep in the mountains, the Day of the Dead was always a time of celebration and remembrance.<br>The streets were covered with cempas\u00fachil petals, the golden flowers said to open the path between the living and the dead.<br>The altars shone with candles, photos, pan de muerto, and small smiling figurines.<br>But this year\u2026 the sky was gray, the rain never stopped, and the wind blew like a lament.<\/p>\n\n\n<div class='yrm-content yrm-content-1 yrm-content-hide  ' id='yrm-dWzAB' data-id='1' data-show-status='false' data-after-action='' style=\"visibility: hidden;height: 0;\">\n\t\t\t<div id='yrm-inner-content-yrm-dWzAB' class='yrm-inner-content-wrapper yrm-cntent-1'><br \/>\nThe villagers had tried to light their candles in the cemetery, but the wind extinguished them one by one, as if an invisible hand were blowing on them. So they came home, soaking wet, murmuring prayers so that the souls wouldn&#8217;t be lost in the mist.<\/p>\n<p>(We hear the sound of rain falling, slowly&#8230;)<\/p>\n<p>Among them was a twelve-year-old girl, Rosa.<br \/>\nHer eyes shone like two little lanterns, and she loved listening to her grandmother&#8217;s stories\u2014especially the ones about spirits.<br \/>\nThat evening, her grandmother had said to her in a gentle voice:<\/p>\n<p>&#8220;If the light goes out, mijita, the shadow will come and replace it. Always keep a flame burning.&#8221;<\/p>\n<p>But Rosa didn&#8217;t like fear to decide for her.<br \/>\nSo, when the house was asleep, she took a lantern, a lighter, and went out alone into the night.<\/p>\n<p>(A door creaks, a squeak, then footsteps on wet earth&#8230;)<\/p>\n<p>The wind howled between the crosses. The rain was falling so hard it stung her face.<br \/>\nAnd yet, Rosa moved forward, relit the candles one by one, her fingers trembling around the flame.<\/p>\n<p>Each time a candle came back to life, a low murmur rose:<br \/>\n&#8220;Thank you, little one&#8230;&#8221;<br \/>\n&#8220;You read our guide&#8230;&#8221;<\/p>\n<p>Rosa jumped.<\/p>\n<p>Was it the wind? Was it the dead?<\/p>\n<p>She wanted to reply, but her voice caught in her throat.<\/p>\n<p>(A sound of footsteps in the mud. Then another. Then a breath behind her.)<\/p>\n<p>Someone was following her.<\/p>\n<p>She turned slowly, the lantern raised.<\/p>\n<p>A figure appeared in the mist\u2014a woman in black, her face hidden by a veil, holding a candle that would not melt.<\/p>\n<p>Her skin seemed transparent, her eyes shone with a sad light.<\/p>\n<p>The woman stepped forward. Her voice was soft, but icy:<\/p>\n<p>&#8220;You help the dead, Rosa. But tell me&#8230; who will relight your light when yours goes out?&#8221;<\/p>\n<p>Rosa took a step back.<br \/>\nThe wind suddenly picked up, stronger than ever. Her lantern flickered&#8230;<br \/>\nOne last flame, one last glimmer&#8230; then darkness.<\/p>\n<p>(Silence. Then a breath. Then only the sound of the wind.)<\/p>\n<p>In the morning, the sky had finally cleared.<br \/>\nThe townspeople returned to the cemetery, and what they saw took their breath away:<br \/>\nAll the candles were lit.<br \/>\nAll of them, without exception.<br \/>\nBut Rosa was no longer there.<\/p>\n<p>They searched everywhere: the village, the river, the hills. Nothing.<br \/>\nBut since that day, every Day of the Dead, when the wind blows over the graves, a small light wanders between the crosses. She relights the flames one by one, patiently, without ever going out.<\/p>\n<p>The elders say she is Rosa, the Watcher of Souls.<br \/>\nAnd if, one evening, your candle goes out for no reason&#8230;<br \/>\n(low voice)<br \/>\n&#8230;look carefully into the night. Perhaps you will see her little lantern smiling at you, just before the wind blows your name.