Velikovsky's Comet Venus-4
David Talbott
THE GREAT COMET
In seeking out the general patterns of the Mesoamerican
Venus as serpent-dragon, we cannot fail to observe that our
listed "cometary" symbols are not just present, but
prominent, that they are enigmatically but self-evidently
connected, that they do not direct us to any present forms
either in the sky or in the natural world today (rather,
they contradict all natural forms at every level), and that
they remain unexplained, despite decades of microscopic
examination by the best experts.
One conclusion is inescapable, even if interpretations will
differ: the Mesoamerican symbolism of the planet Venus–in
that planet's guise as serpent-dragon or chaos-monster–is a
compendium of globally-recognized comet symbols,
representing in one mythical form all five of the most
frequently employed cometary glyphs! Yet in more than forty
years since Velikovsky's Worlds in Collision, no
mainstream scholar has even acknowledged this stunning fact.
Of course, no comet admitted by modern science has ever
justified the lines of Shakespeare previously cited, or the
Aztec image of a comet-like "weapon" in the form of a fiery
dragon. But our appreciation for the symbolism changes
dramatically once we entertain a new possibility–that in
earlier times mankind experienced a far more spectacular and
devastating comet than ever experienced in more recent
times, a cometary archetype that could fully account for the
later symbols. It was said of the great fire serpent
Xiuhcoatl that it spewed forth comets. That is exactly the
language we should expect if Xiuhcoatl was not just a comet,
but the parent of comets, the concrete source of a mythical
archetype, from which arose the entire reservoir of comet
images. Every cometary apparition, taking its symbolism
from the cosmic original, would then be considered a child
of the primeval, flaming serpent or dragon remembered in the
myths.
ON EVIDENCE AND LOGIC
In all of this there is a fundamental issue of logic. How
does one properly weigh the lines of evidence, the repeated
convergence of comet words and symbols upon Venus? Having
had many opportunities to muse over the way the experts
skirt the issue, I am convinced the real question never
enters their minds. Until one asks the question-did Venus
formerly present itself as a spectacular "comet"?–even the
most obvious evidence will be seen as something else, as
confirmation of the recklessness and confusion of myth,
another reason not to take myth seriously. The question is
not asked because the "Velikovskian" field of study lacks
all credibility in the eyes of mainstream authorities.
Thus the Mayan scholar Peter
Joralemon explained the highly
unnatural convergence of symbols on the celestial dragon–
The primary concern of Olmec
art is the representation of
creatures that are biologically impossible. Such
mythological beings exist in the mind of man, not in the
world of nature.
It's easy to see how one might
draw this conclusion. But if
the symbolism lacks any roots in "the world of nature" and
is simply the result of chaotic imagination, then an even
greater issue arises: Why do the same symbols continually
occur in juxtaposition? Once the critic resorts to
unbridled imagination as an explanation of highly specific
forms, he is left with nothing but coincidence to account
for the convergence. But when it comes to the convergence
of all five of the world's most common cometary symbols on
one celestial creature, is it reasonable to expect sheer
imagination and "coincidence" to account for the situation?
In truth, virtually all
respected authorities continually
look for natural references, because no one could seriously
believe that such dramatic images as the plumed serpent
could dominate an entire civilization without a link to
natural experience. Only the rarest of specialists would
suggest that the primitive mind conjured its primary
mythical forms out of a wholesale denial of the world. In
truth, if they can find even the most remote natural
explanation, the experts will use it. Miguel León-Portilla,
for example, offers a picturesque explanation of the Venus-
Quetzalcoatl relationship–
The association of Venus and
Quetzalcoatl can probably be
attributed to the fact that when this planet sets upon
the moving waters of the Pacific, its reflection seems
not unlike a serpent with brilliant scales and plumes.
Here is a "natural
explanation" that would fit easily into
Bob Forrest's analysis, as if there is nothing in the plumed
serpent crying out for a comparison with the highly
improbable yet similar images of other peoples–and as if
the combined cometary associations need not concern us.
How, then, does one break
through the vicious circle? Go
back to the list of the five most frequently-employed comet
images, each of them occurring not only in Mexico but in the
global symbolism of the comet. How does one weigh the fact
that all five comet glyphs are attached to the Mexican
Venus? Indeed not only the general motifs, but virtually all
of the listed variations are attached to Venus. Is sheer
coincidence even possible in such an extreme case as this?
For starters, it needs to be
understood that we are not
dealing with a "multiple choice" when it comes to possible
interpretations. If one is permitted to include in the
lexicon of comets the "shooting star," whose mythical image
is drawn from the same reservoir, then the only known and
provable celestial phenomenon called a "long-haired star" is
a comet; the only celestial phenomenon known to have been
called a torch star or a flaming star is a comet; the only
celestial phenomenon known to have been represented as a
star with streaming "tail feathers" is a comet. The only
celestial phenomenon known to have been represented as a
star with a serpentine tail is a comet. That these very
glyphs are consistently attached to Venus cannot be
explained away by ad hoc reasoning.
