Ancient Maya Cultural Traits

Kenep: A Delicious Tropical Fruit

My guide at the Maya site of Cerros, Belize picked up a small unripe fruit that had fallen from a very tall tree. There were dozens, lying all around. “This is kenep,” he explained. “It’s a local name. It ripens in the warm summer months and becomes bright orange—very tasty. Some of them get twice this size. You peel away the shell and suck on the fruit until the flesh is gone, then you spit out the stone. Kids pop ‘em like candy and make necklaces from the seeds. Believe me, it’s one of the best, most delicious tropical fruits there is. The ancients—and still today—people eat a lot of it.”

Later on, I discovered that the tree is in the soapberry family native to South and Central America and parts of the Caribbean. They can grow up to 80 ft. tall and their flowers have four petals. It’s not unusual to see them along roadsides in Belize, planted as an ornamental tree. The fruit is known as “quenepa” in Puerto Rico where it’s so abundant and appreciated, in the municipality of Ponce, they have an annual celebration called “The National Genep Fruit Festival.” Next time you’re in Belize, Cerros is a wonderful site to visit. And ask someone there to point out a kenep tree. If you live in Belize and know of this fruit, please let me know. Was my guide right about it?

 

Reference to the Kenep tree in—

Jaguar Rising (p. 347)

We arrived dusty and parched, eager to set our burdens down and put our feet up. Judging from the smoke on the approach, the entire region looked to be on fire due to construction. At least eight limestone kilns were pouring out smoke and fire around the central district. Slaves carried water, plaster, stucco and paint to men on scaffolds wearing wide brimmed hats to shade their faces. In one place there was so much white powder in the air we had to cover our faces to keep from choking. The limbs on many trees were bent under the weight of it.   

While the women waited in the shade of a tall kenep, a sentry led us to a compound cluttered with scaffold poles, beams, cording, piles of rock and broken tools. The person in charge, a huge man with a gruff voice, introduced himself as Hammerstone Turtle. He was surprised, even befuddled, that there were so many of us. His supervisor, the minister of construction who’d visited with White Cord at Cerros, had told him that three brothers could be coming from there, possibly with their wives—but it was not likely. 

White Cord’s suggestion that I wear black body paint with red over my shoulders, eyes and mouth in the manner of an unmarried hot blood turned out to be a good one. I had been standing back when this Hammerstone asked about me. Following White Cord’s gesture, I stepped forward. “I am honored to introduce my assistant,” he said. “This is Young Lord Fire Eyes Jaguar Macaw, fourth son of Lord Jaguar Tooth Macaw, the Great Tree of Kaminaljuyu. We invited him to come with us because he is on his way home—and he is an accomplished conjurer.” Although that wasn’t true, it felt good to be introduced that way. Hammerstone, whose belly was nearly as bulbous as his head, scrunched his eyebrows and looked at White Cord to see if he was joking. Seeing that he was not, he got down on one knee, touched his shoulder and gestured for the men watching to do the same. 

I acknowledged their respect and released them to stand. “I am only here to assist my friends,” I said. “It appears that Uaxactun is building out as well as up—so many scaffolds and kilns, so many men.”

“With respect young lord, considering what needs to get done, we could use about a hundred more men.” After that, his words to White Cord were a bit more respectful and accommodating. As they talked, I was beginning to feel like a jaguar in a dog pen so I went outside. Several men came and went, one of them wearing an owl feather in his headband. When White Cord came out with his brothers, he said that Hammerstone had sent the messenger to the minister of construction and we had to wait for the reply. 

Across the patio, some sprouts were up in the kenep dropping the sweet red fruit to friends. They offered us some, asking only that we spit the pits into a hat so their sisters could make necklaces. Immediately, it became a game to see who could spit a pit into the hat from the farthest distance. Walks In Stonewater beat everyone and we had a good laugh.

 


 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 

Jaguar Wind And Waves: A novel of the Early Classic Maya

Jaguar Sun: The Journey of an Ancient Maya Storyteller

Xibalba: The Maya Underworld (2nd Initiation Trial)

Rollout vase photo courtesy of Justin Kerr

The Maya Underworld, called Xibalba (She-balba), “The Place of Fright,” was the realm beneath the surface of the Earth and under water. It was perceived to have nine descending levels arranged like an inverted pyramid, was ruled by the Bolontik’u, “Nine Lords of Death” and was often depicted on vases as a giant conch or snail shell which enclosed a mysterious other reality interpreted by some to be an infinite, eternal and bloody ocean of bliss. The Underworld was always pressing upward through portals—volcanoes, floods, and earthquakes—where the demons could emerge and work their dark magic.  As entrances to the Underworld, caves were considered sacred and preferred locations for sacrificial offerings. There is no evidence to suggest that Xibalba was a kind of hell. More generally, the belief was that to die in one world was to be born into another.

