Equinox in Yucatan
A momentous gathering in the Yucatan and the arrival of prophecy.
I pick up this thread not from the spring equinox, but from a few months earlier—at the winter solstice in the Palenque, Chiapas (you can catch up on that one in my previous post).
That’s where I met Chief Midegah, an Anishinaabe leader from Missouri. He shared ancient stories with me—some of the most important I’ve ever heard. These teachings, passed down for thousands of years, hold the origins of us. One people.
And while it’s not my role to tell those stories here, they will be shared soon, by the ones who carry them.
What I can say is that something shifted in me that day. I made a connection—spiritual and human—with a circle of people who would soon invite me to a larger gathering. A continuation. A next chapter.
I moved to Austin, Texas shortly after. I’d begun to settle, just figured out how to hang my hat, when I got a phone call from Chief Midegah.
The invitation?
Come back to Mexico.
Join in for the spring equinox.
Be part of a sacred gathering where elders, spiritual leaders, and kin from across the world would come together—to awaken ancient prophecy and give it voice.
The Prophecy of the Eagle and the Condor
You may have heard whispers of this before. The prophecy speaks of a time when the Eagle of the North and the Condor of the South will fly together again. When Indigenous peoples of North and South America, long separated by violence and history, will reunite to bring balance back to the world.
It is said that for too long, the Eagle (symbolising the mind, the industrial, the masculine) flew alone. And the Condor (representing the heart, the earth, the feminine) was pushed aside. But the time is now, the prophecy says, for them to fly together. For knowledge and wisdom to reunite. For Earth and Spirit to come back into harmony.
That was the purpose of the gathering.
I was confirmed and booked on a last-minute flight. I arrived at the home of my Abuelo Antonio in the Yucatán and pitched my tent just before nightfall. By morning, the land had welcomed nearly 200 people—elders, artists, families, youth, and knowledge carriers from across the Americas.
We began days of continuous ceremony.
Somewhere between sunrise ceremony and late-night storytelling, I found myself exactly where I needed to be—not just physically, but spiritually. I followed Chief Midegah where I could, filming when it was appropriate and where I’d been given excplicit permission. Outside of those moments, I was simply another participant. Another seeker in ceremony.
At times, I stepped into a different role: translating between Spanish and English when the hearts’ desire to share outweighed the availability of interpreters. Beyond translation, it felt really special to be in between the hearts that had come together to share gratitude, gifts, and story.
It was quite a responsibility. I was glad to accept.
The day of the equinox celebration felt like capturing miracle after miracle—some of it on camera, most of it etched into memory. One full day was dedicated to the women, and the energy that day was undeniable. There was a kind of reclamation in the air. Not just of voice, but of authority, balance, and place.
And what moved me most was how the men showed up—not to lead, not to dominate, but to walk alongside. In solidarity. In family.
That’s what I keep coming back to.
Family.
Not the narrow kind we’re used to—bloodlines or surnames—but the wide, old kind.
The one that speaks in roles: auntie, grandfather, cousin, sister.
The one that reminds us of how to be in right relation.
If we remembered how to be family again—really remembered—would conflict lose its grip? Would healing finally stick?
On the final morning, Chief Midegah led a powerful ceremony. He was joined by a diverse delegation representing several branches of the Restoration movement, including leaders and members from the Church of Jesus Christ (Rigdonite), the Joint Conference of Restoration Branches (RLDS), the First People's Community of Christ (RLDS), and the Church of Christ in the Land of Zion—tracing their original filing in Seneca County, New York, by Joseph Smith Jr. Members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, including a Patriarch and High Priests, were also present and participated in the gathering.
Alongside these Restoration leaders, Chief Midewiwin Elders and High Priests from the Algonquin and Anishinaabe nations were present, bringing their sacred traditions and spiritual authority to the circle. Together, these groups offered what is known as the Nephite Record back to the Tree of Life, honoring both the diversity of faiths and the shared commitment to reconciliation, unity, and the renewal of ancient prophecies.
It was an emotional, humbling moment.
Here were two traditions—separated by doctrine, united by something deeper—acknowledging that we come from one Creator. Acknowledging that the oldest stories don’t belong to one group alone, but to the land. And that they are returning to the people of the land, at the right time, in the right way.
This gathering, this moment, wasn’t about converting or convincing. It was about convergence. About prophecy taking root not in abstraction, but in ceremony, in kinship, in action.
Below is the first peek into what I observed there.
I’ll write more soon about what’s unfolding next—the Indigenous Action Summit in 2025, and the vision of the Condor, Hummingbird, Quetzal, and Eagle flying together.
But for now, I just want to say this:
Something ancient is waking up. And I think we’re all feeling it.
If you’re called to be part of it, that call is real.
And you’re not alone.
—Benjamin
📬 Let me know how this lands for you—what it stirs, what you’re remembering.
