South America
Peru....
From “The Pale One”, pg. 22........
“In the city of ancient glory, Pachacamac, queen of the ocean, high upon the glittering temple built they tell you to(about) the Fish God, stood He who was called Wakea by some and by others Wako.
His temple, built by the wealth of the ages, dated back so far into forgotten time that men no longer remembered its building. Upon the summit stood The Pale One, beard and hair and robe gold-tinted, as was the incense which swirled above Him with its scent of burning cedar.
Far below in the agate courtyard, mosaic in designs of eternal beauty, the people danced in ceremony, ancient steps of intricate rhythm telling of their deep devotion.
Beyond the courtyard stretched the city. The sun rays lit its whitewashed houses, its orchards, markets, parks and causeways reaching beyond the out-most dwelling in straight, wide paved highways running to the four directions. At the docks were the ships of the traders, the long balsa ships which carried their pottery to Oaxaca and other ports far distant, and traded their yams to the Maori, or their gold work along the Atlantic from the coast of Cuba southward. (All found today - (1955 at that time) Ancient Peruvian pot in the ruins of Monte-Alban, Oaxaca.)
The market place was still, though strewn about were cloths of cotton grown in color. (Found on ancient mummies in deep dry tombs, but the plants have vanished, victims of war, fire and pillage.)
At last He spoke. “As I watched you, oh my people, I thought again of how I landed upon your shores and came to the temple. The priesthood, crafty and deceitful, would have slain me for their idols, but they could not and their knives fell from their fingers. I ordered the temple to be cleared of idols, and behold The restless ocean arose and with foaming fingers cleansed the temple and left it shining. I found you sinful in cunning warfare; I leave you peaceful and contented. I found you dealing in human slavery; I leave you free. My well-trained priesthood will carry on all rites now for me. Baptismal, marriage and the last interment- all will go on.
Why am I going? Why have I spoken so long to the traders? Why have I talked to the foreign merchants, speaking to each one in his own language? Because there are wild tribes in the jungles. They know not of the One Great Spirit who rules all men. They follow Him not. They still wage warfare.
Ah my people, indeed I love you. Yet if you had a herd of llamas upon a hillside and one little lamb fell into the canyon and into some brambles, would you not go down to save it, to comfort it and still its crying? So I go to save my llamas, for that is My Father’s Work.”
His temple, built by the wealth of the ages, dated back so far into forgotten time that men no longer remembered its building. Upon the summit stood The Pale One, beard and hair and robe gold-tinted, as was the incense which swirled above Him with its scent of burning cedar.
Far below in the agate courtyard, mosaic in designs of eternal beauty, the people danced in ceremony, ancient steps of intricate rhythm telling of their deep devotion.
Beyond the courtyard stretched the city. The sun rays lit its whitewashed houses, its orchards, markets, parks and causeways reaching beyond the out-most dwelling in straight, wide paved highways running to the four directions. At the docks were the ships of the traders, the long balsa ships which carried their pottery to Oaxaca and other ports far distant, and traded their yams to the Maori, or their gold work along the Atlantic from the coast of Cuba southward. (All found today - (1955 at that time) Ancient Peruvian pot in the ruins of Monte-Alban, Oaxaca.)
The market place was still, though strewn about were cloths of cotton grown in color. (Found on ancient mummies in deep dry tombs, but the plants have vanished, victims of war, fire and pillage.)
At last He spoke. “As I watched you, oh my people, I thought again of how I landed upon your shores and came to the temple. The priesthood, crafty and deceitful, would have slain me for their idols, but they could not and their knives fell from their fingers. I ordered the temple to be cleared of idols, and behold The restless ocean arose and with foaming fingers cleansed the temple and left it shining. I found you sinful in cunning warfare; I leave you peaceful and contented. I found you dealing in human slavery; I leave you free. My well-trained priesthood will carry on all rites now for me. Baptismal, marriage and the last interment- all will go on.
Why am I going? Why have I spoken so long to the traders? Why have I talked to the foreign merchants, speaking to each one in his own language? Because there are wild tribes in the jungles. They know not of the One Great Spirit who rules all men. They follow Him not. They still wage warfare.