The  Lords Of Xibalba

According to the Popol Vuh, the K’iche’ Maya’s mythical “Book of Counsel,” the Lords of Xibalba  possess three outstanding characteristics. In the first place, they were liars and tricksters. To trick the Hero Twins into playing a ball game, they said they admired their ability and the contest would be exciting. But it was just an enticement to kill them. 

Secondly, they are stupid. In a second attempt to create human beings who would praise them and offer them their blood and sweat, they made them out of wood. There was nothing in their created beings equivalent to hearts or minds, and they had no memory. It was a failed attempt. And lastly, in several instances, the Underworld lords demonstrated cruelty and hardheartedness. 

The Vase Shown Above

Above, center right, the Underworld Lord, known to scholars as “God A,” is shown dancing beside a witz “living mountain” throne, on top of which is an infant jaguar identified by its tail and paws. Art Historian Penny Janice Steinbach suggests that the infant with jaguar traits is being sacrificed  as “part of a pre-accession ritual serving to endow royal heirs with the ability to conjure, which, in turn, was integral to assuming the throne.” To the right of God A is a dog, known to escort the soul of the deceased across a river and into the Underworld. Above him, is a fanciful firefly, perhaps there to illuminate the darkness of the watery world below. To the left of the spirit-spewing mountain, the rain god Chaak dances, holding aloft a hand stone typical of those used in certain ball games and boxing matches. In his other hand, he wields the axe with which he creates lightning and thunder. Typical of Maya art, the image is filled with symbolism, glyphs and mythical references. Every element has meaning.

God A — Cizin “Farter.”

God A is a death god. He’s a skeleton figure with a distended abdomen, pronounced spinal column, truncated nose and grinning teeth. And he emits a stench, possibly that of dead bodies. He wears bell-bracelets on his hands and feet, a decapitation collar, and he has disembodied “death eyes” with the nerve stalks attached. His body is sometimes marked with “death spots,” which is a sign of decomposition. And he can be seen sitting on a throne of bones. Unlike the dance of rulers, his dance above is wild and undignified. His skeletal countenance is that of a trickster, typical for an Underworld deity.

Jaguar Rising — The Novel

The first initiation trial for One Maize to become a “man of the community” was to capture, not kill, a deer and bring it into his father’s pen alive. Below, the second trial is a drug-induced journey to the Underworld to see if he can hold his own with one of the Lords of Death. 

Making The Journey
Excerpt From Jaguar Rising (p 121-123 )

Inside the temple, White Grandfather set the torch in a holder on the wall and tied back the doorway drape a little to remove the thin veil of ash that lingered in the air. Following his gesture I sat on an ocelot pelt with my back against a side wall. Painted black on the wall across from me was a medallion, a large circle with inset corners that framed the cross-eyed, shark-tooth face of Lord K’in. Taking fire from the torch with an ocoté stick, he lit some tinder in a censer. When it flamed, he added the stick and three others before setting it in front of me. He took a blue-painted calabash from under the medallion and nodded for me to take one of the many rolled-up leaves it contained. Inside the leaf was a cigar. “We wrap them with bits of copal bark,” he said, and scrapings from the backs of frogs.” It releases the ch’ulel to go through the portal.”

Sitting next to me, White Grandfather removed his headgear and re-tied the three-leaf headband so it fit snug on his forehead. After adding another stick and some copal nuggets to the censer, its sweet smoke replaced the acrid smell of burnt ash, and it wafted to a hole high in the back wall. As my eyes became accustomed to the dark, I noticed a round feather-standard leaning against the wall next to the doorway. Tied to crossed lances in front of it was a ceremonial shield with the face of a laughing falcon on it. Beside me, arranged on a reed-mat, were ceramic cups, an incense bag and an offering bowl containing strips of cotton and square leaf-packets that were tied with string and painted red. Next to my teacher was a bundle of ocoté sticks, an incense bag, a carapace drum, rattle, grinding stone and two gourds with stoppers. 

