Ancient Maya Thrones
The seat of divine power and influence
Vase rollouts courtesy of Justin Kerr
Scholars observed that whenever kings are depicted on monuments, they stand higher than those around them. This indicates their elevated status and positions them closer to the sky and the celestial gods. On vases, where palace scenes are depicted, they may sit lower. But the throne signifies their anointed, higher position relative to others. Only the gods had the power, by virtue of divine lineage, to seat a king of the throne.
Maya thrones were first seen in the Guatemalan Highlands in the Late Preclassic period (300 BCE—300 CE). Their presence in the Lowlands shows up in the second half of the Early Classic period, most notably at Uaxactun. In these early periods, thrones were made of chicozapote and logwood. At Tikal, where there was a sizable woodcarving industry, portable and stationary thrones were elaborately carved and had large cushioned backs covered in jaguar pelts—as shown above.
Masonry thrones appear in the Late Classic period. These were usually wide with curling arms on the front and cushioned or painted stone backs. Above, the cushion has the face of a god and hieroglyphs painted on the side—probably both sides. Thrones could be painted in a variety of colors, but red dominated because it symbolized the life force.
The most elaborately carved masonry throne backs with hieroglyphs were discovered at Piedras Negras. Here, Throne 1 is designated a “Reception Throne.”
Feather-bedecked cloth bundles on the thrones, like the one seen here left of the king, are believed to contain sacred objects, the bones of deceased ancestors, heirlooms and other objects of power. Here, the painter shows the king’s body facing us, but in the actual scene it would have faced the visitors—believed here to be presenting him with tribute gifts of cloth. The man kneeling shows the traditional sign of respect by touching both his shoulders. Both visitors wear bulky loincloths and tall paper headdresses with feathers, identifying them as members members of a court—emissaries. Under the throne at right is an often-seen stack of paper, written records that we refer to today as “codices.” The back of the throne is covered in a jaguar pelt.
The white background in this scene indicates that this activity may have taken place outdoors, perhaps along a palace wall. Indoor scenes usually have a yellow-orange background, and overhead there are often drapes that are shown tied up. Many thrones were covered in thick, woven reed-mats. So common was this, the mats came to symbolize kingship. In the inscriptions, the throne was often referred to as “the mat.” For instance, “Lord… rose to the mat,” or “Seated on the mat was Lord…”
Throne rooms were found in multi-roomed and multi-functioned buildings, always on the ground floor. And they usually faced east, north or south. At Aguateca there’s a very wide doorway so those in the courtyard could observe the lord on his throne. Typically, the lord served as a judge in resolving disputes, delegated tasks, proclaimed policies, held audiences with members of his community and received emissaries and lords from other communities.
For a comprehensive read on the subject of court players and functioning, I recommend Royal Courts Of The Ancient Maya: Volume 1: Theory, Comparison, And Synthesis by Takeshi Inomata. It’s expensive. Universities with anthropology departments are likely to have it in their library.
(The vase rollout photographs appear here are through the courtesy of Justin Kerr).
The Jaguar Throne
Excerpt from Jaguar Rising (p. 509—511 )
(In the story, “Bundled Glory” is a personified ancestor bundle).
I PULLED ASIDE THE HEAVY DRAPE AND ENTERED THE TEMPLE. Pine needles crunched under my sandals, their scent faint compared to the odor of burnt coals, incense and ash. I found the brazier I was told would be in front of the throne, and held my torch to it. Gradually, the flames rose and the chamber lit up. “Ayaahh!” I gasped. The throne was huge, well beyond what I expected—a thick stone slab five strides wide, four or five deep and thicker than my head resting on four great boulders. Raising my torch and looking up, I saw the red wrapping of Bundled Glory lying along the front edge of the throne. Four gigantic black beams rose from the corners of the chamber to an incredibly high peak, so high and dark I could barely see the thatching.
Censers shaped like frogs with open mouths stood on large mushroom-shaped stands on both sides of the doorway. To free my hand, I put the torch in a wall holder, took some ocoté sticks from a basket, lit them at the brazier and put them in both censers. A handful of copal nuggets from another basket sent bright puffs of the sweet odor up to the ceiling. Bats fluttered their disapproval then settled. Even though I could only see a bit of the god bundle, I announced my presence out loud. The sound bouncing off the walls reminded me of the great cavern behind the Mouth of Death.
As eager as I was to get a closer look at the throne, the figures painted on the walls captured my attention. “Ballplayers,” I said. A swipe of the wall with my finger removed a thin veil of soot. An eye. Another swipe with the palm of my hand revealed the face of a man wearing a blue macaw helmet with yellow ear ornaments. His eyes were huge—bright and determined. “Ayaahh!” I cried aloud—“Beautiful!”—and my voice bounced off the walls. The blue of the helmet feathers was as deep as the waters beyond Axehandle. The grit came off the wall easily, but my hands were dirty and I was leaving smudges. Not to make things worse, I went to the basin and washed—anointed?—my hands, face and feet with the holy water. I also wet my headband so I could wash off even more soot from the walls. Because of the chill in the air, I pulled the blanket higher on my neck and tied the ends under my chin.
In the mural closest to the door, a lord wearing a winged cape and bird pectoral stood poised as if to open a ball game ritual. The scepter he held up was a huge claw-shaped obsidian hafted with twisted cords that dangled blue feathers. A longer wipe along the wall revealed a cape of lush green feathers that formed the wings of an enormous macaw. Yet another swipe revealed serpent heads painted on the sides of a dark brown hip protector—a ball game player standing as a Macaw ancestor or god. His proud posture and the “smoking-earth” sign he stood on told me he was celebrating a victory.
There were more figures on the wall behind the throne, but they were obscured by its shadow. On the other side, there were lords outfitted with ball regalia displaying the familiar postures of the Hero Twins. Crossing the doorway to where I’d started, I noticed a kneeling figure alongside a standing man wearing the jeweled sak huunal. A swipe of the cloth revealed a jaguar tooth choker. Another showed a knotted waist cord with jaguar teeth dangling over a jaguar kilt identical to one I’d seen my father wearing when I was recuperating. There he was on the wall—My father as a sprout, kneeling before his father’s offering bowl, assisting, perhaps even witnessing the appearance of the founder—Ancient Root—in the smoke that billowed over their heads. I pointed to them. Father. Grandfather. Great Grandfather. Ayaahh! Three generations of ball players. Seeing them in full regalia I realized why my failure at the game had been a deep disappointment for My father.
More swipes over Ancient Root’s shoulder, face and headdress called to mind the murals at Pa’nal where the brother’s lines there were thin and flowing, enclosing open areas of color. The lines on this wall were well made but were thicker with less color, and filled with crosshatching and detailed designs in the fabrics. Lighter, more fluid hands had conjured the maize god at Pa’nal. These hands were stronger, their brushes thicker. And after bearing down on the outlining stokes they went back with a finer brush to put in details, even repeating lines to enhance the effect of texture. I was also seeing different kinds of people playing the game. Many of the decorative scars, body colors and tattoos were not familiar to me. Neither were the signs that decorated their headdresses and clothing. I wished that Charcoal Conjurer could have been there. He would have known what they meant and where the rulers came from.
Aside from the faces on the censers that sat on the four corners of the great slab, the only indication of it being a jaguar throne was a snarling god-face with jaguar ears carved on the front. Atop the steps and in back, I noticed that the throne was covered with layers of tightly woven reed-mat—explaining why rulers spoke of being seated on the “Mat.” On top of the mats was the largest, most plush jaguar pelt I’d ever seen.
Bundled Glory lay in front of it, where it’s head would have been. There were sacred knots tied along the top and on both ends of the long red bundle.
I sat cross-legged in front of it and kept the blanket over my shoulders. If I closed one eye, the knot on top and in the center of the bundle lined up perfectly with the middle of the doorway. Coming in, I’d noticed that the doorway itself lined up with the center of Flower House across the plaza. For some unknown reason, even as a sprout, I was in the habit of lining things up. I sometimes wondered if I’d inherited it from Mother’s father, since he aligned the Great Ball Court that way.
Bundled Glory made me nervous. I think he approved of my looking at the conjurings on the walls, but I didn’t like being watched by a spirit. “With respect Ancient Root,” I said. “Dreams Of Smoke Flint said you know me.” I paused to let him speak but he didn’t. “Lord K’in and Chaak Ek’ determined that I am here as the Succession Lord.” Again I paused. “I am greatly honored to take counsel with you.” Silence. “I am here in preparation for my accession.” Getting no response, I asked about my father, Gourd Scorpion, and Comb Paca, and White Grandfather. All I heard was the occasional rustling of bats high above and the licking of flames in the brazier below. “Did you see the ball game in the Great Court?” I praised the man—or men—who conjured the figures on the walls. “With respect holy lord our founder, I have come to take counsel with you. Do you have anything to say to me?” I waited and waited. My thoughts wandered to Red Paw. How could he talk to me like that? He should be grateful… What do I want? I want him to go on dancing and stop criticizing me! He was right about one thing. The ancestors were not the only ones leading me down this path.
I shook my head to stay awake. “With respect Ancient Root, is it true? Did Chaak Ek’ sacrifice himself so I rather than my brother would sit here?” No response. “You had to have seen how we defeated the Cloud of Death.” How could Thunder Flute lie about my prophecy? Still, like Mother said, it is coming true. He should see me now. Especially tomorrow.
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For a brief description of The Path Of The Jaguar novels: Go to the Home Page—Novels
Links To Amazon.com for paperback books and Kindle Editions —
Jaguar Rising: A novel of the Preclassic Maya
Ancient Maya Period Ending Rites
Calendar dates that warranted the “planting” of a monument
Lord Smoke Shell, 15th Ruler of Copan. Stela N (Front)
Period endings in the long count were the greatest of ritual occasions for Classic-era Maya kings. Nearly all of the stone stelae at sites such as Copan, Tikal, and Yaxchilan were meant to commemorate these days and, most especially, the ceremonies that the rulers oversaw in their celebration: casting incense, drilling fire, sacrificing war captives, as well as in a rite called ‘the binding of stones.’ One of the principal duties of Maya kings… was to tend to time, ensuring its good health as yet another manifestation of k’ub, the sacred order of things.
David Stuart, author The Order of Days: Unlocking the Secrets of the Ancient Maya.
Like everything else in the Maya world, certain time periods were deified and personalized. Periods of 5, 10, 13, 20 years and more were perceived as gods who carried them—and their characteristics— on their backs with a neck strap or tumpline. At the end of a period, for instance a year, the god set his “burden” down and the next god in line picked it up in an endless repetition of cycles—determined by the movements of planets and stars.
The Maya had two interrelated calendars, one “sacred,” and the other a “Long Count” based on the zero date of the world being created—September 8, 3114 BCE in our calendar. Period Endings were always counted by years from that date, and the ancients referred to the setting up of stelae as “seatings,” similar to the seating of a king on a throne. The Period Ending rites celebrated rebirth and renewal by the erection of monuments, just as the hearthstones were set in the cosmos by the creator gods.
It was not assumed that the world would continue. Any one of the period-carrying gods could decide not to assume the burden set down by the previous god, and that would be the end of the world. To express gratitude to the outgoing deity and encourage the next one to assume his burden, the ceremonies associated with period endings were elaborate, involving bloodletting, ecstatic dancing, shapeshifting and the ritual burning of sacred objects. By providing heat and light, reflections of strength and vitality, the stone monuments were endowed with life. These were huge events for the entire population throughout the Maya area. The Spanish chronicles mention one New Year festival where more than 15,000 people came to one location from as far away as 90 miles.
The likeness of kings, their associations with various deities, ritual performances and other exploits were featured on the stelae because they personified the gods being celebrated. Over time, through ritual, the cycles prompted the repetition of mythological and historical events. And physically, applying an agricultural metaphor in the inscriptions, the Period Ending monuments were “wrapped” in a cloth shroud and “planted” in the ground in the manner of a farmer planting maize seeds. At its dedication, the shroud was removed, and like the shucking of an ear of maize, the “kernel” of the event was revealed. There are also references to stelae being “tied” in bands of cloth in the manner of kings being “tied” in a white headband, the symbol of rulership.
Copan Stela N (East Side)
The inscription above states that Lord K’ahk’ Nik Te’ Wi’ (Lord Smoke Shell) planted his “banner stone” on the period ending that marked 3,930 years since the day the world was created—3114 BCE.
