Mysterious flight over Java (short story)


First part


I have little to say about my homeland and friends. Perhaps the length of years, today sixty-one, motivated me if it did not obsess me, from traveling the world and finding its mysteries, and alienating me from another, for few I can find trust, friends, with no personal interest in every corner and on my charge.

I thought this story might fit the appropriate hypothesis – in some cases, therefore, the hard-to-tell story I have to tell should not be considered: a crazy and unfinished depiction of my imagination, more than a constructive experience of my mind and its reality, into which would dream a day or a fantasy: from now on, I want to undo it here and now.

From a small and concrete airport in Guam (in the summer of 1999), I was halfway around the world on a trip to Java to see Borobudur, an old Buddhist ruin, in Indonesia, built of some two million volcanic stone blocks. The plane landed in Bali, it was a kind of nervous restless flight that haunted me, as if I had witnessed from the window of my bow, cape and everything, with a huge snake around my neck and my long body, hung along the spirit belly.

The plane I was driving from Bali to Java was a beautiful old looking crowd, with four propellers and only two rows of seats, each on one side of the belly of the plane, was, or seemed to be, loaded with some kind of supplies, the rear seats of the plane were removed, used for storing boxes on the boxes, there were inscriptions ‘fragile’ on them, and the name of several brands of whiskey, which I didn’t notice at first, but when I went to the toilet, before take-off.

Once in the air, the ride was awkward at first; I even held my breath as we climbed through some clouds and surrounding winds.

When we set off, it was almost evening, and it was amazing that a heavy plane first crashed to the ground, as did the color of twilight penetrating the darkness and beyond. I watched her intently, until the sunset disappeared, onto one fine line of fog.

The moon was a dusty orange, with a distinctive cloud or shade of charcoal, comparing to that figure I saw during the flight from Guam to Bali, then when I blinked and zoomed back to look at another view, a quick change passed and the moon it looked transparent — as if I could see it through him.

The air on the plane became hot and cloudy, unbearable, just hot. It seemed that the wind I noticed outside the plane was no more, he died and left, or we left him behind us on the plane, by the way.

It got so hot at the end of the first hour of flight, I felt like someone had lit a candle inside me, and it was burning from my belly over my chest to my throat, it was hovering, vibrating inside my lungs, Twelve passengers on a plane with me, it seemed being that in the same condition I was in, I experienced the same illnesses.

The crew made up of pilots and pilots, one of them, mostly with Indonesian stocks, paced the aisle between the two sets of seats, stretching their legs I guess he wasn’t looking at us on purpose, as if he didn’t want to deal with it. complaints. I simply turned my head toward the moon so I could see the full picture, or it might have been a premonition or an illusion of an evil angel or messenger.

To be sure, every appearance of that devil gave me some kind of acceptable, if I don’t understand a possible message about a fateful day or maybe a nightmare with open eyes.

I was uncomfortable, which prevented me from falling asleep, I was surprised several times by the muffling of the loud engines of the plane, and with it I returned to my noisy sound, the smooth meandering caused by the rapid and constant revolution of the propeller. the center of the plane, more balanced as people ascended to the bathroom.

Then the plane crashed as if it had hit a rock in the sky, and a few more rocks hit the plane, swallowing the entire top of the plane, from the cockpit to the tail end. The extreme fury of the explosion came out of the propeller and completely disappeared, after one minute, the weight of the back of the plane seemed to be retreating, pulling the plane down, slowed down trying to stay above the sea of ​​greenery below us. Immeasurable pressure on the three engines still in operation, and strong frustration grew among the twelve.

“But what miracle could save us?” I was wondering.

Everyone was stunned by the shock of losing the engine.

I found myself, holding the seat firmly in front of me, firmly, not with great difficulty, but strictly, because the heat caused dizziness in my head.

Below me I knew there was a sea of ​​greenery, a vortex and a current of wind pulling the plane down, trying to pull it, it was like the plane was crashing into a vortex, I hoped it was short-lived, but the power was to stun the plane from behind.

I expected the pilots to be able to give us some comfort; their efforts failed faster than the plane. I felt like packed sardines, in one of those nice cans they were wrapped in. They all looked a little overwhelmed.

Now we were in the second hour of flight, of two and a half hours of flight, we lost speed, and the sea of ​​greenery, the tops of the trees, was below us, we were too close, sometimes I thought it was so close to fifty meters, and the speed at which we set off, I concluded that we would collide, there would be considerable injuries to the passengers, and of course me.

The violence of the wind, brought considerable danger to the rear of the plane, with horror I believed, at all times, that hundreds of boxes of glasses filled with glass would fly every time. And in our besieged state we could inevitably leave this life right here and now, in the belly of a plane, before we crash and unsuccessfully, that premonition is soon confirmed.

For a full five minutes, during the flight, the substance in the boxes — its quantity — flew without great difficulty forward, in the direction of us passengers — twelve hundred bottles of whiskey defying the budget, flew like a tornado, rolled like a storm, with an insignificant variety of glass and bottles, like benches, fragrant yellowish liquids fly at every turn and emit no decisive direction, only clouds of broken glass and unstable rage in the stomach, and the plane began to sink into the green sea. We all became paralyzed.

As far as I could have guessed, we had an hour of flight left and there was no landing until we reached Yogyakarta: at this point the attention was restarted by the appearance of overhead trees, the lights from the plane gave anxiety and a gloomy glow without much evidence, what we what was seen was really what we thought we were seeing, inside this pretentious green, dark massive garden.

One emotion continued to dwell within me, I don’t have a name for it, it was just there, as if it had its hands both squeezed and squeezed, and then it tried to nullify my soul. I don’t have a psychoanalysis I can give beyond that, except, let’s move on to parapsychology, and then the feeling I was getting had the key. To a theological and psychological mind like mine, the best I can consider are the evil beings involved in this flight, the female snake, the one with the wing-like caps, the snake around the neck, the one that appeared to me – at this point, three or more times, and would appear a few more times. At the time, I wouldn’t have told anyone about my vague intuition, had I not added another origin to this mysterious flight, but nonetheless, a whole new entity was added to my mind that was dragging my soul.