White Grandfather took one of the burning sticks from the censer and lit a cigar. “This is the holy portal,” he said, puffing to get it lit. He handed it to me and told me to take several strong puffs, each time breathing it in. I’d smoked cigars with Thunder Flute and my uncles before, even inhaled, but this was very different. It was thick and tasted like a combination of tree sap and burnt thatch. The smoke stung my nose and bit my tongue. White Grandfather set the drum, rattle and incense bag in front of him. “Keep breathing it in, grandson.” I did, but I kept coughing. “Blow some smoke to the medallion,” he said pointing. “That is the place of entry, the doorway.” I noticed that it was shaped like the bottom part of a turtle shell, rounded except for inset corners. And it seemed to have been painted blue. “Fix your eyes on it,” he said, tapping the little drum with a thin white bone. Tap, tap, tap. Pause. Tap, tap, tap. On and on, always three taps and a pause. “Breathe it in, grandson…” 

My teacher chanted in a whispery voice, words having to do with good sight, good happenings and good remembering. I passed him the cigar but he shook his head. “We remain behind—to guide you. Do what we ask, answer our questions as you journey along. All will become clear. There is nothing to fear.” He chanted again, louder, adding some rattle sounds in the pauses between taps on the drum. This went on so long, twice he bumped his knee against mine—hard, probably to keep me from dozing off. 

“The MEDALLION IS QUIVERING, GRANDFATHER.”  

“Fix your gaze on the dark center, grandson. Relax and allow yourself to go through.” The tapping stopped and I felt a damp cloth, first on my brow and then on the back of my neck. “Close your eyes now.” As I did, he tied the cloth over my eyes. Amazingly, faintly, I could still see the quivering medallion, only now it was definitely blue turning purple with blackness growing in the center. “Keep puffing, grandson. Breathe in the smoke.” More and more of the medallion was becoming black. Suddenly, I felt something in my hand. Wood. “What do you see, grandson?”

Suddenly I saw my Little Owl. “My canoe, Grandfather!” The loudness of my voice startled me. After that, I whispered. “I see Little Owl—clearly as when I painted her feathers.” 

“Look around. Where are you?” 

White Grandfather’s voice seemed to be coming from inside me, the sound filling me like a hollow jar. “In the canoe, in Little Owl.” What I said is not right. I am not in the canoe, I feel like I am the canoe.

“What is happening?”

“Floating—smooth—on a black river. Waterlilies all around. Maybe sky wanderers.” 

Encountering Cizin Ku (God A)
Excerpt From Jaguar Rising (p. 137-138 )

Looking down from the steps and trying to clear the burning in my nose and eyes, I saw a crouched figure in the ring turning this way and that. As the smoke thinned and the water in my eyes cleared, I saw a tall, menacing skeleton with a bulbous head, crooked front teeth and a distended belly. “Cizin Ku!” I whispered. What my teacher hadn’t told me about this lord of the underworld was that the thunder farter’s presence alone was so powerful I had to tighten every muscle in my body to contain my fright. Turning his gourd-like head side-to-side, he listened and sniffed one way and another, looking for something. Or someone. Commoners on their knees backed close to the wall. In front of him, the animal companion spirits cowered and glanced up timidly. With a jerk the lord of death turned and farted a smaller thunderclap side to side, leaving them writhing in clouds of stench.

When Cizin Ku turned and looked up I stood back.

“Grandson, did you say Cizin Ku?”

His bony feet clanked on the steps and within a few terrifying heartbeats, I could smell him standing over me, his feet wreaking with sludge. Following his command, I turned to face him and backed up until I felt the cold obsidian wall of the pyramid at my back. Besides the huge and ominous eyes above his nose, he had two more eyes on the top of his head. As he turned I saw a string of them, all bloodshot and gazing at me, running down his back. He stared at me and then directed his gaze to my hand. I’d forgotten that I was holding the brush. Because it had touched the terrace, the floor was turning from black to red. His square and cavernous eye sockets had lightning cords in them, shining painfully bright.

“Go to your knees, Grandson. Bow to him. All he wants is your respect.”

I couldn’t reply, but I did what he said. The stench from the excrement on the lord’s bony feet made me gag. Bending down to face me, the mirror medallion around his neck clanked against his ribs and putrid steam issued from a slit in his bulbous, pouch-like belly. Following his command, I handed him the brush and he pressed it against his knee bone. When nothing happened, the lightning in his eyes went dark and more steam came from his belly. He drew the brush along a leg bone. Nothing. He tried again without success. A growl rumbled from within him. With the eyes on the top of his head holding my gaze and his other eyes dangling, looking around, he snapped the brush in two and hurled the pieces over his shoulder, down to the ring without turning to look.