The Inscription
“The Long Count was 9.16.10.0.0. 1 Ajaw, G9 was the lord of the night, 1 day was the age of the moon, it was the first lunar month of the third lunar trimester, Mih K’uh Chapat was the name of the lunar month, of 30 days was the duration of the lunar month, 8 Sip was the position of the solar month; it was planted … the stone … flower of fire … [by] K’ahk’ Yipyaj Chan K´awiil, holy lord of Copan. The count was 0 days, 0 Winal, 10 Tun years, 19 Winikhaab, 17 Pik and 14 Piktun; then came the date 1 Ajaw 8 Ch´en; the god Ajan planted another stone…”
Breakdown of the 9.16.10.0.0 long count
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- 9 Baktuns 9 periods of 144,000 days [approximately 3,600 years]
- 16 K’atuns 16 periods of 7,200 days [approximately 320 years]
- 10 Tuns 10 periods of 360 days [approximately 10 years]
- 0 Winals No 20-day months
- 0 K’ins No days
Copan Stela N was dedicated by K’ahk’ Yipyaj Chan K’awiil (Lord Smoke Shell) in 761 CE. It celebrated the completion of 3,930 years since the zero creation date. Period Ending rituals were prime examples of two indigenous principles: “As above, so below.” The order in the cosmos must be repeated on Earth. And time is cyclical. “What goes around comes around.”
Completion of a Tun (Year)
Excerpt from the novel, Jaguar Wind and Waves (p. 102)
BECAUSE LORD K’IN MADE HIS DESCENT into the Underworld in the west, considered the place of death, the monuments of deceased rulers were set in a row along the East Platform, in front of the shrines at Precious Forest, their stone faces facing west. To protect them and the alters in front of them from torrential downpours in the rainy season, they were covered over with thatch shelters, some as high as four men standing on shoulders.
I’d heard that my father had dedicated a monument two years earlier to celebrate the completion of the seventeenth k’atun, a twenty-year Period Ending, so I took the children to see if we could find it. Whether because of our plain dress, broad-rimmed rain hats, or so many people milling about in the plaza, we were not recognized. There were lines in front of the monuments, petitioners waiting to present their offerings to the holy men who, along with their prayers, fed them into fires in front of the altars. Thirty paces from the last and tallest monument I recognized Father’s headdress. I covered my mouth and couldn’t hold back the tears. The carver had chosen to show him from the side. Even so, the shape of his nose—longer than I’d remembered—and the slant of the forehead, folded eyelids, full lips, and broad shoulders left no doubt that, although taller and heavier, this was my father.
I pointed out his name to the children—the jaguar paw in his headdress. The little fish nibbling on a lily pad next to it showed him to be the guardian of fertility. Because the sak huunal, the jeweled white headband that marked him as the portal through whom flowed the life of the caah, and because First Crocodile would soon be wearing it, my son was especially interested to see the jade-carved face of Lord Huun on the front of Father’s headband. The last time I saw him wearing it was the day I left for Tollan.
Completion of the 16th Tun
Excerpt from the novel, Jaguar Rising (p. 200)
Eight days later, Lord Yellow Sun Cloud, the Great Tree of Mirador, celebrated the closing of the sixteenth tun at Lamanai. Word came to us that both his underlord sons—Laughing Falcon and Smoking Mirror—witnessed it. White Grandfather conducted the five-day Period Ending ceremonies at Cerros, and the entire caah turned out to witness the year-bearer setting down his burden. Instead of sacrificing the youngest daughter of a minister as they had at Lamanai, he offered sixteen peccary and three turkey hens. After the gods feasted on incense and the ch’ulel in their blood, we feasted on the remains, cooked in an earthen pit.
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For a brief description of The Path Of The Jaguar novels: Go to the Home Page—Novels
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Jaguar Rising: A novel of the Preclassic Maya
The Maya Triadic Architectural Complex
Reminiscent of the Three Hearthstone “Thrones” in the Sky
The Maya began erecting enormous pyramid platforms that had three temples on top, two facing each other across a plaza and the third centered behind them. Above, I’m looking down from the central temple atop the platform called “Caana” at Caracol in Belize. In 2000, extensive excavation was underway, and my lens wasn’t wide enough to include the other temples.
This is the central pyramid. The previous photo was taken atop these steps, between the coverings protecting large scucco masks from the rain. Prominent scholars believe the temples were named for the hearthstones in the sky. Having been established there by the creator gods to center the universe, the three stones (prominent stars in Orion) were considered to be “thrones.” Accordingly, they were called “Jaguar Throne Stone,” “Snake Throne Stone.” and “Water Throne Stone.” Why these names is not known. Click here to see what the Caana “Sky Palace” looks like today. The initial construction of Caana was in the 7th century AD 650–696. It had at least 71 rooms.
Researchers refer to this structural pattern as a “Triadic Complex.” The earliest was built at Wakna, a sprawling and largely unexcavated site in Central Guatemala. In the same region and around the same time, more than fifteen triadic structures were erected at El Mirador. “El Tigre,” built around 150 BCE, is as tall as an 18-story building. A mile-and-a-half away and facing it, “Danta” rises fifty feet higher than El Tigre, making it the tallest pyramid the Maya ever built. The second-largest triadic pyramid complex after El Mirador is also nearby at El Tintal. It rises to a height of 150 ft. with a base measuring 344 x 256 ft.
Events recorded at Palenque, Chiapas suggest that later on, the triad complex may have been a standard format for religious and ideological rituals, possibly accession and bloodletting rituals. And there’s evidence that the pattern persisted. Maya researchers Nicholas Hellmuth and Francisco Belli Estrada found an original, handwritten relación of Nicolás de Valenzuela, a Spanish conquistador that includes a comment on a building arrangement and function in the settlement of Sac Balam, “White Jaguar,” a Lacandon Maya city in southern Mexico.
There are one hundred and three houses, including three of community use…In the center of this town of Sac Balam you find three community houses, one from east to west, another from north to south, and the other from east to west, each one looking out on the other, leaving in the center a spacious atrium.
Nicolás de Valenzuela
The researchers concluded, “The layout of Sac Balam fits the triadic pattern, with the buildings ascribed to “community” or public use as opposed to private use or personal residences.” Considering the time depth of the triadic pattern, there had to be a basis in religious myth and beliefs relating to the creation of the world.
Initiation at the Caaha, Caracol
Excerpt from the novel, Jaguar Sun (pp. 390-393 )
(NOTE: In the story, the characters refer to the three temples as “shrines.”)
BEFORE I COULD BE PRESENTED TO LORD RADIANT SUN—who needed to accept me as a “venerable” before I could offer him or any other ruler counsel—I had to undergo a final rite of initiation where I would sacrifice my blood and seek wisdom in three shrines. Also, I would be given a name appropriate to a master of the K’uhuuntak Brotherhood.
Wearing our white robes with our tall headdresses pointing back, Grandfather Sun, Venerable Margay, Venerable Jade, Venerable Storm, Venerable Fire and I were led by a third learner to the tallest pyramid at the heart of Caracol. I’d been instructed not to carry my baton. The masters however, carried wooden plaques that bore the likenesses of former K’uhuuntak masters at Caracol. The painted black lines over a red background on the plaques indicated that they had ascended to the final order in the sky—as a bright light.
The masters formed a circle around me. As each plaque was held to my face and censed, they spoke the master’s name and petitioned him to guide my quest for wisdom and a proper name. When that was done, Grandfather Sun pointed up the steps, beyond a range of rooms that ran from one side of the pyramid the other, to three shrines atop steep pyramids higher up. “Talk to the mountain lords as you talk to us,” he said.
“Out loud?”
“If you like, but that is not necessary. They speak through your ch’ulel.”
With the censing done, the learner went back to the lodge and the six of us climbed the steps. The risers were nearly as high as our knees so we had to go up on all fours, reverently bent low as the builders intended. After resting a while on the seventh terrace, we continued on and entered into a room in the middle of the long range. Through a doorway we faced another broad stairs that led to a spacious courtyard and the three tall pyramids. Despite our slow climb, we had to sit on the top step to catch our breath. Venerable Margay said the shrines atop they pyramids were named for the gods of the three hearthstones in the sky. He said they are called “throne mountains,” because they were used as such by the long line of Radiant Sun lords.
Rising nearly as high as a ceiba to my right, was Water Mountain. Facing it across the courtyard was Serpent Mountain. And straight ahead, in the center, was Jaguar, the tallest of the three stone mountains. Seeing the steep steps, I asked if I would be allowed to rest between visits. Venerable Jade advised me to take the steps slowly and catch my breath at the top. “When you are breathing normally again,” he said, “enter the shrine. Before you speak to the gods, turn away from all distractions.”
Grandfather Sun had advised me to call the gods by their mountain names, and then see myself as them. “Put them on as you would your cloak.” He’d said this several times in my preparation, but he could see in my eyes that I still didn’t understand. Taking my wrists in his hands, he told me to see myself in water to speak with Lord Water, see myself as the Great Serpent Way when I sat with Lord Serpent and see myself a jaguar when I spoke with Lord Jaguar.
Venerable Margay handed me a piece of obsidian. From Venerable Fire I received three strips of white cotton to collect my blood. And Venerable Storm gave me a ceramic bowl to place them in. “Take the blood from your ears,” Grandfather said. “When you come down from each shrine, put the bloodstained strip in the censer and offer your gratitude into the smoke.” The censers were already burning at the bottom of the stairways. “Do not speak to us when you go from shrine to shrine. Water first, then Serpent. Jaguar last. Take as long as you need. If it takes until dark, so be it. We will be here waiting. Remember to ask for your name in each shrine. We need to know what to call you as a venerable.”
GOING UP THE STEPS OF WATER MOUNTAIN, PASSING BEWEEN stuccoed likenesses of Lord Water, made me feel like I was being judged and found guilty of not ever having prayed to him or offered him incense.
At the top, I regained my breath by walking around the terrace. Standing higher than the canopy, the horizon was an unbroken line of trees. I could see the long causeway, the “stems” that led to the district “petals” where smoke rose from the plaza clearings. Close to the western horizon, I guessed the cluster of smoke trails to be those of Ucanal. The Jaguar shrine blocked my view of the east, but looking north and west I could see through the trees, a segment of the white causeway that led to Naranjo.
The sun poked long fingers of light through the clouds, seeming to point to sacred places in the green canopy. In all directions, the giant ceiba’s rose above the other trees, striking poses like naked white dancers with raised arms and red plumage.
Breathing normally, I entered the white-painted shrine, looked at the water band scrolls painted waist high on the walls and then sat on a carved wooden bench with a high back—the throne. After I offered a silent greeting to Lord Water, I drew blood from my ear. The pain was much less than I thought it would be, but it surprised me to see how much blood came from such a little scrape—and how long it took for it to no longer show up on the cotton strip. Because the seat of the throne was high, I kept being distracted by the view of Serpent Mountain through the doorway, so I moved to a plastered bench built into the wall at the end of the long vaulted chamber.
I closed my eyes. With respect, Lord Water, what wisdom do you have for me? Remembering that Grandfather Sun told me to become water in order to talk to Lord Water, I thought of water in several places—the overflowing basin at Itzan, the floodwater rising in my cage at Dos Pilas, the dye colors running to the ditch alongside Lord Cormorant’s workshop and the rain poking holes in the deep pool at Xunantunich. Then I remembered the man at Tikal telling how ash from the mountain of bones blanketed the reservoir.
Clothe yourself in—. The only water I wanted to clothe myself in was that runoff, carrying the ashes of Father, Jade, Flint and Chert across the plaza, down to the reservoir. So not to lose them in the great expanse of ash, I imagined them as red blankets that Father gave us after one of his raids.
Rain poked holes in the blankets. They were breaking up and separating, so I pulled them together, wrapped the great blanket around me and tied it at the neck. As the rain changed from poking to pounding, I went under the water and allowed us to descend—away from the noise and splashing, into the depths where there was calm and quiet.
Suspended, with light above and darkness below, I felt like I didn’t need to ask for anything—not for wisdom or a name, not even for my rightful place in the world. Although I couldn’t see them or their faces, I felt my Father and brothers with me, almost closer than we’d been in life. We are together now, all clothed as water. All the same. The differences between us are gone.
All that you seek is here.
Conversing with my ch’ulel had become so familiar, it took no effort and provided great comfort. Where? Here?