Now add the mythical role of
the comet as the ascending soul
of a former great king, together with the explicit role of
Venus as the ascending soul of the prototypical king
Quetzalcoatl, and you will begin to see what is at issue
here. If nothing else the stunning convergence of cometary
images should make clear that Humboldt's guess about the
"smoking star" Venus and a local volcano is not a sufficient
answer! The juxtaposition of cometary motifs with the now-
peaceful planet–a planet whose appearance today could not
begin to explain these associations–forces us to confront
the logical alternative: if Venus did appear as a comet, the
entire assembly of improbable "coincidences" disappears.
THE MYTH OF THE COMET VENUS
To establish the coincidence
of cometary themes relating to
Venus is not to end the subject, but simply to open the door
to a new vantage point, one in which the researcher enjoys
the freedom to consider unusual possibilities. Do the Aztec
and Mayan codices, the inscriptions on stone, the oral
histories, and the towering monuments speak for events no
longer occurring in the skies?
The unexpected symbolic
parallels give the researcher a new
way of perceiving his subject. Grant the possibility of a
world-threatening comet Venus–frightening enough and
destructive enough to substantiate man1s deepest fears–and
the culture will no longer look the same. Re-envisioning the
ancient world in this way will not remove the role of magic
and superstition in the myths; nor will it soften the
profoundly barbaric components of native rituals; nor will
it give to the myths and rites that loftier wisdom we so
often seek in ancient words. What it will do is lend the
missing perspective, providing new frameworks for
understanding the experiential roots of the culture.
The candid researcher must
first admit that even the most
capable authorities, when considering the core of pre-
Columbian thought and culture, find that convincing
explanations elude them. Can modern scholars, for example,
really claim to understand the cloud of anxiety that hung
over Mexican cultures, an anxiety only heightened by the
arrival of the Spaniards? Nothing in that civilization's
monumental splendor could hide this apprehension. But to
expose its roots the researcher must be willing to follow
the clues, rather than dismiss them just because they seem
so out of touch with the world we know. These clues will
lead–inescapably–past the cover of cultural anxiety to its
roots in celestial terror.
The sensitive chronicler, Fray
Diego Duran, writing just a
generation after Columbus, recounted a story about the great
emperor Moctezuma, concerning an experience prior to arrival
of the conquistadors. It happened that Moctezuma had
received word of a comet hanging over Mexico at sunrise.
Though the report did not come from his personal
astrologers, "he was so filled with fear that he thought his
death would arrive within the hour." Moctezuma then asked
the king of neighboring Texcoco to tell him what the comet
meant.
The answer was as Moctezuma
must have feared–
It is an ill-omen for our
kingdoms; terrible, frightful
things will come upon them. In all our lands and
provinces there will be great calamities and misfortunes,
not a thing will be left standing. Death will dominate
the land! All our dominion will be lost.
On hearing this news,
Moctezuma–
wept bitterly, saying "O Lord
of All Created Things! O
mighty gods who gives life or death! Why have you
decreed that many kings shall have reigned proudly but
that my fate is to witness the unhappy destruction of
Mexico?"
It would be senseless to
attempt to isolate or explain
Moctezuma's fears outside a cultural tradition far more
telling than the individual biographies of kings. No king
in earlier times could free himself from the mythical and
ritual contexts of kingship. And in the overarching symbols
of the power and fate of kings one encounters invariably the
archaic language of the comet. Of the comet in Moctezuma's
day, Duran's modern translators write: "It is curious to
note that the Aztecs looked upon comets as ill omens, just
as the contemporary Europeans regarded them as signs of war,
famine and pestilence." Among the Aztecs, "Comets and
earthquakes, which were always carefully marked down each
year in the hieroglyphic manuscripts, were always considered
omens of misfortune," notes Jacques Soustell.
In our investigation we have
grouped comet and meteor
symbolism together because mythically the two are
synonymous. "Comets are referred to in Quiché [highlands
Maya] as uje ch1umil, 'tail of the star,' and are considered
omens of massive pestilence," observes Barbara Tedlock.
"Throughout the Mayan area, meteors are thought to be evil
omens forecasting sickness, war, and death."
The Mesoamerican theme
resonates with a global fear that no
comparative study can ignore: around the world, the comet
signaled the approach of doomsday. And it mattered not how
quietly and unobtrusively the visitor made its appearance,
because the archetypal image did not originate in the little
wisps of gas that periodically adorn our sky. With the
rarest of exceptions, the cometary omen was ominous
(the two English words being derived from the same Latin root). For the
ancient stargazers, the comet was the fear-inspiring portent of
disaster, the "ill-omened star". And thus does our word "dis-aster" (evil star) echo the ancient fear of a
star (comet) presiding over universal "catastrophe" (another
word reflecting the evil aster or star, the comet of world
mythology). But this brief note on language of the evil
star does not even scratch the surface when it comes to the
depth of man1s memory of a world-ending cometary disaster.
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