This creature, even having her hat pressed tightly to her head, covered almost everything, including her ears and neck, but you could see the tips of her ears extending beyond his mask, and her face, thin but graceful, a devilish grace.

As the plane landed again, I thought about my destiny, trying to at least focus on it, somehow trying, this whole thing, that flight that is, which is, incomprehensible. As I now looked around, they all appeared in silence, as if wrapped in prayer or contemplation, contemplation, meditation, essentially, concealment, did not want to see, investigate what was happening, wanted to land in a country hotel, and call him at night, and do all they had planned, after sucking; thus they remained in their private cabin, within their mind.

I took a few minutes and wrote in my diary about this topic, this flight, realizing then, I wouldn’t have a chance to share it with the world if I procrastinated, hoping someone would find my notes on the magazine.

Looking out the window of the plane window, I thought of the precarious chance of a safe landing of this plane, noting also that the structure of the plane was, as its general equipment was built, all negative in the belief that it could land. surely, except at its original destination, what it was not was a solid plane, by no means at this time.

Observing the moon again, or towards the moon, the haze around it, like overgrown shadows, deviations, then that feeling appeared in my stomach, a woman, an insight flashed, among the shadows, an incomprehensible memory of old devil’s fairy tales, and ancient stories came to me by heart. He seemed to look at the metal of the plane, its engines, the old material from which they were made, it was gentle, unsuitable for this extreme weather and chaos, its torture.

The implication seemed overly curious, perhaps characteristic of the stars, or held back by rage, the fact that the plane was still in flight. You knew the old plane was beaten in the plane, certainly full of memories of years past, but a wonderful plane as I already mentioned, wonderful in that it was old-fashioned and still working.

About half an hour left before landing. The chief pilot passed through the aisle; he paid no attention to me, though I stared in his direction wanting some kind of information, but he was utterly unaware of my presence, like his friend who had walked down that same hallway an hour or so ago. I noticed that his knees were trembling, his shoulders and back were slightly bent, as if in despair.

I looked out the window again and in shock the impo’s eyes were bright, gray, looking at mine, face to face.

The plane now looked dead, my mind, my ears, could not hear the hum of the engine, the propeller in motion. It seemed to me, now we needed that miracle I was talking about some time ago. This plane was a huge part of the doomed weight, hovering for the last miles before landing; the final flood could be in the abyss I was muttering.

The female impulse, the female snake of the devil, looked like a surprising seagull, but on the other hand, I accepted it as an allusion, a demon from the deep, limited somehow to tell me the forbidden story of imminent doom. As confusing as it sounds, I can’t explain its impact on me, but it was influenced by the constant current of this plane pulling the plane down and now all four engines stopped; what kept him in the water?

Now I saw her face to face, but as I expected her to pay me a little attention, more on casual observation, yet that feeling attracted me inside me, which I considered her influence on my psyche. Her forehead wrinkled, her skin turned gray, sybilical, as if she could read my mind, as if it were an outdated long-forgotten obstacle in my life, wanting to keep me alive to bring me back to her monarch individually, she lost me somewhere along the way, but between herself she wanted to steer the plane, if not in confusion, to destroy it and me along with it.

She even muttered to herself, as did the two pilots as they walked down the aisle, as if in a trance. She said something in a somewhat low scary foreign language; her voice reached my ears, from the distance of her being off the plane. I looked inside. Her eyes felt bad.

When I looked around, they all seemed shapeless, like water or sky, like the empty void of space, and now the wind, and its current, like the tide, was coming with terrible speed and thunder, similar to the fall of an iceberg. from its ends into the sea. Understanding this horror is utterly impossible to describe, it was obvious that the plane was now under the control of elements, of which I had no knowledge, and to be honest, I admit that the wild evil thing had most of the control at this very moment.

The crew was now both walking on foot, the couples were expressionless, a loss of hope, darkness in their eyes. We had about fifteen minutes to land, so in the meantime the wind was still lowering the plane, but something was lifting it. The lights appeared to our right, then to our left, and we spun in a tornado like a storm, in circles, faster and faster, and the walls of the plane began to twist and somehow I got lost in the darkness, was up on to the tree looking down, my body was on the ground, not in the tree.

What I remember was: the plane started roaring, as if the engines were starting, and the thunder of the wind, its storm stopped, and the pilots returned to their cockpits, and I heard voices saying, “Oh God! Get off! “

Let me conclude for the present. Now lying in front of me was my true description, for the horror was gone, but on the ground forever dead, there were twelve passengers and two pilots. It was a dense jungle in front of me, unlimited by leaves. I could not, or would not, write about my unspeakable misery of that unforgivable crime, in which, I believe, I had a hand.

(As the years passed this epoch, even the officials in Bali and Java were silent, for on that day, during the flight, there were no windmills, and they were as confused as I, I suppose, or at least so it was written in the report, saying in fact that the plane crashed due to unknown circumstances.

I strongly felt over time the need to develop this story, for several reasons, perhaps the cause of too much anxiety: the tendency to do so, thence with a pencil in hand, over the years giving up their previous actions, and now I remember.)

The second part


So he showed up, I say, he showed up, I’m in the hospital, so they told me, and now I have a visitation, a visitor, a mask and a cloak, pulled on my knees, she whispers, her name, “Azalea” friend, a snake, she’s thrown around the neck like a collar.