A loud buzzing startled me. I opened my eyes and waved off a wasp. Having been pulled to the “surface” so abruptly, I got up and went swimmingly to the doorway. Far below, scores of people were going their way in the plaza. Workmen carried bamboo poles for scaffolding, and holy men fed offerings into their fire circles while young women carried firewood on their heads. I hadn’t noticed the activity and noise when the venerables and I entered the plaza. Now it was as I’d been warned—a distraction. Waves. Turbulence. The people, the gleaming red temples and other structures enclosing the plaza, even the forest beyond seemed like a thick layer of sorts, like a band of life situated between the ground and the sky.
All this is surface. We are born, we live and die within this band of life. Wars and forced migrations stir it up and leave fear in its wake. Those who survive can barely think of anything else.
Wanting to continue my journey into the depths, I went back to the bench and sat cross-legged with my robe pulled around my knees. I closed my eyes again and descended into the depths with the red blanket wrapped around me. In the deep calm again, I asked, With respect, Lord Water, pardon the interruption. I was told you would speak wisdom to me—through my ch’ulel.
Wisdom is knowing who you are beneath the skin.
All my life, people have asked me who I am. Nothing I said to them feels true—or full enough.
As clear as if Yellow Fire were standing across from me in his cage, I heard him say, I am the substance of clouds, the substance of wind and rain, of forest and trees, the substance of jaguar and macaw, of earth and water…
Of everything. All that is. It is true for you. True for everyone.
The substance of—everything? What does that—?
That wasp—or a different one—buzzed around my head again. I kept my eyes closed and tried to wave him off. He persisted and I was back on the surface again.
Wasp? Is that the name you are giving me? Venerable Wasp?
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For a brief description of The Path Of The Jaguar novels: Go to the Home Page—Novels
Links To Amazon.com for paperback books and Kindle Editions
Jaguar Rising: A novel of the Preclassic Maya
Ancient Maya Hearths
They modeled creation by establishing a center in a house and vitalizing it
Operating on the principle, as above so below, the ancients “centered” their homes in the world following the example of the celestial deities who placed three “stones” in the universe to establish the center. The hearth wasn’t necessarily placed in the center of the house. The centering it provided was symbolic and spiritual. A Maya farmer showed me this hearth in a house that was no longer used. The guardian-spirit had long been released.
According to art historian Julia Kappleman, at the beginning of creation when the sky had not yet been lifted away from the earth and the world was dark, the first stone, referred to a “Jaguar Throne Stone,” was set by the Paddler gods who’d escorted the Maize God into the Underworld. The second stone, “Snake Throne Stone,” was set by a god called Dawn Red Snake. And the third, “Water Throne Stone,” was set by Itzamnaaj the god above gods. These events took place on August 13, 3114 B.C.—the ancient Maya creation date and the beginning of their Long Count calendar. It happened at a location naturally referred to as “First-Three-Stone-Place.” In Maya art, the central axis of the universe was depicted as a three-stone hearth placed on the carapace of a turtle, representing the Earth. Sometimes the center of a turtle shell is marked with a cross (+), the sign for fire and centrality.
Astronomically, the three stones set by the gods are the stars Alnitak, Saiph and Rigel in the constellation Orion. At its center is the nebula M42, visible to the naked eye on a clear night as a cloud of smoke. For the ancients, it was the central fire. The text on Copan Stela 12 says the ruler, K’ahk’ Uti’ Witz’ K’awiil, “witnessed” the setting of the First Three Hearthstones in 3114 B.C. This might have been his way of saying he was either a god, like one or privileged to be in their company.
When the Tzotzil Maya of Zinacantan, Chiapas, Mexico constructed a house, they gave it life—ensouled it—by establishing a hearth and lighting it in a “Fire Entering” ceremony. The first fire affirmed the cosmological symbolism of the house and vitalized it with fire, light and heat. Essentially it was a sun-entering ceremony. Elderly couples refer to the first lighting of the hearth as “taming the new wild house.” Before, it was “wild” like a forest, lacking a soul. Afterward, with a guardian spirit established to protect the house and those living within, it became refined. Tame.
In America’s First Cuisines, Sophie Coe talks about cooking on a hearth —
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- Sweet potatoes were placed on the stones, in the embers or in ceramic pots.
- Turtles and iguanas were grilled over the fire.
- Fish & poultry were often boiled in a stew with tomato, chili pepper and spices added.
- For steaming, a little water was placed in a ceramic pot and boiled, then food was placed on a lattice of sticks above the water to steam..
- Food was also smoked and toasted over the hearth
- Barbecuing was favored for dog, peccary, venison and poultry: the meat was skewered and placed on a wooden spit frame over the fire.
Gathering and Shaping Three Hearth Stones
Excerpt from the novel, Jaguar Rising (pp. 81-84)
IF I WAS GOING TO TAKE A PATH OTHER THAN THE ONE BEING cleared for me by Thunder Flute and Our Bounty, I had to do it within two moons. I knew not to even try to convince Thunder Flute that I belonged at Crooked Tree. Once he made up his mind that was the end of it. Again, I realized that White Grandfather was my only hope. As it happened, he would be joining us for the Fire Entering rites.
When Grandfather Rabbit died Thunder Flute decided that, rather than repair our house, which was next to his and badly in need of fixing, he would follow the common practice by terminating both houses and build a larger one over his father’s bones. Grandmother would move in with us.
Once the masonry platform was built, the house went up quickly. But before we could move in, its skin and bones had to be ensouled with a guardian spirit. Otherwise terrible things could happen. Somehow, within the seven days of the Fire Entering rites that invited a spirit to take up residence in the house, I needed to find a way to be alone with White Grandfather. I didn’t know what I was going to say, but with Thunder Flute being more willing to answer my questions now, I hoped I might learn something before then that would help.
I got my chance when he took me to an old quarry down by the New River. With the ensouling rites just two days away, he needed hearthstones to establish the heart of the house, the place where a spirit would enter. The three stones had to be a certain size and shape for cooking, so we used long-handled axes with wide flats to pull back the weeds, dig out the soil and expose a long section of white stone. The day was hot. Before we began to chop the stone itself, we sat on a ledge, wiped the sweat off our faces and took our keyem—a gruel made by stirring balls of maize dough in water. Mother spiced the dough with honey and chili powder, so I was eager for it.
“You can say your gratitude if you like,” Father said. He knew that Mother had gotten my sister, brother and me into the habit of offering a gratitude for everything we took from the earth, field, forest or water. I was embarrassed to say it in front of him, but he was allowing it. I took off my hat, put my hands flat on the stone and bowed my head.
With respect Earth Lord,
I stand before you—Seven Maize Rabbit.
I speak for myself and for Thunder Flute Rabbit.
In this place of beauty, we offer you our gratitude.
Forgive us for uncovering your face here,
For chopping your white beauty.
We need three of your little ones for our hearth.
We will honor them at the Fire Entering rites.
We will honor them as the heart of our house.
With respect Earth Lord, receive our praise and gratitude.
Thunder Flute scratched some lines in the exposed stone. Following them, he cut grooves with his chisel and hammerstone while I cut into the stone from below. It took all morning, aching muscles and buckets of sweat, but finally, we had a ledge. By stomping on it we broke off three large blocks and rolled them to a pool of water where we could sit in the shade and wash them off as we shaped them.
Father wet two pieces of deer hide and gave me one. Then he gave me a piece of flint and he showed me how to wrap it tightly in my hand. “Hold the chipper close to the block,” he said. “Keep your hand low and chip from the side. This is a chipper, not a knife.” He showed me how to do it, sending a spray of fine chips into the water. White-crowns were there and they fluttered into the trees. I tried it, but the flint gouged the block and a little powder fell off. “Keep your wrist straight. The flint and your arm need to work like a hafted axe.”
Twice the flint skipped off the top of the stone. “Too hard, little sprout! Let the flint do the work. Short, sharp jabs. The stone is soft. No need to attack it…” I heard only a little of what he was saying. I didn’t care about his lessons. “Do not think about getting finished,” he said. “Your grandfather taught us—with stone, the slow way is the better way…”
For a long while, we chipped in silence. On expedition, even the black body paint that marked Thunder Flute as a long-distance merchant didn’t hide the long and jagged patches of rough, gravelly skin that ran from the top of his neck to the middle of his back. On the front of his right thigh, he had a long and jagged scar and a smaller one on the inside of his leg. Neither he nor Mother would talk about his scars, but he often displayed the straight-line scar on his upper right arm to crewmembers to prove that he and Lord Macaw had become blood brothers. The other mark he proudly wore was a tattoo on his chest, a large owl that he got on his first expedition to Mirador. The owl’s eyes were yellow outlined in black. And they stared out from a dark brown head framed by an open spray of wings with black talons below and a black beak in the middle.
“Seven Maize,” he said abruptly. “Your grandfather wants you to know he is grateful for helping with the termination of the houses.”
“He speaks to you?”
“Owl sons know the hearts of their fathers,” he said. “Even after they have taken the dark road.”
“Can I talk to him?”
“You can. But you will not hear him until after initiation. Ancestors only speak to men and women of the caah.”
“His stories always made me want to go to Tollan,” I offered. I hoped the mention of the place where he grew up would lead to his telling me about it.
“This part of the river reminds me of fishing with him.”
“There was a river at Tollan?”
“Wide, but not as deep as ours. In the dry season, it sometimes became a trickle. The soil is darker there. And red. Rocks and stone are mostly gray or black with red in them. Where we have savannas and forests, they have tall hills with mountains and wide valleys—very different from here.”
“Do you miss it—as grandfather did?”
“Tollan was good for all of us. We had a large house with seven rooms. That would be like putting three of the houses here together. The patio was small but we had a shrine in the middle with steps going up on all four sides. The roofs were flat—all beams and mortar. Eight compounds our size would fit into just one of them at Tollan.”
“He said it was big.”
“Beyond what you could dream. The pyramids are the tallest in the world. The ancestor gods live in shrines that face each other along a wide causeway that runs long and straight as far as you can see. It looks like a masonry river painted red. All of Cerros would fit into just one of Tollan’s districts. And there were more districts than I could count. One of her markets covered as much ground as Great Sea plaza. Rather than one, they had three rulers. And they welcomed foreigners. There were so many different tongues spoken there, even I could not speak them all.”
FINALLY, HE WAS TELLING ME ABOUT THINGS THAT mattered. He knew I was probing, but I didn’t care. I told him I overheard Grandfather Rabbit talking about something bad that happened on the migration from Tollan.
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For a brief description of The Path Of The Jaguar novels: Go to the Home Page—Novels
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Jaguar Rising: A novel of the Preclassic Maya
Jaguar
Lord of the Maya Underworld
The jaguar was the most powerful animal in the ancient Maya world. It’s not surprising that it played a prominent role in mythology and kingship. Piecing together the interpretations of several scholars, mythically, K’inich Ajaw, the Sun god, created the jaguar to represent him in the world. He gave him the color of his power (reddish-orange) and the voice of thunder (the voice of the sun), and entrusted him to watch over his creation.
Each night, when K’inich Ajaw descended into the “West Door” and entered Xibalba he ruled as “Jaguar God of the Underworld,” the name that scholars gave him. In Maya art and inscriptions he represents the night sun and darkness. He’s often shown as paddling other gods through the waterways of Xibalba in a canoe. In these representations, he became known as “Jaguar Paddler.” During the day, he was considered “Lord of the Middleworld.” As a symbol of hunting and war, he was “Waterlily Jaguar,” shown wearing a waterlily on his head and a sacrificial decapitation neck-scarf. All his personifications, including “White Owl Jaguar” and “Baby Jaguar,” were patron gods, different ones for different polities, depending on the preference of the ruler.
As a symbol of the sun’s power, only kings wore jaguar pelts. These could be the complete pelt including the head, the body-skin only, a helmet covered with pelt or tufts of fur adorning wristlets, capes, belts, loincloths and sandals. A clue for scholars, when a bit of jaguar tail was used as a headdress ornament, the wearer’s name included Balam, “Jaguar.” It turned out, many headdresses depicted in Maya art provided the full name of the wearer. When a king sat on a throne adorned with a jaguar pelt it was understood that he represented K’inich Ajaw, the Sun-eyed Lord.