White Grandfather kept asking me questions but I was too stunned to say anything. Also, if Cizin Ku could command me without speaking, he was probably hearing my thoughts as well. Frustrated by not making a color, he straightened to the height of two men. I saw it coming, so I covered my ears as he doubled over and expelled another deafening thunderclap. Again, it shook the chamber. High above the shiny pyramid, dust and chunks of rock broke from the ceiling and apparently fell onto the cauldron sending sparks and flakes of obsidian tinkling down the terraces and steps. Through the smoke came the sounds of agony and the odor of vomit. 

I couldn’t see him, so I whispered to White Grandfather that he broke my brush. “He is angry. What should I do?”

“Offer him another one, Grandson—in your headband.” 

Cizin Ku heard! As soon as I felt the cool handle slide against my scalp. He took it and pointed the bristles at my face. “Rise!” His voice bellowed inside me. I stood but kept my back to the cold wall. “Come!” He went up the steps and I followed. The lord on the fifth terrace backed away from his throne as Cizin Ku approached. The lord of death turned and said, “Make color.” I touched the brush to the seat of the throne. Red appeared and spread. He went over and pointed to the quetzal plumage streaming from the ruler’s headdress. I touched the brush to a single shaft and the blue-green color spread down and up until the entire spray became vibrant. 

On the sixth terrace, the brush made the ruler’s headband white and the macaw feathers yellow and blue. On the seventh, something changed. Cizin Ku pointed to the pavement beneath his feet. When I touched my brush to it, there came a red dot but it didn’t spread. I tried to paint a circle around it and still, the color didn’t spread. I was confused, but what happened next confused me even more. 

The skeleton lord stomped his foot on the dot and the color spread. The big eyes above his nose kept looking down at the color while the eyes on top of his head, worn like a headband, held my gaze. He stomped again and the color stopped spreading. Another stomp and the red spread faster than before. Much faster. Across the terrace, up and down the steps, across the other terraces. As the black pyramid was turning red the chamber fell quiet. 

“Grandson, repeat our words—I am returning to the sweat lodge…” I couldn’t. I dared not to even think of it as the bony lord came close. The lightning in his eyes dimmed again. With his face close to mine, he held my gaze and asked what I had to say about his turning the pyramid red. 

“With respect,” I whispered, “I must return to the sweat lodge. My teacher is calling for me.” 

Cizin Ku turned and stepped away, but the long strip of eyeballs down his spine stayed fixed on me. He stomped his foot again and the colors disappeared. The pyramid, the lords, what they wore and their thrones were all drab again. The onlookers whispered their disappointment. The lord’s eyes began to brighten and he stood tall again, apparently satisfied with his display of power. Dangling Eyes, the little blue dwarf, stomped his feet and rubbed his bony arms trying to make the red come back again, but it didn’t. Inside me, I heard, tap, tap, tap.

White Grandfather’s voice became urgent, insisting that I repeat his words. 

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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 

Jaguar Wind And Waves: A novel of the Early Classic Maya

Jaguar Sun: The Journey of an Ancient Maya Storyteller

Ancestor Substitution: Maintaining balance and order in the cosmos

Concepcion, Guatemala: A shaman and his mother converse with my guide

The Tzutujil Maya who live around Lake Atitlan in Guatemala, use the term k’ex “substitute, exchange” to reference various ways in which the universe maintains balance or equilibrium. The perceived order in the cosmos has to be maintained on Earth—as above, so below. Substitution applies to generations. For instance, a child is considered a substitute for a deceased parent or grandparent. People are exchanged for one another through repetition, the same basic personality or temperament, even souls reoccurring through reincarnation. One person leaves, another enters. Balance.

Bringing a newborn into this world requires a replacement in the world of the dead: in this case, the deceased ancestor destined for the underworld is the k’ex for the newborn child.

Karl Taube, Maya Ethnohistorian

The shaman’s mother and grandchildren

K’ex can reference daily activities as well. Trade involves the substitution of one item for another. Anciently, the ritual calendar is a process where one deity substitutes for another in carrying the “burden” of various time periods, and crops replace the previous year’s crop. Among the Kiché Maya, children often take the names of long-deceased grandparents, a custom not uncommon in modern American and European societies. The Zinacantan Maya of Chiapas, Mexico replace the saints and flowers on their household shrines every fifteen days. In healing, an offering of tobacco or a maize-based drink is considered a substitute for a sacrificial offering. The god receives the soul of the liquid rather than the life of the healer’s patient.

Hieroglyphic inscriptions contain references to k’ex in the context of rituals. For instance, human sacrifice was an exchange to ensure the rebirth of the cosmos. And the blood sacrifices of kings, considered the most precious gift they could offer to the gods, were substitutes for the continuing survival and prosperity of their subjects.