Ah my people, indeed I love you. Yet if you had a herd of llamas upon a hillside and one little lamb fell into the canyon and into some brambles, would you not go down to save it, to comfort it and still its crying? So I go to save my llamas, for that is My Father’s Work.”
From, “The Legend of The City of Cocha”, pg. 156.........
“By now the Healer was very famous, but it seemed His visits ended with the unhappy one to Cocha. Here the Sacrificing Priesthood had a strong seat of power. On His first visit they did not oppose Him, knowing that a ship was waiting for Him, but the building of a temple and a promise to dedicate it became a gnawing worry because of His hold among the people. The priesthood feared a revolution and so when news came by obsidian mirrors that the Pale God was returning, the Priesthood decided to kill Him."
"They heard about the disaster at Caba Clos, but they chose to disbelieve it and so changed the story that the army was willing to surround Him and exterminate this demon. Therefore careful were the plans they laid out.”
The Priesthood convinced the people this man could not be Vira Cocha, therefore he must die and the people agreed."
“As the Prophet approached the city, the army drew its lines before the people and pushed them back from the highway. From a distance the prophet saw this and the forward march of the black-robed priesthood. He stopped and climbed upon a small mound and raised His arm high in greeting.”
The army attacked him with spears and rocks while yelling he didn’t have any power, coaxing him to prove it.
“For a moment the Prophet hesitated, seeing some of the people weeping, then He knelt upon the small mound and cried aloud so that all could hear Him:
‘Oh My Father, who art in Heaven, if it be thy will now to take me and this be the manner....I am ready.’ “Suddenly the clear air was split with lightning, from out of nowhere came the fire-flame making a ring about the Prophet, it whirled about in magnificent color.
"The army and priesthood began to panic, turning about to run backward. A second curtain formed behind them, separating them from the people. Here they were trapped in a sheet of horror which dissolved them into fine blown ashes before the shocked eyes of the watchers. The curtains died down and a terrible quiet left every man without the will of movement."
"Now the people fell down on their faces, seeing the white robe of the Healer was not even singed by the blue-hot fire-flame. Then a deep voice came in the thunder, rumbling down from the heavens, speaking the words of a foreign language which somehow were simultaneously translated for the people so they clearly understood the meaning: ‘Go, my Son, upon they journey, for thy work in this land is ended.’ So the Prophet turned and walked away sadly toward the bay where His ship was waiting."
The people full of shame and grief followed Him to the shore and there in the moonlight, holding his robe close, “He began treading the trail of moonbeams over the quiet shine of the water to where His great ship was riding. Now the people fell down weeping, saying, “It was Vira Cocha returned to us from the land of the Shadows, and we his people did not know him.”
Hansen adds,” Today if you should go to Peru and visit the city of Cocha, find an old man who knows the legends and ask him to take you to the Place of the Lightnings. There circled about a small mound you will see the strange rocks near an old road which the people say were formed on a clear day when an early sun was shining. So light are these rocks that a table-sized boulder can be balanced on the back of one hand, so hot was the fire that formed them.”
(*For this Legend see Bancroft. - Author.)
From, “The Waters of Vira Cocha, pg. 160...........
After the Prophet left, the people began to retrace their steps back to their unfinished temple and the now vanished priesthood. “Sad indeed was this walk of the people. They kept saying to one another:
“Why, oh why, did we not know Him?”
“Why did we listen to the priesthood?”
“Why did we let the army surround Him?”
To these questions they had no answer, but they urged their crying children onward and dragged their tired feet homeward.
Then came the great disappointment. The Apurimac River, never known to lessen the flow of its clear water, was dry The people of Cocha were stricken.” The people were confused, not knowing what they were going to do for water and decided to keep walking home to Cocha. “As they came near the Place of Lightening, they broke into lamentation. Spirits crushed, they huddled together. All the springs were dried and dusty, all the small streams were empty. Truly now they knew they had offended, for each dry spring was an added witness to the wrath of the Almighty.
That night the people chanted together; an olden chant from the days long vanished. It was the fourth night of their long penance and they had little hope for forgiveness or continuing life. Upon some of them had come the thirst-madness and four had died for want of water. Most desperately the little children suffered. Now in their chant they asked not for forgiveness, but only for help for their suffering children.