Maya kings went to war with their patron-deities. The kings engaged in battle to demonstrate that their patron was the more powerful. An example is illustrated on Tikal Lintel 3 of Temple 1 (scroll down). In 695 A.D. Tikal defeated Calakmul in a major battle. Calakmul’s enormous palanquin, a wooden platform carried on the shoulders of many men (perhaps slaves), was called “Jaguar Place.” Riding on it, above the seated ruler, was Yajaw Maan, “Five Bloodletter God,” the Calakmul patron deity, an effigy of a huge jaguar with claws outstretched standing high above a throne where the Tikal king, Jasaw Chan K’awiil, sat in regal splendor wearing an enormous headdress. Scholars believe the effigy was taken to Tikal in a triumphal parade where a temple was built for “him.” The king effectively “domesticated” him and acquired his power, thereby winning the respect of his people for the added protection the deity would afford.
For the ancient Maya and most indigenous cultures, the primary concern was with the within of things, their spirit, because that was the source of power. It’s why every element and force in nature from hurricanes to mosquitoes, had a god. And everyday affairs went well or poorly depending on the divinely appointed ruler’s ability to negotiate with them. When a commoner saw his king parading on a palanquin wearing a jaguar pelt, it wasn’t just the skin of an animal being worn as a costume. The pelt itself endowed him with the power of the sun, power over life and death, not just for all who witnessed it, but for the world.
Unlike the panthers in Africa, jaguars have black spots in their rosettes. And some jaguars are completely black. They range from northern Mexico to northern Argentina, living mostly in tropical forest. These lonely hunters are more active at night, prefer places near water with dense forest coverage and unlike other felines are as agile in the water as well as up trees. Their bite is also the most powerful among felines, killing their prey, usually by the neck, in a single bite.
Parade Of The Captured Jaguar Palanquin At Tikal
Excerpt from the novel, Jaguar Sun (pp. 125-126)
Jaguar heads emerged from the smoke of numerous censers, one on each corner of the swaying palanquin. Behind them, red-painted dwarfs stood on the pelts with their backs to us, holding censers. Painted or embroidered on their white capes was the face of Tlaloc, the storm god of Teotihuacan, reminding me that this was a commemoration as well as a victory celebration. The white skulls hanging from the dwarf’s belts sent a chill through me. I wouldn’t allow myself to think that they belonged to my father or brothers, so I looked down at the platform and the men too numerous to count who bore it on their shoulders. In front of the dwarfs there were two more little men, similarly attired and also holding censers, except that they wore wreaths of parrot feathers.
The Divine Lord Jasaw Chan K’awiil himself, sat on a jaguar pelt with its head hanging down the side. He grasped the K’awiil, god of abundance, scepter in his right hand and let the god’s serpent foot rest on his thigh. The other hand grasped a long, red-painted fabric bundle which, because of the stone face sewed on the side, I took to be either his or a captured god-bundle. Rising well above his headdress and the enormous spray of quetzal feathers with the face of the sun god prominent in the middle, the snarling patron of Calakmul, Yajaw Maan, looked like a bigger and more menacing version of Underworld Jaguar. Like him, his orange and black arms were extended, but he grasped a black staff tied with white knots in the manner of Tikal’s sacred headband. The staff, standing at least the height of three men with a snarling jaguar head at the top, told us that he now held the office accorded to a patron of Tikal.
From such a distance, and with ear ornaments and feathers attached to his headdress, I couldn’t see the ruler’s face. Suddenly, I needed to see it—to see his eyes. If I was right about where the palanquin would stop and he would step off, I saw a chance to get closer. Torches had been stacked high on both sides of the palace steps and there were warriors standing ready to light them and hand them out.
I went down the back steps, ran around the backs of the shrines and the ball court and waited in one of the walkways where the torches were stacked. I waited and waited. Then, when the warriors began lighting the torches and passing them along so every warrior on the plaza floor would have one, I approached and asked if they needed help. Clearly they did. They couldn’t light and hand them out fast enough. I gathered up torches, held them one at a time to be lit, and passed them on. With the torches all handed out, and with the plaza looking like a city on fire, I was able to stand with a torch of my own as the palanquin passed about thirty paces in front of me.
The Tikal ruler was younger than I expected, not much older than me. Keeping his gaze forward with a blank expression and relaxed posture, he seemed to say he deserved to be treated like a god.
The bearers stopped and set the platform down gently, being careful to keep it level. The dwarfs, as revered beings sent by the sky gods to honor and assist rulers, approached their master. One of them held out a long red pillow to receive the scepter. Another took his embroidered, pearl-studded tobacco bag, while the two behind them held their torches high to keep the flames well away from the enormous sprays of quetzal feathers that, when he stood, framed his body and towered the height of a man over his head. Considering the weight he carried—in addition to the headdress of stacked sun god masks and heavy jade ear ornaments, a long pectoral of jade stones that rested on a cape of shell-plates, a carved jade head the size of a fist that hung from his belt, two more jade ancestor faces strapped to his legs and ankles and jade tubes in his ears—it was a wonder that he could even stand.
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Jaguar Rising: A novel of the Preclassic Maya
Mangrove Trees
Building material and healing remedy
After touring Cerros, a Preclassic Maya site in Belize, my guide took me a few miles down the New River to a lake covered in lily pads. The ancients cultivated them in great quantities to freshen ponds and encourage the growth of fish. The pads and stalks were dried to fertilize fields. Significantly, the lily pads played a key role in referencing the beginning of time and annual time cycles. Kings wore representations of lily pads in their headdresses, to associate themselves with aquatic deities.
Coming back from the river, the guide slowed the boat and steered it into the tree-line with lianas streaming down without an inch of land. I helped him push the veil of vines aside and we entered a tiny lagoon.
Inside, we were surrounded by thin, tall trees—red mangrove. They converged overhead like the dome of a cathedral, their roots digging into the ground on both sides. The guide informed me that the “ground,” was mangrove wood turned to “peat” that had accumulated over the years and the banks were closing-in on both sides. The long roots support the trees against battering waves, especially on coastlines where there’s also a changing tide. High up, the leaves filter out and excrete salt from the water. I was in awe of the place—so still and quiet with lots of colorful fish swimming among the roots.
In the time of the ancient Maya, both black and red mangrove trees lined the banks of most rivers and saltwater inlets. They used the wood of the red mangrove, in particular, for construction posts in houses and other structures. Besides growing strong, tall and straight the wood is more salt-tolerant than other species, excluding it from being taken up in its roots. The little salt that is taken up, is stored in the leaves. When they’re full, they fall. It’s said that an acre of red mangrove can produce a ton of leaves in about a month. The Maya (and other cultures) used them to make a refreshing tea.
Different mangrove species around the world have been found to have numerous healing abilities because their tannin contains anti-fungal, antibacterial and antiviral properties. Mangrove tree bark, leaves, fruits, roots, seedlings and stems are currently used to heal wounds and treat diarrhea, stomachaches, diabetes, inflammation, skin infections, conjunctivitis (pink eye), and toothaches. It can even be used as mosquito repellent.
One study showed that compounds in red mangrove (Rhizophora mangle) tannin reduced gastric acid and increased mucosal protection to help heal stomach ulcers. Another study revealed that the tannin reduced bacterial strains such as the Staphylococcus aureus, which can cause skin and respiratory infections as well as food poisoning. The ancients also used mangrove roots to make dyes for tanning.
All around us, bobbing on the water like upright string beans, were many dozen of 10-12 inch long seed-pods. Researchers refer to them as “propagules” because they grow high up on the parent tree. My guide pulled one of the pods from the water and explained that they fall and float some distance to disburse, “looking” for water of suitable depth. When they become waterlogged they sink to the bottom and germinate to form the roots of another tree. The experience was so moving, I made it the setting for an important scene in Jaguar Rising: A Novel of the Preclassic Maya.
Maya archaeologist Heather McKillop, believes the abandonment of an Early Classic site, Chan B’i in Belize, and later inundation of the salt works in Paynes Creek, “may be related to mangrove disturbance. The felling of mangroves to establish workshops, alongside the impacts of trampling halted the production of mangrove peat at the workshop locations, with the rising waters subsequently covering the sites.” Mangrove peat was used extensively to enrich soils.
The Mangrove Ecosystem
It’s estimated that two-thirds of the fish we eat spend part of their life in mangroves. This is because the underwater roots provide an ideal protected environment for young fish. Because their roots hold the soil in place, they prevent erosion and degradation of the coastline during hurricanes and storm surges. They store 10 times more carbon in the mud than land-based ecosystems, which is a major defense against rapid climate change. And they reduce ocean acidification, which helps to prevent coral bleaching. A case has been made by some researches that mangroves do more for humanity than any other ecosystem on Earth.
Increasingly, mangroves are being threatened by rising sea-level, water pollution and in some cases being cut down to provide better ocean views. They’re battered by wave-strewn trash, goats eat them and barnacles choke them. Of native mangrove around the world, 35% have been destroyed, mostly due to shrimp farming. Once gone, the land erodes and tides and currents reshape the coastline, making it nearly impossible for them to grow back. After Typhoon Haiyan devastated the Philippines’ coastal communities, the government planted a million mangroves but because the trees were planted without regard to locating the right species in the right places, many of them died.
A palm-frond lies among baby mangrove seed-pods
My guide backing the boat out of the mangrove “temple.”
Mangrove trees symbolize strength and support. The image of their intertwined roots evokes several questions relevant to the human situation. For instance, who and what anchors us in the ebb and flow of everyday living, including the emotional storms that threaten to topple our dreams, desires or decisons? Who comes to mind as the person or persons who provide regular and ongoing acknowledgment, encouragement or inspiration? Who can we count on when the going gets tough? What can I myself do to stay grounded in purpose? And how can I support the people in my circle?
In a world moving at hyper-speed, where so many of us are anxious because of the rate of change, the soulful move is the move toward contemplating the source of things deeply rooted in eternity, the things that always are.
Phil Cousineau, American scholar; screenwriter
Fire Eyes Jaguar Shows Butterfly Moon The Mangrove Temple
Excerpt from Jaguar Rising: A novel of the Preclassic Maya (pp. 216-218)
Approaching my special place, I paddled even harder and she gripped the sides of the canoe. Roots and canopy with thorns in between. Sorcerer’s talk. I turned sharply toward a wall of brush that covered the eastern bank and fronted a forest of tall mangrove trees. “Before I take you home I need to tell you something. Not out here where everyone can see.”
“You should take me home.”
“I know. But jadestone promise, I will not touch you.” I stopped the canoe in front of the wall of vegetation and we changed places so I could stand on the bow to open a passage into the tangle of prickly brush, vine and trees. Butterfly helped me pull us through the vegetation. On the other side, we entered into an open space, a dark grotto, where the water was reddish brown but clear and shallow. “I come here when I want to be alone,” I said. Mangrove trees rising straight and very tall surrounded us. Overhead, they bent together to form an arched canopy with tightly interlaced fingers.
“This must be what a temple is like,” Butterfly whispered.
“It is a temple,” I said. “House of the Mangrove Lord.” Almost within our reach on both sides, mangrove fingers anchored the trees in muddy banks. And tiny fish nibbled at them. Had it not been for the dappled sunlight, we would have thought it was dusk.
Butterfly’s hands covered her chest. She was feeling what I felt the first time I entered the grotto. “How did you find this place?”
“I saw a fisherman come out when I was running a message down river.” I reached over the side and plucked one of the hundreds of long pods that floated upright. “Mangrove seeds—red mangrove,” I said handing it to her. “They fall from the canopy, drift and eventually sink to the bottom. Wherever it sticks, it grows a new tree. When hundreds grow together like this, their fingers get thick and grip into the mud to made new land.”
Butterfly shook her head. “How do you know so much?”
“I have many teachers,” I said. Sitting well back from her, I took a deep breath. “That day at the bench when you brought me tamalies?” She nodded. “Thunder Flute set a burden on my shoulders—something I need to tell you.”
“He was scolding you? Red Paw said the bench is where he—”
“Laughing Falcon ordered him to tell me something he did not want me to know until the Descent of Spirits. You are not going to like this, but it will change my life. It already has. I want you to hear it from me.”
Butterfly gripped her arms, as if from a chill. “You are frightening me.”
I took a breath, but it didn’t calm my pounding heart. “Thunder Flute is not my father. I am not a Rabbit.” Her eyes fixed on mine and a little wrinkle appeared in her brow. “Mother was gifted to him in gratitude for saving the life of a powerful man’s son—when he was on expedition. This man gave her to him, not knowing that I was growing in her belly. No one knew, not even the man who planted his seed in her. She was too afraid to tell him. I touched the earth when the expedition was on the way home. It happened in a cave, while Huracan was throwing a tantrum.”