When a child was born, something had to be given in return, often to the gods of death and the underworld, offerings of food, copal incense and animals were considered k’ex. In Maya art, infants being carried by jaguars are likely k’ex offerings, as are infants placed in offering bowls. A pit under Copan Altar Q contained the remains of 15 jaguars—the number of Copan kings, all k’ex offerings. And famously, the ruler of Palenque, K’inich Janaab’ Pakal, is depicted on his sarcophagus lid as sitting in an offering bowl.  His is a k’ex offering of self-sacrifice, an exchange that ensures the survival of his lineage. In all things, at all times everywhere, there must be balance. 

 

Reference to Generational Substitution

Jaguar Wind And Waves (p. 12) 

IT WAS WELL KNOWN AMONG MY PEOPLE, THAT CHILDREN inherited their ch’ulel—the spirit that made them who they are—from their grandfathers. Just as a crop of maize replaces the previous crop, so our sons and daughters replaced their grandfathers, walk for them on the face of the earth. When we remember them, they are present in both our lives and the life of the caah, the community. As I was growing up I could see that this was true for everyone around me. It certainly was true for my brothers and sister. But it was not true for me. Although I knew my grandfather, respected him and laughed with him, I was my father’s daughter. 

Apart from the little tattoo of a jaguar paw on my cheek, the hair on Father’s upper lip and the differences in how we wore our hair, our reflections on the water were much alike. Both our foreheads had been flattened, shaped to look like maize cobs. We both had long noses, broad cheeks, deeply folded eyelids, and our skin was the color of brown maize. Another difference, one I kept secret, was a white spot, about the size of a small lime, on my left side, under my ribs. 

I delighted when visitors to the palace spoke of the likeness between my father and me. I hoped it went beyond our appearance and that, when I became a woman, I would have his manner of walking and talking, especially his determined yet kindly manner in battling the everyday storms that rained down on the Mat and flooded palace life. Although I’d seen him stern and demanding in the audience chamber, I knew him as a gentle and playful father. He carried me on his shoulders, danced to entertain me at court, and planted the thought in my head that, when I came of age I would make a “grand contribution” to our beloved Tikal. 

Among foreign dignitaries, long-distance merchants, and his underlords, Father’s courage and ferocity as a warrior earned him the title, “Torch and Storm.” But at his accession to the Mat, he took the name, “Jaguar Paw.” Our lineage was Jaguar Paw. Twenty years later, celebrating his accomplishments on the completion of his first k’atun—twenty years on the Mat—the jaguar prophet introduced him as “Great Jaguar Paw.” Although he and Mother had seven children, only five survived. He also had a daughter by another woman. They sat with us at court. 

We never knew Mother’s first born because he took the dark road four months after his arrival. My sister came next. She was introduced to the court as “Lady Dream Paw,” a name that suited her because her manner was soft and her steps small, making it seem like she floated across the floor, particularly when we wore long ceremonial robes. When my brother, Flint Dancer, touched the earth, the ancestors said he had the spirit of a warrior. He became one and distinguished himself as a first spear. I arrived after another son who only stayed on earth for three days. 

After me came Knotted Tail, who, perhaps because he almost didn’t survive or because his skin was lighter than ours, was a worrier. He was afraid of everything. But by the time he was nine, he could outrun and count faster than any of us, except for Father. When we were just sprouts, he and I sat with some of the vendors to talk and learn how trading was done. That’s how it happened that at ten, I was the only flower in our family who could sum, place, and takeaway numbers as high as twenty-four thousand, the number of kakaw beans that Father received twice a year as tribute from his underlords.  

Twelve days after I was born, Father named me Infant Jaguar,” after the twelfth ruler of Tikal. Mother said that when I began to say words, he started calling me “Palm Flower,” for the odor that was said to take a person to other worlds. At four, when it came time to present me at court, he gave me the house name in honor of the palace he’d just had constructed. At the dedication he introduced me as “Lady Jaguar Paw.”  

Between my sister and me, I was the fearless one, more determined than my brothers to have my way and make Father proud. It wasn’t until he sent me to Tollan in fulfillment of his alliance with the lords there, that I took the title I came to share with my husband, Spearthrower Owl. When they raised him to “Supreme Anointer, Land of the Quetzal People,” they made us both, together, custodians of K’awiil, the lightning god who conveyed the authority to rule. From then on, because it fell to me to serve as the custodian of the living K’awiil scepter, I was sometimes introduced as Lady Jaguar Paw, Custodian of K’awiil.” I didn’t know it then, but that title—and the office and rituals that came with it—gave birth to the dark clouds that would grow into the thunderhead that took me down.