Suddenly in the east rose the Star of the Dawning and a luminous Being stood among them. His hair and beard touched by the moonlight were rippling streams of burnished silver and His white robe seemed to be made of moonbeams. In one hand He grasped a long staff. This He raised and thrust deep into the lava. A fountain of water sprang up, bubbling and tumbling its way among them.”
They dove into the water, crying and laughing soaking up the cool water that brought life to a dying people and as they looked up to thank Him, He was gone. They named the spring, “The Fountain of Vira Cocha”.
“Through the ages from that day this spring has been worshiped. Here came the mighty Inca, ruler of a hundred nations. Here, where the waters reach a depression, the monarch had a large dam constructed so that a blue lake would sparkle, filled with the sacred water.
About this lake was a wall of great stones, eight feet high and six in width, and at one end a giant structure. For some three hundred feet ran this temple, its breadth eighty seven feet, its walls in tiers of twenty feet each, rising twelve tiers with many windows which had wooden sashes. Six courtyards stood before the temple, each surrounded by six buildings, two on each of the three sides leaving the fourth side open to the lake. These buildings were made of unhewn lava with well fitted windows, all well cemented, the second story of stucco and painted purple.
Beyond these buildings were others, some of circular stones and beyond these walls were still other buildings. Above the courtyards stood a giant statue of Vira Cocha seen and described by the Spaniard, Garcilasso. The statue was of a man very lofty of feature, with long curling hair and a flowing beard. He was dressed in a cassock, not unlike those of Biblical times and behind Him walked a chained tiger.”
“Gone today are the buildings and the statue of the Prophet, only ruins remain of the lovely temple, but if you should go to the River Vilcanota, flowing between Cuzco and Lake Titicaca, you may find the town of Cacha, which once was known as Cocha, splashing its way in gurgling music through the lava to a large artificial lake.
This is the most sacred spring in South America, the life-giving Waters of Vira Cocha where the Prophet once stood and thrust His staff into the lava to save a repentant nation from death.”
“(For Garcillasso’s description (now lost), see George E. Squier’s “Peru”, also difficult to obtain. Story quoted by Bancroft.)”
From, “The Legend of The Three Crosses”, pg. 149..........
"The golden sandals of the Prophet came to Paracas in Peru, South America. As in the land now called Mexico (Place of the Meshecans) when He went toward Tula, His coming was announced by trumpeters sounding the conch shells and drummers talking with the tom-toms. For three hundred miles from mountain to mountain in all the four directions, the great news traveled."
"On a hillside facing the Bay of Paracas stood the Healer looking down on the surging thousands. He held His arm aloft for silence, giving the sign they knew was His Peace Sign. Then from the earth came the terrible rumble which comes before the roar of the Fire God and the earth began to sway and shake beneath them. Only the pale One stood there silent, unmoved by all the earth shaking, His arm still raised in benediction. Finally silence came to the people. “Fear not my children. My Father, who rules the earth and the heavens is not showing His anger. He but shakes the earth to prick my memory. He reminds me I have a story to tell you.”
"He told them of a land across the ocean, where all men were like Him; bearded. He spoke of their houses, their cattle, their clothes and customs, their ships and temples, their metal-clad armies.
Then He spoke of a Man who lived there, who healed the people, who taught them and loved them and in turn was beloved of the people. Yet this Man incurred in the priesthood jealousy and anger which ran like a bad sore, corrupting even those who should have known better."
"He spoke of the power of a wicked nation who bowed down before many idols. Into a court of this nation the Man was dragged by His captors. Even the judge could see no wrong in Him, but as His enemies called furiously for His life, the judge was forced at last to condemn the Prisoner to be hung upon a cross of dead trees, for such was their strange custom.
In prison, the Man had been lashed and beaten and when the day arrived for execution, the Prisoner had to carry His great cross to a place upon a hilltop, falling down often upon the hot earth, for He was weak from His stay in prison. Some were there who tried to help him, yet there were many who cried out against Him with curses that showed their livid hatred, while spit mingled with His bloody bowed head. Thus He dragged His cross to a hilltop.