“Did he tell you who your father is?”
“He is called Jaguar Tooth Macaw.”
“I have heard that name. Your mother might have—”
“He is the Lord of Kaminaljuyu—about forty k’inob south of here.
“Lord? Like Smoking Mirror?”
“Higher. Much higher. More like his father at Mirador.”
Like not feeling a cut until it is seen, it took a moment for Butterfly to understand the implications of what I was saying. When she did, she pulled back. “Then your blood is hot!” The canoe rocked as she went to her knees, steadied herself and bowed with crossed arms.
“Do not do that,” I said. “Get up. We can—”
Butterfly cowered at my feet. “I do not know what is proper,” she said. “Forgive me, I do not know what to say.”
I tried to explain further, but she wouldn’t say anything. I backed the canoe out of the brush. Underway again on open water I realized she might never speak to me again, so I spoke the whole truth about White Grandfather’s dream of me sitting on a rock watching stars that stand still, about finding rather than capturing the doe and fawn, about journeying to the other worlds and the misery of living at the lodge—caused by Thunder Flute. Still, she wouldn’t respond.
At the last bend in the river I paddled hard into the lagoon. In silence, we passed White Flower House, the docking area, the old district and then the long stretch of forest that backed on the Rabbit reservoir.
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For a brief description of The Path Of The Jaguar series go to the Home Page—Novels
Links To Amazon.com for paperback books and Kindle Editions—
Jaguar Rising: A novel of the Preclassic Maya
Ancient Maya Feasts And Banquets
Insuring the location of power
Vase rollout photo courtesy of Justin Kerr
The above scene could be a “snapshot” of a ruler hosting a feast. Others are likely attending, evidenced by two long wooden trumpets (left top) and a hand beating a drum (below the trumpets). The canopy overhead indicates an interior room, likely a palace. Honey is fermenting in the narrow-necked jars below the ruler, who gestures to a dwarf holding a mirror so he can see himself. (Note the ruler’s long fingernails). Another dwarf, below the dais, drinks from a gourd. Because the Maize God had a dwarf companion, so rulers kept them close.
Along with marriage and warfare, feasting was an important institution for building and maintaining alliances. It provided a context for the presentation of tribute and wealth—at times in a plaza where everyone could see. And it served as a form of “prestation,” a social system where attendees were obligated to the host in some way.
Even feasts where noblemen or lower status individuals served as hosts, those attending were obligated to give another such feast in return. If the guest died in the interim, his heirs inherited the obligation. Competitive or “ritual feasting” was ostensibly for the benefit of the community, but it was equally a way for a potentially powerful person to step up the ladder of importance. Anthropologist Joanne Baron writes about La Corona, a medium-sized site in Guatemala that played a key role in advancing the influence of the Snake Kings. The rulers there “encouraged the active participation of non-elites in public rituals, for example, by encouraging or requiring them to attend feasting events in honor of patron deities.”
Feasts were often held in honor of ancestors, to celebrate calendar events, religious rites, royal accessions and war victories. In wealthy houses, tamales were served in earthenware bowls and platters so each person could have his own. Bernardino de Sahagún, a Franciscan friar, wrote about the preparations for an elite feast. “Ground cacao was prepared, flowers were secured, smoking tubes were purchased, tubes of tobacco were prepared, sauce bowls and pottery cups and baskets were purchased. The maize was ground and leavening was set out in basins. Then tamales were prepared. All night they were occupied; perhaps three days or two days the women made tamales… That which transpired in their presence let them sleep very little.”
Diego de Landa, another Spanish priest, reported that “sumptuous feasts were attended by many and lasted a long time. They spend on one banquet what they earned by trading and bargaining many days. To each guest, they give a roasted fowl, bread and drink of cacao in abundance, and at the end, they gave a manta to wear and a little stand and vessel, as beautiful as possible.” It was also noted that others were fed from the kitchen of the ruler, starting with the visiting nobility, the guards, priests, singers and pages, down to the feather-workers and cutters of precious stones, mosaic workers and barbers.
Art historian, Dori Reents-Budet, an expert on Maya vases and their imagery, found that dignitaries from aligned polities and even people from adversarial polities were invited. Gifts were usually exchanged before the feast, including polychrome vases and drinking cups, cotton mantles, crafted adornments, cacao beans, bundles of feathers and foods. And chocolate, a highly valued beverage, was served. The vases depict banquets in plazas and dancing with musical accompaniment in long buildings, some with curtains and long benches for seating.
Feast to Celebrate the Protagonist’s 12th Birth Anniversary
Excerpt from the novel, Jaguar Rising (p. 16 )
To prepare for the feast, married women cleaned pots, shook out the long reed-mats and tended the cookhouse fires while the younger ones made trips to the reservoir. Butterfly Moon Owl, my friend’s sister and daughter of Mother’s feather-worker, carried two of my cousins astride her hips while balancing a water jar on her head. Neighbors came with knives and digging tools to help my uncles slaughter the peccary and prepare the cook-pit while their wives helped with the flowers and other foods.
After the chores were done, families would bring even more food and flowers, and they would stay until the sun set over the western forest. On some occasions, as a favor to Father, purple-robed ministers wearing blue-green quetzal feathers and jade adornments would come to celebrate with us. If they came at all, they would come toward the end of the day, compliment the women on the food and amuse us with flowery words and puns to make us laugh. Before taking their leave they would offer a little gift, usually a shell or polished stone. Father, always the spokesman for the Rabbits when he was home, would express his gratitude for their coming but we all knew that they came because our ruler, Lord Laughing Falcon Cloud, had ordered it.
More to my liking were the tradesmen who always came. These were canoe carvers, stone workers, cord-winders, bead-makers, fabric dyers and tanners, the people Father relied upon for his expeditions. They didn’t just sit and talk. They played games and demonstrated their skills with axes, spears, and blowguns, heaving hand-sized stones into water buckets and building human pyramids. When they finally tired and went to the brazier to tell stories and drink, we sprouts would run to the forest and play hunting and warrior games. The older flowers tended the younger ones in a clearing there, so one of our games was to see how close we could get before surprising them with war cries and chases with our imaginary axes and spears. The Mothers wouldn’t let us use sticks but sometimes we did—and denied it when the flowers told on us.
Lady Jaguar Prepares a Feast For Her Husband’s Guests
Excerpt from the novel, Jaguar Wind & Waves (p. 99)
For the feast I had arranged for the ministers to sit on reed-mats in a circle, each covered over with either a red or yellow blanket. Lime Sky and her assistants prepared maize-leaf tamales, some stuffed with paca meat, others with turkey. Four of the ten serving women had never been to court before, so I worried greatly that they would drop or spill or not understand a minister’s gesture.
Along with the tamales we served roasted grubs with ground beans, platters of cooked chayote greens topped with ground squash seeds that Lime Sky dusted with chile powder. Along with the meal, and for the purpose of toasting, we served chih. But the final offering, an extravagance usually reserved for lords and their ladies, was cold kakaw poured into outstretched calabashes from the height of the server’s breast to raise a dark brown foam. Jatz’om and Sihyaj K’ahk’ had easy access to the caah storehouse. Why not?
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For a brief description of The Path Of The Jaguar novels: Go to the Home Page—Novels
Links To Amazon.com for paperback books and Kindle Editions
Jaguar Rising: A novel of the Preclassic Maya
The Blood Of Kings
Inherited from the gods, it conferred divine power
In all of Mesoamerican history, human blood served as a means of channeling and infusing the world with the sacred essence or soul.
David Stuart, archaeologist, epigrapher
Among certain creation myths, there’s the indication that, in the beginning, “First Mother” mixed the blood of the Creator gods with maize dough to create human beings. Without blood, a person dies, so it was understood to carry the life force. Being sacred, blood was the highest kind of sacrifice a ruler could make to nourish the gods, especially Ajaw K’in, “Lord Sun,” whose radiant manifestation was both red and hot.
In certain periods and places, it was also believed that Ajaw K’in could perish from a lack of blood offerings. A thousand years later, according to Spanish chroniclers, this belief among the Aztec kings resulted in human sacrifice on a massive scale. To ensure a constant supply of blood for the gods, regular bloodletting rites among the Maya opened a portal between the human and sacred realms, allowing their kings to feed the gods in exchange for blessings of security, bountiful harvests and fertility.
Sacrificial blood was drawn from tongues, earlobes, fingertips, and cheeks. Blood from a ruler’s penis was an especially powerful sacrifice. Whatever the source, blood was let onto strips of white cloth or paper that were then burned in a sacred offering bowl along with incense. In the smoke, their petitions rose to the gods in the celestial realm. Scholars note that the favored places on the body for sacrifice are not those with large numbers of blood vessels or pain receptors, so “it wasn’t as painful as we might think.” On monuments, the bloody cloths are shown tied in three knots, identifying them as carrying itz, “sacred substance.”
Because the royals traced their bloodline to the Maize God, their blood was considered especially powerful—spiritually “hot” compared to everyone else’s blood. In “Blood Inheritance,” the protagonist learns that blood determines his destiny. In “Hot Blood” (below), Thunder Flute proves that his stepson’s royal blood is not hot to the touch.
How Blood Was Inherited
Excerpt from the novel, Jaguar Rising (p. 18)
FATHER CAME UP THE EMBANKMENT, PASSED BY ME AND WENT to the trees where he picked up a stick and began peeling the bark. It was hard not to ask what I’d done, but he’d trained me well. I never spoke first. Coming to the water, he threw in a piece of bark and fish came to nibble on it. When he saw me looking at the stick, he tossed it aside. “I am not going to beat you,” he said. “Sit.” I sat and he went around behind me. “This will be worse than a beating.” He came around front, faced the water and crossed his arms. “It falls to me to burden you with a heavy truth, Seven Maize.” Whenever he said my name, I knew it was serious. My heart pounded like a tree-drum. “Hard to believe,” he said. “Twelve tunob since I brought you and your mother here. Already, you stand on the doorstep to manhood.” He came over, gathered his cloak and sat at the other end of the bench resting his forearms on his legs.
“Respect, Father. Whatever it is I can bear it.”
“A man needs to know the truth about his beginnings,” he said to the ground. “Otherwise, he goes mad, becomes useless to his family and the caah.” Laughing sounds from the compound caused him to look up, but only for a moment. “Did you see Lord Laughing Falcon leaving?” I nodded. “He came all this way—.” Father heaved an annoying sigh. “It comes to this: after initiation, you will not be going with the others to the men’s house. You will be going to the Lodge of Nobles.”
It took me a moment. “The Lodge of Nobles? How can that be? Are they raising you to the nobility? Finally?” Everyone knew that Father deserved it. We always thought he would one day carry the title, Minister of Trade.
He turned my way, but only to look at the necklace. “It has nothing to do with me,” he said. “It is because of you.”
“Me?” Suddenly, I remembered. Mother’s blood was hot. Long before I touched the earth, her Father ruled somewhere far to the south and west. “Because of Mother’s blood? I thought only blood from the male line could enter the lodge?”
“Not hers—yours.”
I shook my head. “I do not understand. Am I to be a servant there?” A chill of lightning flashed up my back. Or a sacrifice? Then I realized, he wouldn’t want me. He could get sacrificial blood from a slave. Still, it was a possibility.
“Your mother and I kept you safe these many tunob by not talking about your birth, not to anyone.”
Especially not me. I clenched my teeth and crossed my arms against the winds of his truth. Whatever storm he was blowing, I would face it like a mighty ceiba.
Father picked up another twig and began peeling the bark. Still, he talked to the grass in front of his feet. “I am not your father, Seven Maize.” When our glances met he looked away. “Another man planted the seeds in your mother, the seeds that called you down from the other world.” I heard what he said, but because it could not be true I tried to understand why he would speak such a mountainous lie.
“You heard me speak of Lord Jaguar Tooth Macaw?” I stayed steady and fixed my gaze on his fingers picking at the twig. “His is the blood that runs in your veins, not mine.” I got up and walked to the trees. I could feel my heart pounding. He’d spoken of that lord so often and with such admiration, I usually turned away at the sound of his name. “When I brought you here I told everyone that I found your mother in a regalia workshop at Kaminaljuyu. The truth is, Lord Macaw gifted her to me in gratitude for saving the life of his youngest son.”