According to Mother, when the daykeeper read the seeds, beans, and crystals to divine my birth prophecy, it came clear to him—definite, and without hesitation. The ancestors said my path would be “the path of the jaguar,” and that “amidst powerful winds and waves,” I would battle “a mighty demon.” Father said that, unlike my wild temperament, the path of the jaguar was a path of listening and watching before pouncing. He said this would be my strength, and like the jaguar, I would “roam free and without fear in the forest of men.” As for the demon, neither the daykeeper nor my father knew what he would be like, but on the long journey to Tollan to take a husband, I kept an obsidian blade in my litter—the knife Mother used to cut the shell from my waist-cord when I became a woman of Tikal. As it happened, not even Father could have dreamed that the man he sent me to marry would unleash the demon.

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For a brief description of The Path Of The Jaguar novels: Home Page—Novels

Links To Amazon.com

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

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Deer Hunt: First Initiation Trial

Vase rollout courtesy of Justin Kerr

They joined together in companies of fifty and roasted the flesh of deer so it would not be wasted; they make presents of it to their lord and distribute the rest among friends.

                                          Fray Diego de Landa, Bishop Inquisitor of Colonial Yucatan

Deer were treated like gods because their main god had appeared to them in that form. In some places there were deer parks and reserves where deer weren’t afraid of people because they were not killed.

                               Hernando Cortés, Conquistador (Referencing the Aztec) 

Hunting among the ancient Maya was multifaceted — a necessity for food, an act of communication between humans and animals, negotiation between men and gods and social engagement. The hunters shown above would have been an elite class, with modes of dress, rituals, gods, methods, weapons and territories specified by the ruler. Also specified, was how the meat would be divided. Given the depiction on this vase, I imagine these men comprised a group of Court Hunters.

Aside from deer being hunted, the Spaniards reported that it was common for women to raise them in their homes. At Cuello in Northern Belize, a young deer was buried ceremonially, an indication that as early as the Preclassic Period, deer were considered a suitable sacrifice for the gods. 

Of course, commoners hunted as well. Unfortunately, little is known about their rites and methods. Top to bottom, however, all classes of hunters used the same weapons. Above, the only weapon depicted is the blowpipe, but also common were spears with flint or obsidian tips, traps, slingshots (mostly for birds, iguana and other small animals) and snares. Bows and arrows came into use in the Postclassic Period, just prior to the arrival of the Spanish. 

Indigenous people didn’t kill animals for the thrill of it. While there were likely individual exceptions, animals were considered sacred beings endowed with individual spirits offsprings of gods. To take the life of an animal for any reason other than food, would have been a grievous offense to its overlord. And there would be a price to pay —personally for the killer, his family and the community. And, because meat was scarce, a prized commodity, wasting it would never occur to anyone at any level. It would be like us throwing a hundred-dollar bill in the garbage can. Hunting for  “sport” was virtually non-existent.

Hunting Deer For Food

Large animals, like white-tailed deer and tapir, were generally hunted for special occasions. Without refrigeration, meat had to be either prepared and consumed within a day or two, or salted in brine to extend its viability for several more days. There were strict codes of meat distribution. Typically, the hunter who made the kill got first choice, then his family, then the ruler, his or her family (the Maya had female rulers), their courtiers and so on down the line. And no part of the animal was wasted.  Bones contained life force, one reason why they were carved as object of ritual, for instance fragments used as sacred bloodletters, along with stingray spines and obsidian lancets. 

Hunting required Communication

Because animals were the “property” of their overlord, humans had to persuade the gods to allow the giving (sacrifice) of one of its members for human survival or ritual necessity. And in order to maintain balance between human and animal, the debt had to be repaid. For commoners, this could be an assurance that the hunter would offer something in return. It could be as simple as a burnt offering of  copal incense, or maize gruel. Whatever the offering, what mattered was following through on the intention to restore balance. We have to remember, because everything (rocks, trees, buildings, etc.) was endowed with a spirit and god-overlord, acts of taking involved a negotiation with a deity. In some instances, it was reported that the hunter gave back to insure the animal’s reincarnation. For the Tzotzil of central Chiapas, the “Lord of the Deer” used a whistle to inform a stag or doe that he was present or  returning home. And animals were perceived to reside in supernatural corrals inside mountains.  

Among the Tz’utujil, who live on the shore of Lake Atitlan in Guatemala, there was the belief that whatever animal a hunter kills, as the son or daughter of a god, he will be responsible for that animal’s upbringing in the otherworld.