It’s Azalea, she doesn’t whisper anymore, she says,

“In me, in my death, people don’t know if it’s their own, what the end result is, they’re slowly killing themselves. You’ve defeated early death: but for me I’m the dead world, Heaven and any hope that could be. From there I have to go, and after my death, according to my image, which was so long ago, you will see me, as I am, muttering under my breath, “antagonist,” a gigantic paradox really nailed and overwhelmed with iron truths, but a delusion, I i’m in a prison-like domain, limited you could say, soaked in misery, i’m, like you were, now you know how i felt, how death approached you like a shadow, you were thrown into the valley of compassion, i’m a slave to my own circumstances , beyond your human hope, control or compassion, your comrades were a bit of an oasis of mortality, a fatal misfortune, if they had prayed to God, as you, Christ, to remind him, he would surely have stopped their downfall, and eventually died a victim the horrors I have created, and you call it the mystery of y, or the vision, of humanity o forgets, my species, are descendants of a race, imaginative to many – a race with temperament and remarkable, fully inherited from the family of angels, although our character, strongly developed, became addicted to evil, unspeakable passions, even stronger than man, from there we left our first household and its law, and in an age in which man is guided by my kind and our wills, we have become the master of your actions with your ancestors. “

I noticed that I was in a square case, which consisted of a bed, curtains and some medical equipment that looked antique. The building I was in, or the room, didn’t look like a solid structure. The dark guardian angel paced the room, intertwined with another voice, unseen, thoughts piled up like a pile of books, much enchanted, completely lost.

This morning’s encounter with a dark angel named Azalea was like a morning call from my bed. There seemed to be some mental sorcery: being a Christian had its advantages, its exceptions, but on the other hand, doom was, the superior and shadowy world haunted you like lost cattle and haunted you a little longer than usual and tried to exclude from their heads existence so they can use you for a playground.

Despite my so-called bravado, I was scared. All this was psychologically trying on me, to face this side of the world directly and indirectly, with my constant struggle against humanity and that it cannot be overcome, I told myself that I have to face it moment by moment, if I need to change myself for a moment , I watch, I listen, but I never thought I would have to merge with them in any way of affection.

I was torn, strange as it may seem, in spite of constant anxiety, the rivalry that intrigued me by that unbearable spirit, this was a dangerous part, their quarrel world was if nothing else, messy and hated, feelings of such towards all living Things, living in an anomalous state, they lived resolutely hostile, but I was still interested. And now she was gone.

I think she was pleased that it produced in me that effect, as it had during the past week in the hospital, this little hospital in the jungle, some fifty miles from Yogyakarta, I became extremely disgusted over time that it no longer appeared, as a result of that, showing his unbearable arrogance. I was told in a secret dream, Serr’el, my holy guardian angel, to let him go, to stop dwelling in that world, his voice was infinitely distant, perhaps because I was trying to block it, making it a delusion, more than reality, but as much as his voice faded, I heard him.

My evil destiny, I knew it was in the hands of Azalea, and I knew somewhere along the life line that she would haunt me again (maybe soon), as if in ecstasy and to prove, really prove, her mysterious dominance and domain, inflated I , but on the other hand I knew I had to run away from her because it was hopeless in the long run, maybe vanity, but I was running away no matter what. Officiality, she stepped into my life, between me and her ambition, where, truth be told, I had not sought her, and now I would have to run to the very ends of the earth to avoid her.

Over and over again, in my secret dream, during the second week of my hospital stay, because my wounds and cuts, bruises, etc. healed nicely, Serr’el, it occurred to me, there was a war going on, and I panicked, Azalea and Serr’el.

“I know who he is,” Azalea said one morning, “… where did he come from and why?” she asked.

I gave no answer, and her form burned with hatred, lit up like a burning stain. Serr’el blocked her, and she was frustrated. And there was a bitter delusion in her eyes. A bad excuse to huddle around my bed, and she forced me to notice her.

The last day in bed, just before I was supposed to be released, I woke up, and she was in my bed, naked, and in the end she was her huge snake, she was attached and crap. She whispered to me, body and chest millimeters away from me,

“Whoever has hindered my ambition to inherit the enemy of the bow in this, give yourself to me and show yourself to your recognized rival, you are mine.”

I replied, “An evil genius, with a lot of magnificent wisdom, the omnipresence of God and Christ, and my guardian angel watching (assumptions inspired me), you forced yourself into my bed, beautiful as you are with the years behind you, unscrupulous self-confidence to be thrown into the prison house of angels, or into the abyss, but from my bed. “

Now she felt horror as she looked into my face and saw the firmness. Absolute anger of rage arose around her. Then Serr’el broke off, he had chains with him, and she saw it, a crimson burning belt tying Doer of evil. A facade of black horror covered her face.

She became helpless, and before my eyes appeared utter weakness and obedience to his subjective will. And as he wound a burning chain around her, and in his insane prison, her hereditary temperament spiraled out of control, a noise came from her lips, under the diminution of power and influence, the chain burning through her was trapped.

At that moment I knew the masquerade was over, and now I was more free to breathe, I was no longer in a suffocating room, she left, not to say with “I don’t regret,” or with a contemptuous motive, it was a hoax, and yet she taught me , and I could be one, an emerging villain, if Serr’el hadn’t been there to help, she would have directed me to death, to follow her.

After leaving this small clinic of a demolished infirmary, I headed to my destinations, ran into the hospital walls and they asked me to stay a few more days, but no, I commanded the ghost and headed for the picnic area outside the hospital walls. Indeed, it was such a moment, for I turned to the hospital only once, and a mighty force compelled me to walk forward.

“Close the door,” I mutter, “I’m not coming back.”

I was no longer honest or completely confused as I waited for the bus to take me to Yogyakarta, so I continued to visit the great shrine, the bravest Buddhist shrine in the world, and there I found extreme calm walking its foundations, Borobudur: I must claim it is the second place in the world, where I felt these instincts of peace and gratitude and calm.

The third part

“Hotel room”

And so once a fleeing shepherd cast a shadow, once a wolf that he chased, now in the garb of burning chains. The wolf, Azalea (to whom the writer wrote so many names during the trial) was thrown – like a leper – into an abyss, a prison house for angels, with no door to escape from, And he, who once inhaled the coin, left it with his immortal agony. In the end she was not denied, no opportunity to be a Christian. Between flight and hotel, better said, between flight and accident, his angelic friend (Serr’el) never left his side. Perhaps his pride brought him into the drum of Azalea, but he still showed the ability to endure when confronted, tolerating alien force within his troubled dust, in his own country. So from that enduring dust, as if fighting on an icy river, sometimes silently, he faced the supernatural, and now he had almost faded to the zenith.