“At Ahktuunal?” I knew something important had happened to him there. He always changed the subject when anyone spoke the name of that place.
“Your mother feared Lord Macaw—and for good reason. I will let her tell you about it. She was so afraid, she could not tell him his seeds were growing in her. So that was her secret. No one knew. Not until—”
“I want to hear this from her!” I surprised myself by interrupting and speaking boldly, but I no longer cared about what he would say or do to me. I went to the edge of the embankment hoping to see my mother. She was down there, standing in back of her workshop, wiping her eyes, apparently waiting to see if I might appear. When our eyes met and she nodded, it felt like I’d been hit in the chest with a beam. I dropped to the ground and doubled over.
“Get up!” Father shouted. “Show her you can shoulder this like a man.” I felt caged, like one of his dogs. Going to the water, I pressed my hand against my neck to hold back the lump that was growing in my throat. “Keep your head up, Seven Maize! Stand tall. Be grateful that you were raised in the Owl Brotherhood.” He barked his orders to me like I was one of his crew.
“If you are not My father, who are my brothers? If I am not a Rabbit, what am I?”
Father got up, came over and pointed his finger at the side of my face. “You, little sprout, are the fourth son of Lord Jaguar Tooth Macaw, the Great Tree of Kaminaljuyu…” He pounded me with that man’s titles and said something about my blood coming from the maize god, but my thoughts were darting like a deer catching the scent of a jaguar.
One thing made sense. This is why he favors my brother and sister. This is why he never beat me—or carried me as he did them.
“You should feel proud, Seven Maize. Kaminaljuyu is a sprawling place with thousands of people, more noblemen and tradesmen than you can imagine. All of Cerros would fit into just one of her districts—and there are five of them. Her temples sit on great red pyramids that rise above grassy aprons and mounds. The city surrounds a blue lake with canals. South from there, you can see First True Mountain, the fiery place where the world was made. At night the clouds turn red from the fire, and in the belching smoke, you can see lightning spears being hurled by the Chaakob. I was going to tell you after your initiation, but Lord Falcon—. He insisted that I tell you now. He wants you to enter the lodge after the ceremony. I will say, he honored us by coming to tell me in person. He could have sent a messenger.”
How Blood Was Considered To Be “Hot”
Excerpt from the novel, Jaguar Rising (p. 206)
Thunder Flute came forward. “Red Paw Owl! Fire Eyes Jaguar Macaw! Come forward,” he said. My friend and I went up and faced the gathering. “Face each other. Now Macaw, show us your salute.” I crossed my arms and grabbed my shoulders sharply as if I were standing before the Mat. Although my chin was high, I watched Thunder Flute from the corner of my eye as he picked up a blackened stick lying close to the fire. Before I could even imagine what he was going to do with it, he made a black circle of charcoal on my arm above the elbow. Fortunately, the stick was only warm. He turned to Red Paw. “Owl, are you prepared to follow orders?”
“With respect master!” Red Paw’s quick and proper response, combined with his warrior stance showed that he’d learned well at the Crooked Tree men’s house.
Thunder Flute handed him the blade. “That circle is your target. Make it bleed!”
Red Paw looked at me, and then Thunder Flute. “Respect master, do you really—?”
“This is not a request. This is an order. Do it or leave.”
I couldn’t believe it. Red Paw poked my arm and it bled. Instinctively, I grabbed the wound.
“Take your hand away!” Thunder Flute shouted. “Owl, take the blood on your finger and taste it.” Red Paw put his finger out. When he hesitated, Thunder Flute pressed it hard against my arm. “You execute my order when the command is given. You do not hesitate. Do you understand?” Red Paw put his finger to his mouth like he was about to drink the venom of a yellow-jaw. Beads of sweat began appearing on his forehead and lip. Still, he tasted it. “More!” Thunder Flute said, marking my other arm with the stick. Red Paw tasted more of my blood and followed the next order by poking the other arm and tasting the blood that ran from the wound.
Those watching were shocked, but someone applauded and everyone joined in. Thunder Flute turned to them. “You who are new here, form a line. This is hot blood and I want you to taste it. Paint it on your noses. If you need more, draw more, but only from within the circles. We want Fire Eyes to wear these scars proudly—as a reminder of this k’in and the brotherhood of the expedition.”
One by one the men came up, dipped their finger in my blood, tasted it and drew more as needed. Thunder Flute stood beside me. “Eyes straight!” he barked when I looked at my arm. My heart was beating as fast as it had at the binding ceremony. As much as I wanted to grip my arms, I wanted to grab the blade, slash him with it and paint his nose with the blood. “I want you to see,” he said to the men. “What your Mothers and the holy ones told you is not true. Hot blood does not burn. It will not make you sick. Demons are not unleashed when you spill it.”
A man with frog-like eyes said he was taught that only holy men were allowed to spill the blood of the maize god. “You speak rightly,” Thunder Flute said. “It must be respected. You must have a good reason to spill it. Never waste or desecrate it. Just know that it cannot harm you and you will not be punished for spilling it for good reason.”
Another asked why hot blood wasn’t especially hot to the touch. Thunder Flute explained the difference between heat from fire and heat from ch’ulel. And then he took no more questions. “On expedition, you do not regard the blood of an attacker, neither do you regard the tongue he speaks, his dress, manner or title. When you are attacked, you have a choice—kill or be killed. Only the first is acceptable. The path of long-distance merchants is dangerous. There are many who are waiting, eager to relieve us of our cargo. An expedition is not an adventure. It is not an excuse to visit distant places or see how other people live. You will not be picking flowers along the way.” We laughed at the double meaning of the words “flower”—young females, and “wahy” meaning “dream” as applied to demons. “When I give the order to kill, you kill—without hesitation, without question. We teach the Tollan ways here, not just because I was one of them or because I enjoy killing. I do not. We teach their ways because they are the only way to survive and return with the cargo intact.”
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For a brief description of The Path Of The Jaguar series go to the Home Page—Novels
Links To Amazon.com for paperback books and Kindle Editions—
Jaguar Rising: A novel of the Preclassic Maya
Jaguar Wind And Waves: A novel of the Early Classic Maya
Jaguar Sun: The Journey of an Ancient Maya Storyteller
Ancient Maya Dance
Reenacting mythic stories
Rollout Vase courtesy of Justin Kerr
Combined with music and the fragrance of burning offerings, dance was often visualized as the direct manifestation of supernatural forces. Matthew Looper, Archaeologist
Elite dances depicted in Maya art were part of rituals and celebrations. On sculptured stelae. the kings are shown dancing as a deity. The monuments mostly depict male dancers, but there are some women shown dancing, for instance, Lady Ok Ayiin dancing as the Moon Goddess on the Yomop stela. More often, women are shown as dancers or dancing assistance on painted pottery. Most of the performances on vases show more than one dancer, whereas the stelae only show one or two dancers.
On painted vases dancing is often performed in association with feasting and gift exchanges. On these occasions, a ruler could formalize the political and marriage alliances between his and other elite families. It provided an opportunity to demonstrate his wealth, power and control over the trade in luxury goods. And just as the indigenous leaders of the Pacific Northwest Coast tribes of Canada and the United States gave away their accumulated wealth at lavish potlatch ceremonies, a Maya king could reaffirm polity relationships and his connection with the supernatural world by dancing “in their skins.”
At the level of the court, dance wasn’t just entertainment, it was fundamental to the ruler’s social, religious and political identity, at times demonstrating his continuity with apotheosized ancestors. Through the use of costumes and psychoactive drugs in some instances, dance transported the participants into the supernatural characters they portrayed. It brought them to life.
Occasions
The primary occasions for ritual dancing were accessions to the throne, birth anniversaries, building dedications (Quirigua Altar L), sacrificial bloodletting by a wife (Yaxchilan Lintel 32), celebrations of military victory (Tikal Temple 4 Lintel 3), tribute presentations (El Abra vase) and designations of a royal heir (Bonampak mural),
Components
Resplendent quetzal feathers invested the dancers with the spirit of the bird. The same with jaguar pelts. Seashells connotes the underworld, and Spondylus shells, in particular, were associated with the celestial realm and the rebirth of the Maize God. Mirrors made of pyrite flakes made the dancers sparkle. Bark paper, worn as headdresses and aprons was associated with sacred words (glyphs) and blood sacrifice. Dancing with jadeite conveyed a sense of the breath essence of the soul, the essence of life. White flowers were the visual representation of the soul. The colors and textures of woven fabrics referenced the vegetable world and gardens. And the various colors of body paint and painted cloth referenced an object and its associated myth. For instance wearing yellow, the color of maize, conveyed the notion of abundance and fertility. Red connoted blood; black represented death and blue was the color of “precious.”
Movement
The Spaniards reported that Maya dance was “mannered.” In their art, the upper body doesn’t appear to have played much of a role in dancing. Instead, there’s a slight bending of the knees and a graceful shuffling of the feet. Researchers suggest the movement was at court was either “highly stylized” or “the artists chose a very narrow repertoire of motions and gestures for their canon of acceptable display.”
Dance Of The Colomche
Chroniclers describe a dance with reeds that was much like a game. A large group of dancers formed a circle. Two of them moved to the center to the beat of the music—drums, flutes, wooden trumpets, ocarinas perhaps. One dancer holds a handful of reeds and dances standing up, while the other crouch in a wide circle. The person holding the reeds throws them with all his might to the others and they have to catch them with small sticks.
Dance of the Hero Twins
The dance is based on the Popol Vuh, the ancient mythological text of the K’iché Maya. The performance opens with the appearance of two youths, the twin gods Junahpu and Xbalanque. The Xibalbans, lords of death from the underworld, dance around and try to kill them, but the twins escape their attacks and are unharmed.
Celebrating, the brothers dance in a frenzy and the underworld lords get caught up in it. Hunahpu and Xibalanque flit around with torches, light a fire and wood is thrown into it until the smoke gets dense. Then, facing one another, the twins appear to hurl themselves into the fire. The lords of death follow them. The smoke obscures everything. When it clears, only ashes remain.
Then, on the ground, a compartment opens up, and an emissary in a feathered cape comes out carrying a censer. He points to a chamber off to the side. And with the drums and shell trumpets sounding, the Hero Twins come out covered with beautiful feather capes—their former masks replaced with faces of young lords. They greet the onlookers and proclaim their victory over the fearsome Xibalbans.
Dance of The Warriors
Xq’ul was a war dance. It began with a dancer hunting for an enemy warrior. To the sound of flutes and the beating of ceramic drums covered with leather, enemy warriors come out dressed like beasts—jaguar, cayote, tapir, their identity strengthened with like-in-kind headdresses. The hunters, wearing headdresses of eagles or other birds, dance around them carrying swords, axes and spears. How it ends was not reported.
It’s interesting, the contrast between indigenous dancing where the intent is spiritual and modern dance where, regardless of the style, it’s mostly about personal experience or expression. The former has to do with maintaining and celebrating horizontal (social) and vertical (heavenly) relationships, the latter being individual, even when many people are involved. The one form I can think of that retains storytelling in modern dance is ballet, but even there the stories are about an individual. I’m not saying that our modalities are bad. Considering that our worldview is based more on science than myth, that’s understandable. But in seeing ourselves separate and the world as inanimate, we’ve lost something precious, perhaps essential, in our quest for meaning and more satisfying relationships.
Dancing Brothers: One Lord vs First Jaguar
Excerpt from the novel, Jaguar Rising (p. 166-171)
While the minister and the other dancers got Red Paw into his costume and gave him instructions, two of the drummers heightened our excitement by displaying their speed in twirling and throwing torches back and forth while their brothers pounded the skins of the tall drums.
The dancers came forward escorting Red Paw, now dressed as a messenger with a deerskin apron and a barkcloth overshirt. In place of the owl feather worn by messengers, they’d stuck a broken palm leaf in his headband. His head hung in embarrassment as we laughed and applauded.