Hunting Methods
  • The ancients preferred to hunt for deer in the dry season, between November and May. It was easier because they could hear leaf rustles as they walked in the forest, and they stood out through the sparse foliage. During this time, there would be animal round-ups, ceremonial drives that were part of an agricultural ritual.
  • Hunting teams, as many as fifty or as few as five, would spread out in a wide circle and use the bleat of conch shells — as shown above — to frighten deer to a central point where there were snares or camouflaged men waiting with blowpipes or spears hurled with atlatls. 
  • A similar technique requiring fewer men, was to use dogs to chase the deer to a given location. One limitation, however, was that dogs could not outrun a deer in swampland. 
  • Snares made from rope woven from plant fibers were placed along paths that led to watering holes. The hunters dug a shallow trench next to a springy sapling, drove in a straight stake on one side of the trench and a stake with a crooked top on the other side. They bent the tree over and attached the stick between the stakes so a noose hung over the trench. With scattered leaves to disguise it, the animal would run into the trap and the recoil of the tree would string it up by the neck.
Initiation Trial One: Capture A Deer

In indigenous societies, initiation into adulthood typically involved a trial (“Vision Quest” in the Native American culture), and a ritual where, among other things, the initiate was welcomed into the community and given the name he would use the rest of his or her life. 

I introduce the subject of initiation here, because in Jaguar Rising, one of the four trials given to the protagonist by his guide is the capture — not the killing— of a deer. He had to do it alone and with only a weapon or device he would make. And he can’t return home until he did it. 

Part of the ritual for the male initiates, was having their father cut the white bead from their hair, an worn as a sign of adolescence. For females, it was the cutting of a white shell that hung from the front of their waist-cord. With these cut, they were welcomed as men and women of the caah, “community.” 

Postings to follow —

Initiation Trial Two: “Visit The Underworld.” (A hallucinogenic experience)

Initiation Trial Three: “Visit The Upperworld.” (A very different hallucinogenic experience)

Initiation Trial Four: “Initiation Into Elite Status” (The bonding of men through endurance).   

Initiation Trial One: Capture A Deer
Excerpt From Jaguar Rising (p.100)

BEYOND AXEHANDLE, WHERE THE FINGER OF THE LAND turned into a broad thumb, we stopped beside a tree marked with a tall hunter’s hat and two black bands. “Grandson,” my teacher said. “Here begins the first of your three trials, one in each of the worlds. Ahead is your middle world trial.” 

I was excited. “What do you want me to do?”

He pointed in the distance to the narrowing of the beach where the forest nearly met the water. “Stop along there and say an apology and gratitude to the forest lord. Then go into the wild and capture one of his sons or daughters, a fully-grown deer. Do not kill him. Use no weapons. Make your shelters and drill your fires along the coast. If you need a cord, cut some vine and braid it. If you need a net, get some thin fronds and weave one. Ask and accept help from no one but your ancestors. Eat what you alone can gather or kill. Go as far as you need—to take a deer. Remember, you must not kill or injure it. Instead, deliver it live to your father’s pen.”

I was so shocked I could neither interrupt nor believe what I was hearing. “With respect, grandfather. Is this even possible? An adult deer could be taller than me. Even a little one could outrun Thunder Flute.” 

“Trust your ancestors. They are always with you.”

Hunting deer required skill and muscle. Usually, bands of six or more men went out with dogs and spears and strong cords. For me to do it alone and without any of these things was unthinkable. 

If Mother knew this she would be horrified. 

Like vultures on a carcass, stories that Thunder Flute told about men in the wilds swooped down and began pecking at my throat and stomach. Deadly yellow-jaws lay coiled in the weeds and hung from trees. There were blood-sucking bats as large as eagles, and frogs whose loud and constant croaking made men crazy. And there were jaguars. Hunters told stories of them taking down tapirs, deer and peccary and carrying them up a tree. Even water didn’t stop them. More terrifying for me as a sprout was the prospect of encountering an underworld demon, bony creatures with bulbous skulls and bellies who roamed the wilds at night in search of human flesh and blood. Their sweat and flatulence alone were known to kill any who walked into it. “With respect grandfather, what should I do about the dark lords?”

There was not much left of the day. “Keep your thoughts on what you have come to do. If a crosswind comes at night, take shelter away from your fire. Wear this.” He removed his necklace, a single jaguar tooth on a leather cord, and put it over my head. “By this, demons, jaguars and snakes will know you are under our protection.” He had me kneel and he held the serpent on his staff against my head while he chanted. Then he tapped me on the shoulder and turned away. I watched as he left. He didn’t even glance back.