Here was an encounter, he thought, an angelic force that did not throw its power over ancient Jerusalem or, in that respect, ancient Rome: that did not knock on the temple door, which seemed to originate from some Gothic dream, the bow-enemy of God himself . In addition, passing bishops and saints to subdue him, which was of little value to his old friends, and perhaps to the world at large, and here in his hotel room – his last day in Java, after seeing the places that came to be seen, he turned away from the window, it was as if he foresaw her voice, the sound of her voice, a motionless, thin look around the room, curiosity awoke in him again, as if the pounding of hooves leaps in his heart: he became weightless , and all that curiosity dissolved like a mass of burning autumn dead leaves, he remembered Serrela’s words: “Let it go!”

As he sat on the edge of his bed, he remembered — the many corpses lying on his runway, in the dark empty spots of the Indonesian jungle, where the plane had crashed, a month earlier. The bodies were quite severed, he thought at the time, as if the bodies had been used for a bayonet exercise.

He remembered now the ugly look on them, the unstitched flesh!

He was in it, he was in a spiritual contemptuous war, with all the consequences of a real war, the one he was in in 1971 in Vietnam was smaller (because he knew who he was fighting against, and he knew the chances, and he had the upper arm, newer weapons, equipment).

He was faithful and never unreliable and tried to be invisible; similar to this little war, now an old event.

Brilliant and dazzling, he sat on the edge of his bed, watching the news on television. We crumpled a few crackers in hand and ate them slowly, piece by piece. He knew somehow, most people could not escape their fate, destiny, or ruin; but he learned in this odyssey, faith brought him, only he has one little seed, it succeeded.

The fourth part


I admit that I took up the rest of the day, thinking about flying in the morning, back to Guam, then Japan and San Francisco, and then home to St. Louis. Paul, Minnesota; I also thought about resolving this enigma, which resided in the supernatural realm and resided in my head. I said, “what a fool I was not to go straight to Serrel first,” even though it actually occurred to me. Now I said to myself, “I didn’t want to be stopped if I didn’t know more about this enigma.”

Tomorrow morning I arrived by taxi from the hotel to the airport, by coincidence, I was told that the plane would not fly. I found this strange, for there were no impending storms of which I had heard, but only a light southerly breeze; but there was nothing I could do about it, just go back to my hotel room and rest.

The next day the plane was ready and full of passengers, everything was as it would look, with a normal party for the airport and a plane getting ready to travel, the attendees checked everything to make sure they had seat belts. , I arrived, I noticed a ten minute delay and I got a little special attention for it. As I sat in my seat, my old curiosity now returned — obviously, not quite an established point with me yet, I wondered what the hell he was doing, where she was, even though I had my ideas. “Why do we think that way,” I wondered, and now the plane was on the runway.

One thing annoyed me a little though, this plane had an unpleasant smell, great discomfort, it emitted a strong, inconsistent stench, obviously I could recognize one that brought me back to hell, because everyone was talking and enjoying themselves, so obviously , I was the only one to find out.

I was now aware that Serr’el was somewhere around me, and that scent was meant especially for me, to remind me of my misanthropic friend, who immediately took away my curiosity, if not curiosity.

So I hadn’t given up on the idea of ​​guessing where he was and what he was doing before, coming to a conclusion I didn’t want to know, the smell was gone, as fast as it appeared. Now and later, I knew.



Nelson Hernandez – the smile of the golden glove conqueror


We should call him “Fearless Hernandez” for several reasons. First, he did not hesitate to step into the ring with a higher-ranking fighter. Second, he did his best. He further showed strength and determination as he fought like a champion. He finally held the Golden Gloves Championship for Wisconsin from 1982 to 1984.

Former Golden Glove Champion Nelson Hernandez was born in Puerto Rico. Inspired by his two uncles, and at the same time his two best friends, he stepped into the ring at the age of fifteen, weighed 115 pounds and finished thirty-seven fights as a Bantamweight. Hernandez eventually moved to Wisconsin and trained with Israel Kost at the United Nations Center. Hernandez believed that every boxer should have a mentor, and should be inspired by someone who is able to provide support, mentally, physically and spiritually.

He felt that Costa was his mentor and like his father; As a result, he is currently helping Costa with the children at the community center out of a love of boxing, respect for Costa, and a desire for children to see success. He is of the opinion that successful individuals should in some way or form help their communities. He is also inspired by Kostan’s records of coaching great fighters, such as Hector Colon, who eventually became state champion. As a result, he is very impressed with the other boxers to stay with the winner and to be the winner as well.

Hernandez enrolled in professional boxing at the age of twenty-two. His record of achievement includes the spectrum of completing thirty-three professional fights as a junior weighing 139 kilograms, three fights as a medium weight of 147 kilograms, and two fights as a junior of medium weight weighing 155 kilograms. Most of the fight was hard for him because he always fought with bigger boxers. His inspiration to the young fighter is not to give up on other fighters; there is always the possibility of victory depending on the moment.

Hernandez explained that the toughest fight he ever had was against Leonard Townsend of Chicago who ranked 10th in the world. Hernandez states. “I went through ten rounds with him. It was a tough fight.” He believed that fighting is a real learning experience that he nurtures and that every fighter must walk away from fighting feeling that he has learned something useful.

Hernandez has worked with great coaches such as Al Mooreland and Eddie Brooks of Wisconsin. He is inspired by Sugar Ray Robinson, Robert Durand, Mohammed Ali and Larry Holmes. He met and shook hands with Mohammed Ali (born Cassius Marcellus Clay Jr.) in 1985. Hernandez fought professionally in New York, Los Angeles, Chicago, Minnesota and Canada. He also believes that the journeys she experienced made him a more familiar world. He believes that everyone should make an effort to travel outside their neighborhood, instead of staying in just one corner of their city or city without knowing or experiencing the rest of the world, which should be part of their education.

“My training was very rigorous, and my road job would start around 4:00 in the morning, starting with running, boxing in the shade, sparring, sitting, jumping rope, bags and pillows,” Hernandez says. He went on to comment, alluding to the fact that his training usually ends around 7pm, and that he was not allowed to eat anything after 7:30 p.m. because of his diet. Hernandez believes that his training and diet have had a positive effect on his life and kept him in good physical and mental health over the years. It also impresses others to stay mentally and physically strong in order to survive in this world.