The drums stopped abruptly and we became silent. Billowing his cloak again, the minister strode forward with a flourish to begin the story. “There was a messenger of the court—.” As directed, Red Paw ran around the dancers in a circle. Two ceramic drums and now rattles and flutes played by the other dancers quickened his pace. “He ran fast,” the minister said. “Faster! The messenger was true to his master’s words. When he was not running messages, he helped his father in the field.” Red Paw stopped and made the motions of a man casting seeds and tamping them down with a planting stick. Behind him, other dancers comically exaggerated his movements. “He hunted iguana—.” Red Paw turned to the wahy dancer dressed as an iguana and chased him with the stick. “At the men’s house the messenger practiced his warrior skills. He took a wife and he built her a house.” Red Paw pretended to lash poles together. “He was a good husband. He emptied his own chamber-pot!” We laughed as a dancer handed Red Paw a large gourd. He looked into it, sniffed, wrinkled his nose and made the “pot” look heavy, hoisting it to his shoulders. Struggling under its weight, he wobbled over to the initiates and spilled the contents—crumbled dried leaves—onto the heads of the men in the first and second rows.
“Listen now!” The minister shouted over their shrieks and our laughter. “The messenger had a flaw—he was lazy! He only did what he was forced to do.” Red Paw plopped down and lay on the ground with one leg resting on the other knee. “Having found most men to be like the messenger, One Lord and First Jaguar argued among themselves: ‘What is the best way to get the human beings to attend to us, praise our names and feed us their blood and sweat?’” The minister turned to us and opened both arms. “Cerros! This is the question they put to you! The gods tell me they will not release their abundance until it is settled.”
An initiate called from behind saying Red Paw could settle it. When we laughed, my friend raised his hands in confidence and we laughed even louder. The minister stepped back and bowed as One Lord, the dancer wearing a jaguar helmet and wrapped in a cloth with black spots, came bounding down the steps swinging his axe. He stopped here and there thrusting his menacing face close to us. From the stories we’d heard growing up, we knew his pointed tooth was a perforator and that his breath could instantly burn flesh off a bone. Dutifully, we screamed and backed away. When he went to center again, he paced and gestured as the minister spoke on his behalf, directing the words to his brother lord. “First Jaguar! Brother! Maker of men! There is only one way to get the human beings to praise our names and offer us their sweat.” Boom! A drummer pounded. “Watch, we will show you!” Boom! Boom! One Lord pointed and the wahy monkey bounded forward, twirling with a tall wooden box painted with sky signs. Monkey set the “throne” down and One Lord stepped on it. He held his head high, turned to the side to show the mirrors dangling from his belt and he pulled on it to make them clink.
While this was happening, Red Paw received further instructions from the minister. When they finished, my friend went over to the spotted lord, knelt, bowed his head and showed his submission and respect with arms across his chest in the “sky” sign. To the slow agonizing beat of the drums, the other wahyob—Macaw, Jaguar, and Opossum—entered from the side struggling under the weight of a huge boulder. Like their axes it was made of stiff painted cloth, but the way they carried it and set it down in front of Red Paw, made it look heavy.
Again, the minister spoke on behalf of One Lord. “To respect us the human beings need to see that we are powerful.” Behind Red Paw, Iguana got up on Macaw’s shoulders. “We make clouds!” the lord said. Macaw reached into his pouch and rained down ash on Red Paw’s head. Quickly he cowered and brushed it out of his hair. While he was not looking, a drummer approached from behind and pounded his drum hard and fast. Shocked, Red Paw fell against the god-dancer’s feet, nearly knocking him off the little throne. I laughed so hard my cheeks hurt.
The minister spoke for the spotted lord. “We make thunder!” The drummers stood close on both sides of Red Paw and pounded their drums hard in his ears. “We make lightning!” Red Paw crouched as Macaw pummeled his back with palm stems painted yellow. We saw what was coming next. Monkey held an enormous jar over Red Paw’s head. It too was made of stiff cloth but the red rings painted around its neck made it look real. Glancing up Red Paw covered his head. “We make rain!” When, instead of water, more leaves fell, the laughter turned to sounds of disappointment.
As Red Paw shook off the leaves and brushed more of the ash out of his hair, the wahyob set a boulder in front of him. At the same time, One Lord opened his arms to us. “Young men and women of Cerros!” the minister shouted on his behalf, “Did your mothers and fathers teach you properly? Did they teach you to praise our names, keep the count of k’inob and offer us your sweat?” Prompted by our shouts and a dancer standing behind Red Paw, he shook his head emphatically, saying they had. Many of us knew better. “You have seen our power?” Again, Red Paw agreed and the spotted lord turned to him. “We say to you then, praise our names and raise this boulder over your head that we may taste your sweat.”
Red Paw rose to his knees and repeated the words the minister had whispered to him. “With respect, One Lord. Awinaken,” he said. “I praise your name. I will give you my sweat—as one who runs messages. But I do not lift boulders.” The drums pounded fast and stopped abruptly. We were shocked. It was an unthinkable reply. Many of us on the steps, parents especially, made scowling sounds and hurled scolding remarks at Red Paw.
One Lord put his hands to his head as if the reply pained him greatly. The minister spoke his words: “What did you say? It seems we did not hear you correctly.”
Red Paw received instructions again, folded his arms in defiance and looked up at the lord. “With respect lord, I was trained to run messages, not to lift up boulders.” Again the drums. The wahyob dancers had changed their helmets and costumes, coming back as Grasshopper, Snake, Scorpion and Vulture, now rattling threats at the messenger’s head and heels. One Lord danced his anger at Red Paw’s response, twirling around him and the wahyob. In a more demanding tone, the minister, speaking for the spotted lord pointed at the stone and shouted, “Son of Cerros, we order you to lift that boulder!”
“With respect, One Lord. My tribute is to run messages. This is my agreement, my privilege, my obligation to the caah. I—do—not—lift—boulders!” The drummers gave it all they could and the wahyob rattled the lord’s furious dance. When he stopped and pointed to the side, the noise stopped. A dancer dressed as a warlord pulled a captive woman onto the plaza by a cord around her neck. Her head was down and her hair covered her face. We’d not seen her before. All the dancers were men.
The warrior pushed the woman to the ground beside Red Paw and pulled the cord tight so she would rise to her knees and look up at One Lord. Higher up, someone in back of me whispered that it was Lady Sandpiper, second daughter of Laughing Falcon. Others agreed and word spread. To see a hot- blooded Cloud kneeling next to Red Paw was amazing. To see her wearing a barkcloth sarong with her hair hanging down and strips of cloth pulled through her ears was unbelievable. The dance was her father’s surprise. Seeing his daughter bound and treated like a captive was an even greater surprise.
When the murmuring among us stopped, Lady Sandpiper—the captive—bowed to One Lord. Scorpion handed the god his bloody axe and he held it over her head. The command came again—“Son of Cerros! Raise that boulder! If you do not, we will harvest the head of your wife!” His wife? That was funny. But when Red Paw turned and smiled at us with a stupid grin on his face, my friends and I almost fell off the steps laughing. After the minister whispered something to Red Paw, my friend bowed to One Lord, loudly praised his name and took hold of the boulder. Slowly, laboring under the weight, he lifted it over his head with wobbling legs. One Lord turned to First Jaguar with crossed arms and a satisfied posture. “You see my brother,” the minister said. “This is how we get the human beings to praise our names and offer us their sweat!” We applauded, stomped our feet and shouted. The wahy dancers stepped back to change their helmets, and the god dancer stepped down from the throne.
While both gods wore jaguar helmets, we recognized One Lord by his black spots and First Jaguar by orange-and-black tufts pasted onto his skin. Also, he wore rounded jaguar ears and paw mittens.
First Jaguar crouched and pawed at the women, then the men. Finally, he stood on the skybox throne. As before, the minister spoke for him, exalting him as one of the lords of the night. Instead of threatening Red Paw, First Jaguar presented him with gifts—a brown cloak, a planting stick and a spear for hunting. Following instructions again, Red Paw danced a hunt by chasing the wahyob demons who now wore tapir, fox, deer and peccary headdresses. After applauding the capture of his prey, First Jaguar gestured and Red Paw assumed a kneeling position. Lady Sandpiper came forward, now wearing a shell necklace over a plain white sarong with her hair wound high into a braid with spiraling red ribbons. “You have shown us your goodness and loyalty,” the lord said to Red Paw. It would please us if you would accept this beautiful woman as your wife.” Lady Sandpiper held out her hand toward Red Paw and he bowed.
Hoots and whistles turned to laughter and cheers as Red Paw danced around the lady to the sweet sounds of a bamboo flute. When First Jaguar gestured to the ground in front of him, Red Paw went before him and knelt. “You are a good and loyal messenger,” the lord said. “Speaking words properly and repeating them with care is a sign that human beings are well made. Also, it shows you respect your masters and their words. Now, from the River Of Abundance, it is our pleasure to give you everything you need and want.”
After some prompting Red Paw replied, “With respect, First Jaguar, Lord of the Night. Awinaken. I am grateful for all that you have given. What can I offer you in exchange?”
The First Jaguar dancer looked our way, tilted his head and raised his hands as if to say the argument was settled. During the applause Tapir, Fox and Peccary got the boulder and set it in front of Red Paw. “Faithful messenger,” First Jaguar said. “It would honor us greatly if you would praise our name and raise this boulder over your head.” Without hesitation, and to our foot stomping and shouting, Red Paw loudly praised his name, lifted the boulder over his head and paraded it around the dancers. First Jaguar folded his arms and turned to One Lord. “Brother,” he said. “Do you see? This is the better way to get the human beings to praise our names and offer us their sweat.”
Our applause continued as the minister, Red Paw and the gods came forward. “Son of Cerros,” the minister said. “You have witnessed the arguments of the god twins. Now, the burden is yours. Tell us, which of them carries the greater argument?”
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For a brief description of The Path Of The Jaguar series go to the Home Page—Novels
Links To Amazon.com for paperback books and Kindle Editions—
Jaguar Rising: A novel of the Preclassic Maya
Ancient Maya Social Evolution (Part III)
Part III of III: From chiefs to divine kings
Rollout vase photograph courtesy of Justin Kerr
The previous two posts dealing with this topic imagined how the ancients developed and sustained a political structure and ideology over an enormous territory for a millennia but never developed states or empires. Now, I imagine how the office of village chief evolved to become, in their language, k’uhul ajaw “holy lord.”
In *Ancient Maya Politics: A political anthropology of the Classic Period 150-900 CE anthropologist Simon Martin suggests that “Ideological mechanisms instilled a ‘dynamic equilibrium’ within the social body that prevented the Maya from developing states or empires.” Here, I attempt to imagine a plausible line of development that specifies that dynamic equilibrium.
Maya Civilization Time Periods
- Middle Preclassic 900-300 BCE
- Late Preclassic 300 BCE-250 CE
- Early Classic 250-600 CE
- Late Classic 600-900 CE
In Part II of this series, I listed some of foundational beliefs of the Early and Preclassic Period Maya. Beliefs give rise to behaviors. So, what methods did the rulers use to sanction and spearhead their rise to “divine” kingship? It became the ultimate validation they needed to justify their right to rule.
Language
Well established by the Late Preclassic Period, the Maya had terms relating to spirit, but they were not yet used to characterize rulers. These included:
K’uh “God” / “Divine” K’uhul “Holy” / “Sacred” Ajaw “Lord”
K’uuh “Sun” / “Radiance” Ch’ulel “Soul” / “Spirit”
The earliest evidence of an individual being designated ajaw “lord,” occurs in an elaborate tomb at Holmul, Guatemala dated to 350-300 BCE. Whenever or wherever it happened, it lit a socio-political spark that elevated the head man, likely a shaman, from the role of healer to that of ajaw. Not only could he heal the sick, he could also speak to the gods.
Beliefs are creative. Across cultures, when it’s believed that an individual with some power has great power, especially spiritual power, he is encouraged to lead his people. By ritually acknowledging that person as a leader set above everyone else, “hierarchy” is born. For the Maya, over time, the leadership of lords turned to domination, in part by making rules among their people and appointing others to implement them. These “rulers” laid the social groundwork for “civilization.”
Sometime before 250 CE rulers began to claim that they were the descendants of the founders of their lineage and polity. Through grand ritual performances, they demonstrated that they could communicate with their deceased ancestors—the founders—as well as the gods. The move affected a shift in their identity from mediator between this world and the next, to being considered god-like lord in their own right.
Emblem Glyphs
One way to do affect this shift was to claim the title, K’uhul Ajaw “Holy Lord,” and broadcast it. A prominent step forward was to commission the carving of “emblem glyphs” on stelae. In this way the kings associated themselves with divinity. An example reads: “Yax Nuun Ahiin I, Divine Lord of Tikal.” Whoever started it, by the Late Classic Period, emblem glyphs were being used widely by major polities throughout the Maya area.