To each side and a little behind Him, two thieves were fastened to crosses and then the soldiers made Him fast to the big cross by driving knives through His two hands and raising up the dead trees so that He would hang there until death at last had released Him.
These thieves cried out to Him for a benediction. They were of good heart, even though they had done wrong. Compared to those who had tried to spread hatred and from their own little self-minded islands were attempting to stamp Him with their own evil which corrupted their souls like a sore over running, these thieves were good and so He blessed them. Then He asked for a drink, as the pain hung on Him and at last as His head fell forward, He asked forgiveness for all who had wronged Him. No sooner had this happened than the earth began heaving. The sun was darkened and the people ran screaming. The three figures swung to and fro on their crosses and a fierce wind swept over the hilltop.
Then seeing that He was apparently lifeless, the soldiers brought down the great cross and a man who had been His friend came forward to claim Him. This man was wealthy, being the owner of ships which carried goods to the four directions on both of the oceans. He had bought a tomb for the humble Healer because he believed his Peace Religion. To this tomb was the Man carried, where He was tended with loving care and laid in a casket. A great rock was rolled against the entrance, lest some try to do Him further evil. Yet when the women came there weeping, behold the stone had been rolled away and the tomb was empty. For a few short days, some said that they had seen Him and then He was seen no more.”
‘Thus my children, does the Almighty protect the Man who carries his message and not even one of the earth’s greatest nations in all its might has the power to kill Him while He follows the wishes of the Almighty.
So too, is it with Me. And when just now the earth started shaking it was to remind Me of this story which My Father had laid upon my heart to tell you so that you may know more about this Peace Religion.’
Hansen adds, “It is said when He finished speaking the people could see behind Him upon the hillside the shadow of three crosses. After He had gone, the people still seemed to see three crosses, so stone masons began the work of carving them deeper upon the hillside so that the children of their children would still remember.
Today if you go to the Bay of Paracas and look across at the hillside you may still see the Three Crosses. The Great Cross in the center is six hundred feet tall, while the smaller two are to each side of the Great Cross. There is a line which ties each of the smaller crossed to the Great Cross. These huge carvings are indeed strange crosses. They resemble dead trees with limbs turned upward, like arms raised in supplication.”
“(Note: The Legend of the Three Crosses and the Waters of Vira Cocha were told me by a native Indian of Peru who was laughingly introduced to me by a Navaho friend as a Navaho. No one would have guessed that he was not until he admitted being a Quichua. I was grateful for the legends, but I am unable to find them in print either in Bancroft or other authorities. However, they do seem very probable, so I am including them. The described works in both cases are authentic. The line of the crosses is true North-South - Author.)”
Brazil..........
From, “He Who Is Called Waikano”, pg. 24........
“Up against the twisting tree trunks stands the Council House of the Chieftain, the Long-house, the log-built Maloka brought to the north woods by invading Iroquois and copied often by the Pilgrims. This was shingled with heavy palm leaves.
Seated just within the doorway, each upon his striped blanket was a conclave of the Nations. Before them stood the Holy Master: He Who Is Called Waikano.
‘For twelve moons have I walked among you, while the sun swung around his circle. For ten moons now you have not battled nor taken human sacrifices. I brought you seeds and you have used them; seeds for drugs and food and clothing, spices and the warm sweet chocolate, as well as gourds for good containers. I taught you many ceremonies, baptismal rites and sacred marriage. I leave behind those who can lead you, for I must go to other nations.’
Then the leader arose and spoke: ‘Dark is the sun, Great Waikano Dark our lives on the day you leave us and our hearts shadowed with sorrow.’
‘Nay grieve not my faithful people. In My Father’s Land you will all have lodges and beyond the veil I await your coming. Return not to your ways of evil; I ask but this: your faithful promise.’
‘Hear this, O Blessed Master. So that our sons will never forget thee and forever keep thy teachings, we shall renounce the names we have carried and to the eternity beyond tomorrow shall be known as the Waikanoes: Faithful followers of the Master.”
“Note: The Waikanoes are a non-Christian wild tribe from Matto Grosso.–Author”