As for the lessons learned, he could do better things in the financial field. Ever since he dropped out of high school in ninth grade, he has sometimes been used by others who have kept information throughout his boxing career. The bills presented to him including meals, hotel rooms, travel, etc. erased the profit he was supposed to receive. “However, I continued to struggle with high hopes that one day I would be able to achieve my goal as a champion,” Hernandez says.

He learned like others that boxing is not as glamorous as it seems on television. There is a lot of action outside of the scene that is not shown. He believes that younger fighters should not be naive and should know that they can be exploited in different ways. In addition, they should be prepared to face frustrations. Still, they should take care of such things and avoid such negative encounters in the future. Based on his first-hand experience, Hernandez implied that everything would have been different if he had the knowledge I have now.

“Boxing saved grace for me,” Hernandez thinks. He made it known that one great benefit he achieved by participating in boxing was that he remained without problems. Several of his friends faced legal problems and did not fare well. Some of his friends committed themselves in the criminal justice system after having problems enforcing the law. He believes that today’s youth should remain positive, develop a positive attitude and treat others positively; as a result this will extinguish the negativity.

As for the trip, Hernandez laughed and commented on how wonderful he had been in Canada and really enjoyed the culture and the people. He imagined that the only thing he didn’t like was the way they were searched at the border. On his first trip, he had only U.S. currency and was unsure of the accuracy of the transactions; however, on his second trip he took only Canadian currency and felt much better when he went out to eat. He fought Chad Brisson in 2002, the Canadian champion, which was his last fight.

Hernandez retired from boxing at the age of thirty-five. He stated that the income was not enough to support me and my family. He now does a regular day job. In addition, he trains Angelo’s heavyweight mentors who attend university and seek a degree. As for Angela’s career, Hernandez says, “I don’t want the system to take advantage of him like I used to. I wish he benefited from his first-hand experience as he progressed.”



Stone Forest Poetry (with introduction, in English and Spanish)


Prologue (or Introduction): High in the Andes, Peru, at about 10,000 meters, 4,310 meters away, lives a city called: Cerro de Pasco, about five hours by bus, Huancayo, Peru, and is considered the tallest city in the world. Here in the high Sierra lies the area known as Huayllay, a refuge for sacred stones, a forest of stones, a geological wonder of Peru and a mystery to the world. The hand of God is engraved in animals, people, plants and everything, through Mother Nature. It is undoubtedly one of the most speculative areas of Peru and one of the world’s most important ecological secret places.

I’ve been to Peru nine times, this time; I have been in Peru for 18 months, writing about its culture, customs and traditions. I have headed in every direction a man can in Peru, and he is more wonderful and versatile than Egypt. Or in that regard, more than the previous 60 countries I have explored and researched so far, and Cerro de Pasco is among the most prized areas I have found in the world. People are warm (or at least they were to me).

The Stone Forest is a national habitat for stone animals, forests and living things, with yellow rolled fields, and cows and alpacas; It’s also a very cold area, not as cold as my home state of Minnesota, but still cold. Despite this, people in this part of the country don’t seem to care, and many have slightly rosy cheeks from bitter winds and cold, and yet live here, and I guess (as in Minnesota) one may ask why and get a complicated answer or a simplistic . And most of the time I think it would be because of someone’s knowledge and the beauty of the location. As in Minnesota, or Peru’s Mantaro Valley, the same goes for the Stone Forest.

These stone animals are two to four levels high, or twenty to forty-five feet, except for the Pope Bear, 90 feet high. In this huge forest (which is 6815 hectares) there are about 4000 figures. It is the largest stone forest in the world.

You almost feel like you can jump up and grab a few hanging clouds above you so high above everything else in the world. And for those adventurous people, this is (anyway) the most inspiring gem for climbing, and it was created by none other than the one who created us.

And now, for those who can’t get to this shrine, I’ll be happiest if you turn a few pages and visit the Stone Forest with me! Great trip! D. L. Siluk

Spanish version

Prologue (Introduction): Arriba en Los Andes de Perú, alrededor de 4310 metros sobre el nivel del mar, residing in the city: Cerro de Pasco, near Cinco Horas desde Huancayo, Perú, by bus, and considering the city at high alta in the world. Here in the upper sierras there is a coniferous area like Huayllay, a sanctuary for the piedras, a pine forest, a geological geology of Peru, and a mystery for the world. They have all the dishes by the hand of God in animals, human figures, plants and much more, in the paths of the mother of nature. It is the place of dudas, one of the most spectacular areas of Peru, one of the most ecological places secret in the world.

He has the status Perces nueve veces, esta última vez estoy en Perú od 18-meses, escribiendo sobre su kultura, costume i tradiciones. Mene on adventurodo en todas direcciones un hombre puede en Peru, y es más asombroso y versátil que Egipto. If you look again, 60 minutes lost the journey, explored and explored, and Cerro de Pasco entered the places of apprehension que encontré en el mundo. La gente es muy acogedora (o al menos lo fueron conmigo).

El Bosque de Piedras es un Hábitat Prirodni para los animales de piedra, y bosque, y criaturas vivientes, con ondulados campos amarillos, y vacas y alpacas todo alrededor; it is also a place very cold to be, but not so much as in the state where we live and live in the United States, Minnesota, but cold in all manners. Nema obstante, a la gentte de esta parte del país parece no preocuparles, y muchos de ellos tienen mejillas rosadas por el viento helado y por el frío, aunque ellos viven allí, y supongo (como en Minnesota) podemos preguntar porner, respuesta Compada o muy simplified. And the mayor part of the time I created a series for the family, and the beauty of the place. Como en Minnesota, o el el Valle del Mantaro de Perú, also speaks of the Bosque de Piedras.

These piedra animals are from the four corners of the altar, they are located in the subway, with the exception of Papa Oso, who has a third metro of altura. Hay como quatro mil figuras a través de este bosque inmenso (que tiene 6815 hectares). It is the largest forest floor.