<br \/>\n<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div><div class='yrm-btn-wrapper yrm-btn-wrapper-1 yrm-more-button-wrapper  '\n\t\tdata-custom-more-class-name='' data-custom-less-class-name=''><span title='' data-less-title='' data-more-title='' class='yrm-toggle-expand  yrm-toggle-expand-1 ' data-rel='yrm-dWzAB' data-more='Read more' data-less='Read less'><span class='yrm-text-wrapper yrm-text-wrapper-custom-dimensions'><span class=\"yrm-button-text-1 yrm-button-text-span\">Read more<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n<p><\/p>\n\n\n\n<figure class=\"wp-block-image size-large\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"1024\" height=\"768\" src=\"https:\/\/tapirape.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/10\/11-1024x768.jpg\" alt=\"Person in skeleton suit and top hat stands in the jungle camp with mist and huts\" class=\"wp-image-3308\" srcset=\"https:\/\/tapirape.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/10\/11-1024x768.jpg 1024w, https:\/\/tapirape.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/10\/11-300x225.jpg 300w, https:\/\/tapirape.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/10\/11-768x576.jpg 768w, https:\/\/tapirape.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/10\/11-1536x1152.jpg 1536w, https:\/\/tapirape.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/10\/11-2048x1536.jpg 2048w, https:\/\/tapirape.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/10\/11-676x507.jpg 676w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 1024px) 100vw, 1024px\" \/><\/figure>\n\n\n\n<blockquote class=\"wp-block-quote is-layout-flow wp-block-quote-is-layout-flow\">\n<p><strong>Shui &#8211; The Egg<\/strong><br>By: Andy Weir<br>\u200b<br>You were on your way home when you died.<br>It was a car accident. Nothing particularly remarkable, but fatal nonetheless. You left behind a wife and two children. It was a painless death. The EMTs tried their best to save you, but to no avail. Your body was so utterly shattered you were better off, trust me.<br>\u200b<br>And that\u2019s when you met me.<br>\u201cWhat\u2026 what happened?\u201d You asked. \u201cWhere am I?\u201d<br>\u201cYou died,\u201d I said, matter-of-factly. No point in mincing words.<br>\u201cThere was a\u2026 a truck and it was skidding\u2026\u201d<br>\u201cYup,\u201d I said.<br>\u201cI\u2026 I died?\u201d<br>\u201cYup. But don\u2019t feel bad about it. Everyone dies,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n\n\n<div class='yrm-content yrm-content-1 yrm-content-hide  ' id='yrm-4okq7' data-id='1' data-show-status='false' data-after-action='' style=\"visibility: hidden;height: 0;\">\n\t\t\t<div id='yrm-inner-content-yrm-4okq7' class='yrm-inner-content-wrapper yrm-cntent-1'><br \/>\nYou looked around. There was nothingness. Just you and me. \u201cWhat is this place?\u201d You asked. \u201cIs this the afterlife?\u201d<br \/>\n\u201cMore or less,\u201d I said.<br \/>\n\u201cAre you god?\u201d You asked.<br \/>\n\u201cYup,\u201d I replied. \u201cI\u2019m God.\u201d<br \/>\n\u201cMy kids\u2026 my wife,\u201d you said.<br \/>\n\u201cWhat about them?\u201d<br \/>\n\u201cWill they be all right?\u201d<br \/>\n\u201cThat\u2019s what I like to see,\u201d I said. \u201cYou just died and your main concern is for your family. That\u2019s good stuff right there.\u201d<br \/>\n \u200b<br \/>\nYou looked at me with fascination. To you, I didn\u2019t look like God. I just looked like some man. Or possibly a woman. Some vague authority figure, maybe. More of a grammar school teacher than the almighty.<br \/>\n\u201cDon\u2019t worry,\u201d I said. \u201cThey\u2019ll be fine. Your kids will remember you as perfect in every way. They didn\u2019t have time to grow contempt for you. Your wife will cry on the outside, but will be secretly relieved. To be fair, your marriage was falling apart. If it\u2019s any consolation, she\u2019ll feel very guilty for feeling relieved.