Conjuring
Kings demonstrated their access to the gods directly through conjuring rituals, often involving bloodletting sacrifices. From movies comes the image of a shaman or witch doctor under the influence of a hallucinogen, dancing wildly to loud drumming around a roaring fire with a circle of frenzied onlookers.
The stereotype probable isn’t far off. There is good evidence that the Maya used psychoactive substances that were obtained from plants, particularly Morning Glory roots and the back of Bufo toads. There are also depictions on vases that show kings dancing with gods, other supernatural beings and Underworld demons.
The purpose of conjuring is to bring a god or spirit into being, inviting them to be present for a variety of reasons. Because the conjuror actually produces evidence of their presence—through magic, spells or ecstatic communication—we can imagine that these performances had a profound effect on those who witnessed them. Importantly, it solidified belief in the spiritual power of the king.
One of the earliest deities conjured was K’awiil, a lightning lord. He was so important in the Maya firmament, kings in the Classic Period took his name to show they embodied his power.
Intimate, transactional relations with deities were required to sustain the whole community.
Simon Martin, Anthropologist
Stelae
Kings commissioned the carving and erection of stelae that showed the lineage founders overlooking them. Tikal Stela 29, the earliest at the site, shows Sak Hix Muut, whom researchers consider a deity-ancestor. He hovers above the king, looking down on him as if from the sky. The image sanctioned the king’s right to rule and made it clear that he was in communication with the spirit world.
The Calendar
Scholars refer to the sacred calendar of the Maya as the tzolk’in, a word in Yukatek that means the “division of days.” The 260-day calendar combines a cycle of twenty named days (designating auguries for each) with a cycle of thirteen numbers. It’s origin actually predates the first appearance of Maya inscriptions.
Ajaw, the rank of “lord,” was accorded the name of the last day of the calendar. With a king’s face carved within the glyph’s cartouche on a stela or altar, he became intimately associated with time, which was perceived as gods of time carrying burdens on their backs through the seasons. The day ajaw was particularly significance in that all Period Ending celebrations fell on that day. Throughout Maya history, Period Ending rites were major events, a regular feature in the inscriptions. In large part, it was the P.E. dates that jump-started progress in deciphering the script.
Ritual Dancing
Dances are frequently depicted in Maya art. Most obvious in associating the king with a god were polychrome vases often gifted from one ruler to another. The subtextual message was simply “See, I conjured a god and let him dance in my body.” It was one of the ways a ruler could demonstrate to another ruler, that he had divine powers. One of the more prominent examples in Maya art are vases that show a king dancing as Juun Ixim, the Maize God.
In the dance, the king assumes the appearance and gestures of the Maize God. (His head was already shaped like a corn cob at birth). His flowing hair resembles the silk and he carries a jaguar god within his backrack (the cosmos). Every element of his costume symbolizes his connection to the godly realm and divinity.
As described in my novel, Jaguar Sun (p. 284), the dance begins with the Paddler Gods escorting Juun Ixim into the Underworld in a canoe. Their descent is through a cave, a portal located beneath a sacred mountain. There, the Maize God’s soul is separated from his body by decapitation (like a cob of maize chopped from the stalk). After encounters with beings in the Underworld, he is reborn and rises into the light (as does a new plant) through a slit in Great Turtle’s carapace (the surface of the earth), which was cut open with a great axe wielded by Chaak, god of rain, lightning and thunder.
Researchers generally agree that the dancing kings were not imitating the gods, but actually dancing as them, re-enacting their deeds in the present.
Patron Gods
In Patron Gods and Patron Lords: The Semiotics of Classic Maya Community Cults, anthropologist Joanne Baron writes that “rituals and discourses related to patron deities ultimately formulated Maya rulership as a locally oriented institution, which limited the ability of powerful kingdoms to create wider religious communities.” Her analysis directly addresses the reason why the ancient Maya never evolved into states or empires. The kings were locked into their local territory because they’d traced their ancestry and power to the lineage founder, and they’d established a spirit protector for the polity. It was inconceivable to let go of their divine-line inheritance and their spirit protector—the patron god— not after they and their ancestors went to so much effort over many generations to establish them. It would mean giving up their power.
Patron gods were neither the spirits of natural forces nor the deceased ancestors of rulers, but they could be versions of them. As protectors and providers of the polity, each king “owned” one. They were cited in the inscriptions to demonstrate a king’s connection to these protectors and providers from the other world.
Details of their lives were carved on monuments. For instance, the patron of Palenque was “Muwaan Mat,” a mythical deity-ancestor born in 3121 BCE. He/she appears there in 2324 BCE and was 797 years old when the inscription was carved. In the Late Classic period, Palenque honored three such patrons, building separate temples or “sleeping places” for them.
An inscription at Naranjo speaks of “Square-nosed Serpent,” a patron who performs a ritual act 22,000 years ago. On Stela 45, he’s shown floating above the king.
At Tikal, the patron god Sak Hix Muut “White Jaguar Bird” appears on Stela 29 in 292 CE. On Temple VI he’s said to preside over the completion of a calendar cycle in 1143 BCE. Tikal didn’t even exist then.
In the Late Classic period, small patron god bundles, and large full-figure effigies were traded, gifted and won in battles. Carved wooden lintels at Tikal show enormous patrons towering over enthroned kings being carried in procession on huge palanquins. The patron deity depicted on Tikal’s Temple 1 Lintel 3 (scroll down 11 drawings to Caption JM00725) takes the form of a giant jaguar beastie with and extended paw and claws. Spectacles such as these solidified the identity of the ruler as a “divine” lord.
Temples to House Patron Gods
When not being paraded in the form of giant effigies, the patron gods “lived” in temples specially built and dedicated to them. By making these structures massive and tall, kings signaled the importance of these deities in the life of the polity. And they were ever-present. As shrines, we can imaging the plazas in front of them were places where people came to offer gifts and pay homage while holy men burnt offerings on the ground and in censers.
The hieroglyphs on the back of Tikal Temple VI tell the story of co-rulers, one of whom was a woman. They also identify it as an ancestor shrine, the wayab “sleeping place” of Sak Hix Muut (noted above as a founding ancestor). The temple was dedicated in 766 CE.
These are just some of the more prominent ways that, over time, Maya kings validated their claim to be “divine,” god-like lords. The ability to commune with both gods and deceased ancestors on behalf of their polity also legitimized their right to rule. At the same time, it’s important to include in this calculus that rulers, close-by and distant, were in touch with one another, sharing information and modeling each other’s behavior. “If he can do it, so can I.”
People who are fearful in their environment, rightly so the jungle, needed to feel secure. Naturally, they turned to their leaders. They needed to believe they could have at least some influence over the gods—the forces of nature. Doing the bidding of the rulers, building their temples and palaces in addition to devoting every other hour to subsistence and raising a family was readily traded for security and the hope for prosperity. The hierarchical structure worked for them, at least for hundreds of years.
* This book is an excellent text for those well read in the study of ancient Maya culture. It assumes a familiarity with Maya sites, hieroglyphic writing and social structure.
Excerpt from
Jaguar Sun: The journeys of an Ancient Maya Storyteller
A patron god towers over the Lord of Tikal on a palanquin (p. 190-193)
Following the singers were daughters of the caah, little flowers carrying baskets of petals, casting them at the feet of the bearers who carried the palanquins of visiting lords. Behind them were their robed dignitaries, including members of the K’uhuuntak Brotherhood wearing their usual white robes and tall paper headdresses. The sight of so many people in one place reminded me of when Eyes used his blade to slice through and reveal the inner workings of an ant hill. I wondered, How big is this world that there can be so many people? And this just one among countless cities. With the last of the visiting lords installed on thrones atop a specially erected platform on the palace steps, the drums and the plaza quieted. After a row of holy men and their assistants sufficiently censed the entryway, a lone conch sounded a sustained tone, calling for us to stand.
THROUGH THE SMOKE OF NUMEROUS CENSORS, JAGUAR heads appeared on the front corners of the swaying, highly polished mahogany palanquin. Behind them, two red-painted dwarfs stood with their backs to us. Embroidered on their white capes was the face of Tlaloc, the storm god of Tollan, reminding us that this day was a commemoration as well as a victory celebration. The white skulls hanging from the dwarf’s belts sent a chill through me. In front of them there were two more little men, similarly attired, swinging censers. Beneath the long platform, slaves, too numerous to count and wearing only white loincloths, bore the weight on their shoulders.
The Lord of Tikal sat on a jaguar pelt holding a K’awiil scepter in his right hand. The little god’s serpent foot rested on his thigh. The other hand grasped a long, red-painted fabric bundle which, because of the stone face sewed onto the side, I took to be either his or a captured god-bundle. Rising well above the ruler’s headdress and a fan of quetzal feathers, the patron god of Calakmul, Five Bloodletter, looked even more menacing than Underworld Jaguar. Like him, his orange and black arms were extended. As a sign of sacred power, the Jaguar’s great paw grasped a tall black staff tied with white knots.
From such a distance, I couldn’t see the ruler’s eyes. Moments passed. Then suddenly, I needed to see them. Seeing where the palanquin would stop, I saw a possible opportunity to get closer.
I went down the back steps, ran around the backs of the shrines and the ball court. I’d seen a stack of torches, hundreds of them, and guessed that they were for the warriors. The walkway that led out to them was unguarded. I didn’t know what I was going to do with them, but I grabbed an armload and took them behind a wall where I wouldn’t be seen. Moments later, someone barked an order and I peeked out to see warriors streaming by to get a torch, hold it to the flames in a brazier alongside the stack and move on. I couldn’t pretend to be one of them, so I waited and tried to think how I could get closer. Fortunately, the warriors were coming so fast the men distributing the torches were having trouble keeping up. That was when I took a chance and approached, carrying so many they could barely see my face. “Where do you want these?” I asked.
A warrior busy handing out torches glanced back. “Who are you?” he asked. “Never mind.” He pointed. “Go over there and hand them out—fast as you can!”
After the warriors had all received their torches and were in position—the plaza looked like it was on fire—I was able to stand with a torch of my own and watch the ruler’s palanquin come toward me.
LORD SKY RAIN WAS YOUNGER THAN I EXPECTED, not much older than me. Sitting erect and gazing forward with a solemn expression on his face, he seemed to say he deserved to be treated like a god.
The bearers stopped and set the platform down gently, being careful to keep it level. The dwarfs—revered beings sent by the sky gods to honor and assist rulers—approached their master. One of them held out a long red pillow to receive the scepter. Another took his embroidered, pearl-studded tobacco bag, and the other two held their censers to the side, careful to keep sparks away from the quetzal spray that, when the ruler stood, framed his body and towered nearly the height of a man over his head.
As bearers on the palace steps positioned six planks to create a bridge from the palanquin to the stairway, twelve lords approached, six to a side wearing quetzal sprays with necklaces of Spondylus shells over their cloaks. A moment before two holy men crossed over the little bridge to offer their arm to the divine lord and block my view, I tried to see the man behind the jewels and feathers, the one who ordered the killing of my father, brothers and so many others. Instead, I saw a young man barely able to stand, weighted down by a headdress of stacked sun god masks with heavy ear ornaments, jade assemblages in his own ears, a large jade pectoral that rested on a cape of shell plates, carved jade heads larger than a fist hanging from a wickerwork belt, two jade faces, likely ancestors, strapped to his legs and high-backed feathered sandals.
Seeing all that finery and regalia and knowing what most of it meant, I almost felt sorry for him. He was an animal in a cage without bars, born to a life of fulfilling family and ritual obligations including the expectations of his council, court and ancestors. He had to consult and adhere to the guidance of his patron gods, however many there were. And he had to defend the city against his inherited enemy who, for years, had been recruiting allies to surround his city.
As he was escorted across the bridge, he kept looking down. He looked at me. It was only a glance, but in his eyes, I saw worry rather than triumph like he was afraid he would lose his balance or the planks would break.
AT THE TOP OF THE PALACE STEPS, STANDING BETWEEN eight torch bearers and his dwarfs, Divine Lord Sky Rain K’awiil, blessed the crowd of bowed heads. He was about fifteen steps above me, but because he spoke softly and I held a torch, I couldn’t hear what he said. Turning, he and his frame of feathers disappeared behind the platform.
___________________________
Available on Amazon.com and Kindle Editions—
Jaguar Rising: A novel of the Preclassic Maya
Ancient Maya Cultural Traits 