You know that you can salt and agarrar un poco de las nubes colgadas arrivalba, estas tan alto encima de todo en el mundo. Y para aquella gente aventurera, es (ciertamente) una gema muy inspiradora para escalar, y creada por ningún otro que el Ser que nos creo.

¡A ahora para aquella gente que no puede ir a este Santuario, estaré muy feliz si volteas unas cuantas páginas and visitas conmigo el Bosque de Piedras! What a good trip! D. L. Siluk

First part

A big stone bear

(Seven songs)


Festival in the stone forest

((9-6-2007, No: 1977) (Cerro de Pasco))

I’m amused, with magnificent freedom,

The Huayllay City Festival has an assortment of colors.

Outdoors, on bleach, pedestal,

the sun shines like an unstoppable storm,

like alpacas colorfully dressed, they run like flying condors

down the street to join the race.

Smile and laugh! People busy like bees!

Everyone is ready for something, warming their hearts

boys, girls, all dressed in coats:

pale faces from the morning cold!

People think of something risky, and unlikely

that only this day can bring …

There is music and murmur in the dusty square;

dances, sings! People who drink and dream,

a few drunk as skunks …!

The afternoon opens with race after race

and if you don’t participate, you might say forever

I was there, somewhere, but just waiting.

And on the way, in addition to the festival,

cars and taxis waiting, waiting,

to bear fruit from their work.

Some people just hang by the fence,

maybe dreaming or hallucinating.

Many dressed in masks – and a traditional dress,

experiencing a great flight of imagination.

There are horses on the embankment

by high rocks, children and adults

riding back and forth … on some hills,

some kiss, embrace, as if in a cloud nine,

music and noise that constantly sounds.

The festival is a crazy, crazy world

comical and dreamy with his happy hell.

My head is spinning, spinning, spinning–

the noise never goes away,

like a crystal chandelier, my mind floats and smells

but I’m holding on, still, just a little more …!

Spanish version

Festival in the Piedras Forest

((September 6, 2007, # 1977) (Cerro de Pasco))

I am a friend, with a great freedom,

the Huayllay City Festival has a variety of colors.

In the open spaces, in the banks, in the puestos,

the sun is radiating like a torment inevitable,

I think of the colorful alpacas,

Corren Como condors Voladores,

abajo de la calle para unirse a la carrera.

Sonrisas and risas! Enjoy people like their friends!

All of them are leaves for something, warm hearts

enamorados, enamoradas todos vestidos attractively with bags:

Caras palidas por el fryo de la manana!

People thinking about something, probably

this is a unique day to move …

In the half-oriental square there is music and lights;

Bailes, cantos! Growing and sounding people,

an entry of hebrews like mofetas!

The tarre is open with carriages or carriages

y si tú nema sudjelovanja, dirás por siempre

estuve allí, en algún sitio, pero sólo esperando.

Y en el camino, festival u lo largo del,

cars and taxis esperan, esperan,

para sacar frutos de sus labores.

Some people only have time to go to bed,

talvez soñando o alucinando.

Muchos dresses with mascaras – and traditional clothes,

reviving the great view of the imagination.

Hay caballos en los parapetos

for the last years, children and adults

cabalgando de ida y vuelta … algunos escalando los cerros,

algunos besándose, abrazándose, como si, en las nubes,

music and bull backing all the time.

The festival is great, great world

comedian and son with his happy birthday.

¡Mi cabeza está girando, virando, dando vueltas–

the bulla nunca se detiene,

like a crystal candelabra, my fleet and my wall,

but I hope, wait, wait, only a lot more …!


The birth of the Great Stone Bear

Here we are, all dressed in warm rags

to honor the Great Bear!

Yes, exactly;

it’s part of this old stone bear,

born in the twilight of human history.

Here – The stone forest is open to yellow

grassy meadows;

voices telling me I’m alive

and a child of God,

we can look forward to the carving he created,

at the top of the world, near Cerro de Pasco;

here in the Stone Forest — unthinkable there

residence; who would believe

Outside on this bare, yellow field,

a large stone body of a prehistoric bear

waiting until early afternoon

to cast his shadows on the cold and vain


Note: Written seven hours after seeing the Great Stone Bear (Papa Oso); No: 1970 (9-3-2007) dedicated to Mayor Tito Valle Ramirez (from Cerro de Pasco) for his help to help me get to the bear place; and much more, without that help this book would not have been possible.

Spanish version

El Nacimiento del Gran Oso de Piedra

Here we are, all knitted with ready-made clothes

To honor Gran Oso!

Si, es asi;

to honor this old man’s face,

born before the crepúsculo of human history.

Aquí – aquí el Bosque de Piedras está abierto a

a prado of amarillo paste

you say that you are living

and having a son of God,

we can regulate the sculptures that He created,

about the wall of the world, near Cerro de Pasco;

here in the Piedras Forest – where it is unthinkable

reside; Who created it?

Foura de este desnudo, kamp Amarillo,

the grand body of a prehistoric person

wait for the first hour of the day

To open your room in the fresco and colored

Tierra …!

Note: Written by a few hours to see the Gran Oso de Piedra (Papá Oso). Dedicado al Alcalde de Cerro de Pasco Ing. Tito Valle Ramírez for his assistance assisted in the place where El Oso is; y mucho más, sin esa ayuda este libro no hubiera sido moguce.

# 1970 (September 3, 2007)


Trout and fish bones

Pachamanca and pancakes

(Huayllay Festival)

Beauty with mystery is rare

so few drinks of this fountain;

but close, near Cerro de Pasco

freshly prepared event–

comes to life, but once a year …:

a rare and mysterious stone forest fair.

Here you can see: friends, drinks,

cultural food, like: huge pancakes

soaked in coffee or coke;

or delicious trout, if someone cares about weeds

through endless bones – and, yes,

yes, it’s everywhere, trout, trout, trout!

And Pachamanca, a pile of food, packed

s: beef, pork, chicken;

beans, potatoes and sweet potatoes,

all in a hole in the hot soil

with stones surrounding and covering

the food cooks well–!