\u201d<br \/>\n \u200b<br \/>\n\u201cOh,\u201d you said. \u201cSo what happens now? Do I go to heaven or hell or something?\u201d<br \/>\n\u201cNeither,\u201d I said. \u201cYou\u2019ll be reincarnated.\u201d<br \/>\n\u201cAh,\u201d you said. \u201cSo the Hindus were right,\u201d<br \/>\n\u201cAll religions are right in their own way,\u201d I said. \u201cWalk with me.\u201d<br \/>\n \u200b<br \/>\nYou followed along as we strode through the void. \u201cWhere are we going?\u201d<br \/>\n\u201cNowhere in particular,\u201d I said. \u201cIt\u2019s just nice to walk while we talk.\u201d<br \/>\n\u201cSo what\u2019s the point, then?\u201d You asked. \u201cWhen I get reborn, I\u2019ll just be a blank slate, right? A baby. So all my experiences and everything I did in this life won\u2019t matter.\u201d<br \/>\n\u201cNot so!\u201d I said. \u201cYou have within you all the knowledge and experiences of all your past lives. You just don\u2019t remember them right now.\u201d<br \/>\n \u200b<br \/>\nI stopped walking and took you by the shoulders. \u201cYour soul is more magnificent, beautiful, and gigantic than you can possibly imagine. A human mind can only contain a tiny fraction of what you are. It\u2019s like sticking your finger in a glass of water to see if it\u2019s hot or cold. You put a tiny part of yourself into the vessel, and when you bring it back out, you\u2019ve gained all the experiences it had.<br \/>\n \u200b<br \/>\n\u201cYou\u2019ve been in a human for the last 48 years, so you haven\u2019t stretched out yet and felt the rest of your immense consciousness. If we hung out here for long enough, you\u2019d start remembering everything. But there\u2019s no point to doing that between each life.\u201d<br \/>\n\u201cHow many times have I been reincarnated, then?\u201d<br \/>\n\u201cOh lots. Lots and lots. An in to lots of different lives.\u201d I said. \u201cThis time around, you\u2019ll be a Chinese peasant girl in 540 AD.\u201d<br \/>\n\u201cWait, what?\u201d You stammered. \u201cYou\u2019re sending me back in time?\u201d<br \/>\n\u201cWell, I guess technically. Time, as you know it, only exists in your universe. Things are different where I come from.\u201d<br \/>\n \u200b<br \/>\n\u201cWhere you come from?\u201d You said.<br \/>\n\u201cOh sure,\u201d I explained \u201cI come from somewhere. Somewhere else. And there are others like me. I know you\u2019ll want to know what it\u2019s like there, but honestly you wouldn\u2019t understand.\u201d<br \/>\n\u201cOh,\u201d you said, a little let down. \u201cBut wait. If I get reincarnated to other places in time, I could have interacted with myself at some point.\u201d<br \/>\n\u201cSure. Happens all the time. And with both lives only aware of their own lifespan you don\u2019t even know it\u2019s happening.\u201d<br \/>\n \u200b<br \/>\n\u201cSo what\u2019s the point of it all?\u201d<br \/>\n\u201cSeriously?\u201d I asked. \u201cSeriously? You\u2019re asking me for the meaning of life? Isn\u2019t that a little stereotypical?\u201d<br \/>\n\u201cWell it\u2019s a reasonable question,\u201d you persisted.<br \/>\nI looked you in the eye. \u201cThe meaning of life, the reason I made this whole universe, is for you to mature.\u201d<br \/>\n \u200b<br \/>\n\u201cYou mean mankind? You want us to mature?\u201d<br \/>\n\u201cNo, just you. I made this whole universe for you. With each new life you grow and mature and become a larger and greater intellect.\u201d<br \/>\n\u201cJust me? What about everyone else?\u201d<br \/>\n\u201cThere is no one else,\u201d I said. \u201cIn this universe, there\u2019s just you and me.\u201d<br \/>\n \u200b<br \/>\nYou stared blankly at me. \u201cBut all the people on earth\u2026\u201d<br \/>\n\u201cAll you. Different incarnations of you.\u201d<br \/>\n\u201cWait. I\u2019m everyone!?\u201d<br \/>\n\u201cNow you\u2019re getting it,\u201d I said, with a congratulatory slap on the back.<br \/>\n\u201cI\u2019m every human being who ever lived?