Maize, Mayans & Mathmatics

   I’m starting to gather seeds for next year. Elecampane was today. I’ve already got little glassine envelopes of dianthus; agastache; rue; horehound; columbine … the list goes on. I find myself wondering, though, if these seeds will ever get planted. Will they ever germinate, ever grow up nice and straight in little pots and get to be planted in the garden? For this is a task for next year, and, next year, the world may be gone.

I don’t think about this often. It doesn’t alter my behavior. The freezer is getting full. I’ve paid next year’s property taxes. I’m about to buy new tires. All in all, the actions of a man who fully expects to be active during 2013. It’s the seeds that give me pause, perhaps because they are timeless. Perhaps because they carry information from antiquity, because they only exist to move their species into the future. Perhaps because seeds are past, present and future, wrapped into a speck in the palm of your hand. Or maybe I just wonder why I’m going through the trouble when we’re all going to die, anyway.

   How different this doomsday scenario is from the last that I remember. That was the turn of the millennia according to Christians. During that one, everyone was running around trying to save seed. Everyone was stockpiling seed, on the assumption that the catalogs would not be coming in the mail once civilization imploded.

   I’m thinking I should prepare myself a little ark that will carry me into the afterlife. I’ll need some seeds, of course, so none of this will be in vain. A talis or an amulet or two. Some gold. A buffalo robe. Some prayers written in heiroglyphics. A map of the underworld. Some reading material. Some snacks.

   No worries. I’ll be ready.