And all about song and dance–

and the breath of a stone forest … at hand.

Between morning and night, it can be heard

songs day by day – until late at night …! to,

until the guard closes the door …

and puts decorative sleeping alpacas.

Note: Dedicated to Cesar Cruz Cordova, for his constant help while I was in and around Cerro de Pasco, he was like a brother who made sure everything went well and safe or me and my wife during our three and a half day visit. No: 1972 (9-3-2007)

Spanish version

Trucha y Huesos de Pescado

Pachamanca and Panqueques

(Huayllay Festival)

Belleza con mysterio es raro

very little children of this foundation;

but near, near Cerro de Pasco

no return event–

cobra vida una vez al año …:

el raro y mysterioso Festival del Bosque de Piedras.

Here we can see: friends, babies,

typical food, like: huge pancakes

tomatoes with coffee or gaseous;

the delicacies are delicious, you have to import them

at the end of intermittent hues – ah si,

si, están por todas partes, ¡trucha, trucha, trucha!

Y pachamanca, a pila de comida, abarrotada

con carnes de: res, chancho, pollo;

habas, papas y camotes,

all methods in a hot field game

with stones that rodean and cubren

the food is very good–!

Y en todo alrededor canciones y bailes–

and a halit of the Piedras Forest … by the hand.

Entre la manana y noche, se puede oir

songs all the day – it’s late at night …! hasta

hasta que el guachimán cierra la puerta–

y pone a las decorativas alpacas a dormir.

Note: Dedicado a César Cruz Córdova, por ayy constante mientras estaba en Cerro de Pasco y alrededores, é fue como un hermano asegurándose que todo me vaya bien y sin incidentes a mi y esposa, durante nuestros tio ditaas medita.

# 1972 (September 3, 2007)


Roads, fields and rocks

(Na Pascu)

Driving a car, in Huayllay

or, Stone Forest, you noticed

A lot of things:

telephone poles, side by side

old dirt roads;

in fields, fences

and behind them come the cows–

slowly their eyes pop out at you

– And next to them, Daddy is a stone bear

(ninety feet high);

and all around, darkness drowns

stone forest.

The sun is setting and

a bright stone forest

(gray on black, stone trees, like

an army of sisters – they all become one)!

In Huayllay and on those stone trees

scattered one by one,

through the fields–

weeds and brown can be seen


and watering trails; electricity all

in combination.

It’s a pleasure to ride,

and I walk towards those stone animals–

And see the sun in the fields, and

stone trees more dignified

than ever; – stone figures

(animals) all frozen in the stone of death …

And all the holes and ditches

on the way back to Cerro de Pasco:

full of private rain.

Note: no. 1973 (9-3-2007)

Spanish version

Caminos, Campos y Piedras

(Na Pascu)

Traveling in a car, in Huayllay

o, el Bosque de Piedras, tú notas


phone calls, one to one to the long

of the old dogs on land;

en los campos, rejas

and stay away from them, come to you–

lentamente sus ojos saltan hacia ti

–y pasando ellas, el Papá Oso de Piedra

(third metro of height);

y en todo alrededor, la oscuridad se empapa dentro

of the forest floor.

El sol a la deri baja, y el

the forest floor is closed

(gris sobre negro, árboles de piedra, como

un ejército de monjas – ¡todos se vuelven uno)!

In Huayllay, the aquales of the árboles de piedras are roughly

disperse one by one,

the grass of the camps–

se puede ver ichus y

rastrojo parduscos,

and rolled inclined trucks; riachuelos todos


It is a satisfying satisfaction,

y yendo hacia estos animales de piedras–

Y ver el sol en los campos, y

los arbols de piedra más distidos

that never; –peed figures,

(pets) all together in a dead stone …

Y todos los huecos y zanjas

to the length of the return fireplace in Cerro de Pasco:

lleno de una lluvia propia.

Note: # 1973 (3-Septiembre-2007)


Holidays in Cerro de Pasco

We slept for the past three nights, in

Cerro de Pasco, Peru:

magnificent place, the

the tallest city in the world.

A land of miners and alpacas.

We slept in a beautiful pink tourist hotel.

Not far from the city is a miracle

and a mystery to the world.

Everything is a little slower here.

Here people still carry their own

dress before the Inca city,

and many houses are still adobe.

This mountain town, eyes and head

the world,

seems to be looking down the Sierras,

you dangerous Andes; and to them time

is incomprehensible.

Tomorrow we drive out and down

and through these high mountains.

So rich in minerals and air!

I felt and felt all day

I am full of love and I love this

of the city and its stone forests.

One day I will come back and enjoy

again that–

intoxicating cold air where

miners were born.

No: 1971 (9-3-2007)

Spanish version

Descending in Cerro de Pasco

We sleep the pastures three nights, en

Cerro de Pasco, Peru:

a great place, la

more people in the world.

A nation of miners, and a nation of alpacas.

Dormimos is one of the most famous hotels in the city.

Nema mujo lejos de la ciudad is a maravilla

and a mystery to the world.

Here, everything is a little more lazy.

Here, at the same time, all of them

ropas pre-incas alrededor de la ciudad,

y muchas de las casas aún son de adobe.

This is the city of Andina, the eyes and the head

of the world,

parece mirar abajo a las Sierras,

estos Andes peligrosos; and for them, the time

es inexplicable.

Mañana recorreremos afuera y abajo

y a través de estas altas montañas.

Get rich in minerals and air!

Todo el día sent y siento

What a love of love, and it tastes good to me

ciudad y su Bosque de Piedras.

Someone will return, and be frustrated


el vigorizante aire fresco donde

los mineros nacieron.

# 1971 (September 3, 2007)


Up in Cerro de Pasco

I get up early. On television

the newsletters collapsed.

The sky is deep blue with white clouds

all spread out, thin to thick.

I hear some noise in the hallway

this hotel …

I saw the first light

side windows … (woke me up)

Cold tap water

it fell into my hands – chilled at night!

I wake up from a light sleep

like the horizon … slowly.

On a new day I think ‘Coffee!’