\u201d<br \/>\n\u201cOr who will ever live, yes.\u201d<br \/>\n \u200b<br \/>\n\u201cI\u2019m Abraham Lincoln?\u201d<br \/>\n\u201cAnd you\u2019re John Wilkes Booth, too,\u201d I added.<br \/>\n\u201cI\u2019m Hitler?\u201d You said, appalled.<br \/>\n\u201cAnd you\u2019re the millions he killed.\u201d<br \/>\n\u201cI\u2019m Jesus?\u201d<br \/>\n\u201cAnd you\u2019re everyone who followed him.\u201d<br \/>\n \u200b<br \/>\nYou fell silent.<br \/>\n\u201cEvery time you victimized someone,\u201d I said, \u201cyou were victimizing yourself. Every act of kindness you\u2019ve done, you\u2019ve done to yourself. Every happy and sad moment ever experienced by any human was, or will be, experienced by you.\u201d<br \/>\n \u200b<br \/>\nYou thought for a long time.<br \/>\n\u201cWhy?\u201d You asked me. \u201cWhy do all this?\u201d<br \/>\n\u201cBecause someday, you will become like me. Because that\u2019s what you are. You\u2019re one of my kind. You\u2019re my child.\u201d<br \/>\n \u200b<br \/>\n\u201cWhoa,\u201d you said, incredulous. \u201cYou mean I\u2019m a god?\u201d<br \/>\n\u201cNo. Not yet. You\u2019re a fetus. You\u2019re still growing. Once you\u2019ve lived every human life throughout all time, you will have grown enough to be born.\u201d<br \/>\n\u201cSo the whole universe,\u201d you said, \u201cit\u2019s just\u2026\u201d<br \/>\n\u201cAn egg.\u201d I answered. \u201cNow it\u2019s time for you to move on to your next life.\u201d<br \/>\nAnd I sent you on your way.<br \/>\n \u200b<br \/>\nVideo: https:\/\/www.youtube.com\/watch?v=h6fcK_fRYaI<br \/>\n<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div><div class='yrm-btn-wrapper yrm-btn-wrapper-1 yrm-more-button-wrapper  '\n\t\tdata-custom-more-class-name='' data-custom-less-class-name=''><span title='' data-less-title='' data-more-title='' class='yrm-toggle-expand  yrm-toggle-expand-1 ' data-rel='yrm-4okq7' data-more='Read more' data-less='Read less'><span class='yrm-text-wrapper yrm-text-wrapper-custom-dimensions'><span class=\"yrm-button-text-1 yrm-button-text-span\">Read more<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n<p><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>This Thursday, the Tap\u00ed and Xoco hosted storytelling at the Tap\u00ed Camp. With D\u00eda de los Muertos approaching. Every tale stayed true to the theme and more than a few sent chills through the crowd, and some were unsettling enough to keep us glancing over our shoulders on the walk home. Here follows the stories [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-3278","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized","post-preview"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/tapirape.com\/blog\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3278","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/tapirape.com\/blog\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/tapirape.com\/blog\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/tapirape.com\/blog\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/tapirape.com\/blog\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=3278"}],"version-history":[{"count":21,"href":"https:\/\/tapirape.com\/blog\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3278\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3319,"href":"https:\/\/tapirape.com\/blog\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3278\/revisions\/3319"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/tapirape.com\/blog\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=3278"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/tapirape.com\/blog\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=3278"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/tapirape.com\/blog\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=3278"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}