The depth of the night has

disappeared from the puddles

on the ground–;

I look forward to meeting the day.

Note: Written at 8:06 a.m. he woke up an hour earlier. Tuesday is at the Señorial Hotel. She was in room no. 206; Rosa went for coffee and a donut for me, she just came back and quickly went to see the mayor again, Tito’s Ramirez Valley, to let him know we were leaving. No: 1974 (9-4-2007)

Spanish version

Levantándose Temprano in Cerro de Pasco

I live in time. On TV

the news from his news.

The blue of the sky with white nubes

all dispersal, delgadas a gruesas.

You have something to do in the pasture

the hotel …

Yo vi la luz, primero por el

lado de la ventana … (menu menu)

The water is cold from the canoe

cayó en mis manos – ¡noche fría!

I’m waiting for a good dream

as a horizon … lazily.

About the new day, at “Kafić”

The profundity of the night ha

disapproval of the charcoal

de la tierra–;

I hope now to find the day.

Note: Written at 8:06 am.m I lost an hour before. It is located and located in the Hotel Señorial. Estamos en la habitación 206, Rosa has a full comparison, but not enough willpower, but Alcalde, Ing. Tito Valle Ramirez, to find out that we are partying.

# 1974 (September 4, 2007)


Dogs from San Juan

(Quick reflection)

Ancient mines and mountains

from Cerro de Pasco, slide into town

(with lake and quarry), as

morning sunbeams, packs of guides

from which they wander

yard to yard …

(funny, I don’t see a cat!).

Written on the bus near Junino, leaving Cerro de Pasco. (9-4-2007) No: 1975; Reflections on a three-day stay in the city and I watched the dogs wander in packs, breaking through the fence one by one. It’s not a cat in place. Also, “Doris (and the Forgotten Bear) was written while she was on the bus (no: 1976), the same day.

Spanish version

Los Perros de San Juan

(Reflection Rapida)

Mines and old monsters

de Cerro de Pasco, is released in the city

(con el lago y la cantera), mientras que los

rayos del sol de la manana, guían a una cuadrilla de perros

that rondan de

pave paved part …

(gracioso, ¡ve veo un gato!).

Written on the bus near Junín, the alleys of Cerro de Pasco.

Reflections of the three days in which I live in the city, and to the perks rondar en cuadrillas, attracting a way to escape. Nema había un gato en el lugar (4-Septiembre-2007) # 1975.

También, “Doris (y el Oso Olvidado) was written on the bus. # 1976



(and the forgotten bear)

Birds cross it, hourly,

Doris’s uncle and Shepard’s aunt

see it often …

Dragons from the hands of children

I even touched him–

and perhaps frogs, cows and

all kinds of living things have seen it,

but when Mayor Tito Valle asked

Doris to show me the bear,

She said, “Sure!” –not really

knowing what he was talking about.

– But later she told me:

“I thought I’d figure it out later,

but that was the first I heard of the Bear! “

Notes: Oh, I could write down a lot, but I’ll leave that alone for controversy. On the other hand, I am also guilty of that, many times while I was in the army. But everything turned out quite well and isn’t life full of humor if you look for it. No: 1976, dedicated to Doris Ticse Arteaga. (04.09.2007)

Spanish version


(Y el Oso Olvidado)

The countrymen fly over it, every hour,

The body of Doris and a pastor

lo ven muy frecuentemente …

Cometas de la mano de los niños

including the tocado–

y talvez, ranas, vacas y

toda class of living creatures lo van visto,

pero cuando el alcalde Tito Valle le pidio

Doris showed me the person,

ella dijo “claro” -realmente

there is no knowledge of what he is talking about.

– But she told me that she said:

“Averiguaré, averiguaré esto más tarde,

But this is the first thing that will be heard about El Oso “

Notas: Ah, podría hacher muchas notas sobre esto, pero lo dejaré esto en paz por polemika, por otro lado, soy odgovorni de esto también, muchas veces cuando estaba en el ejército. But all the results are very good, and the life is not funny ?, you are looking for something.

# 1976 (September 4, 2007) Dedicated to Doris Ticse Arteaga.


Stone snail, across the Blue

Now both of us

to be here – one

alive, one stone

we sit still:




vortex …

(rain on the way):

A large stone snail,

is the best part

on this side of the park–,

I touch him (I want to hug him);

he tells me about his eminence.

I look around

so many numbers

(stone statues) –

somehow balanced,

hanging by a thread

in this stone house

with a blue roof.

Written 9-6-2006. ((No: 1978) (13:50)) Dedicated to our three young female guides, Diana, Carol and Noemi tha, were the most gracious

Spanish version

Caracol de Piedra, about Azul

Ahora ambos de nosotros

Sending things – one

vivo, otro piedra

we feel here:

the wind


the wind

girando …

(lluvia estie viniendo):

el Gran Caracol de Piedra,

it’s the best part

of this part of the park–,

lo toqué (quería abrazarlo);

esto me dice de su eminencia

Miro alrededor

tantas figures

(state of stone) – appropriately,

walk in the air,

in this stone house

about a blue tech.

Written on September 6, 2007 (# 1978–1: 50 p.m.) Dedicated to our three young guides of tourism: Diana, Carol and Noemi who are very fond of me.


In the fields of the Big Dipper

(from Stone Forest) (9-3-2007)

Eyes and cold shadows of stones

(in, Stone Forest, high in the Sierras)

penetrates the fields of the Great Bear–.

Here are the stone walls that rise high

(like dreams stretching into the sky).

I felt their cold shadows fall

– crossing the fields …!

They don’t have coats – just

smooth, sharp granite leather:

as they descended down and around me,

caught me (and my wife),

related to the executioner.

With large smooth knives

they watched with their inner eyes

as I stood in their sacred fields

(‘… The big stone bear – there it is,’

said our guide – shows!)

The sun warms me and the air is clean

(these stones cause cracks

in the sleeping ground – a strange morning

it was).

Eyes and cold shadows

stones, penetrating fields,

as if leaving a lonely harbor (residence)

and my spirit moved through my body

(hovers above the contents …).