Capture Of Kicking Deer And Muddy Fawn
Excerpt From Jaguar Rising (p.101)

Within the sorcerer’s ring, there was a dark grotto, a long mud pit overhung with a thicket of bush with palm and nance trees blooming yellow and orange rising above it. Not far from the edge of the pit, a fawn lay on its side, lifeless and splattered with mud. Two vultures were trying to get at it, flapping their wings to stay above the mud. Farther out dark splatters on top of the lighter-colored mud drew my eyes to an adult deer who was submerged except for its head. Flies, dragonflies and mosquitoes flitted around its nose and closed, seeping eyes. I threw a stick at the vultures and they backed away, but the largest of them jumped onto a branch above the lifeless brown body. When he leaned down and pecked at an ear, it twitched, so I knew the deer was alive. I began throwing clumps of mud at the big ugly and he went higher in the tree.  

To get to the fawn I gathered some fallen branches and laid them on the mud. Crawling out on my stomach I had no trouble getting my arm around her, but when I pulled her by the neck she kicked, the branches broke and we sank. Fortunately, the mud and water was only waist deep. I managed to get some footing, enough to pull the little one onto the bank. The big ugly jumped down again and sidled along the branch closest to the doe. This time when I threw mud at him, one of his brothers darted at the fawn and pecked at its rump. Shouting and throwing mud in both directions, I chased them back. 

So it went until I could gather enough dried fronds and weeds to cover the trembling fawn. With the vultures pushed back I managed to pull some creeper vine and twist it into a cord about an arm’s length. I broke off a branch from a fallen tree and stripped the small branches to make a pole. Using it for balance, I went into the pit to see how far I could go—all the while warning the vulture lord that if she didn’t keep her sons and daughters back, I would be forced to use it against them. Nearly up to my neck in mud, I got the cord around the doe’s neck and tied the ends together. When I pulled on it she opened her eyes, pulled back and kicked me hard in the side, ripping the cord from my hands. 

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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 

Jaguar Wind And Waves: A novel of the Early Classic Maya

Jaguar Sun: The Journey of an Ancient Maya Storyteller

The Blood Of Kings: Inherited from the gods

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 and 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 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 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.”

For a brief description of The Path Of The Jaguar novels: Home Page—Novels

Links To Amazon.com

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

Termination Rituals

 

Caracol Structure B5

For the ancient Maya the most important interaction was not between persons, objects or buildings, it was their relationship with the spirits that resided in them. While everything was perceived as being alive, only those things that were useful were ritually ensouled with a guardian spirit—or a god in the case of temples, palaces and sacred places. When a ceramic vessel was made or a house built, a och’ k’ak’ “fire-entering” ritual was held to invite a spirit, often a deceased ancestor, to take up residence in it. The process substantially affected a transformation from disorder (material) to order (spiritual). Throughout the ensouled object’s “lifetime” of use, its spirit was respected and ritually fed. 

For a small item like a plate or jade carving, the ensouling ritual required an offering such as a small bird, copal incense, maize kernals, bits of spices or aspirations of a fermented  maize beverage. For a house, a bird or small animal like a paca (rodent family) would be sacrificed at the center-post, and the four corners were anointed with blood, incense and chants of gratitude and summoning. Flowers were likely involved as well, particularly those with white blossoms  because they represented the soul. A freqent phrase in the inscriptions is “the white flower soul.” Spirit-entering rites for temples, palaces and other large structures were often done in the context of dedication ceremonies that could include the placement of ancestral burials and caches within or in front of the structure, sometimes in association with sculpted and inscribed stela throughout the Classic Period. 

Ensouling (English term) was referred to as jaloj k’exoj, “regeneration, the giving of life.” And the dedication ceremonies could involve days-long celebrations, feasts with visiting dignitaries, elaborate offerings with gift exchanges, feasting, gift exchanges, blood-letting ceremonies, dances, ball games and fire dances. At times they included human and animal sacrifices as well—jaguars and tapirs in particular. 

When an object, monument or building was no longer going to be used, termination rites were performed to release the spirit—or god in the case of temples—so the material could revert back to disorder, a state the ancients sometimes referred to as “the wilds.” My Maya guide at Caracol in Belize showed me an enormous and steep unexcavated mound that had likely been a shrine or temple. At the top, the rubble among the trees and weeds consisted of limestone pebbles and  hundreds of boulders, evidence that the structure had been ritually terminated. “Boulders don’t roll uphill,” he quipped. These were raw stones with no trace of ever having been carved. I paraphrase his analysis: “No amount of weathering, not even over fifteen hundred years, could have made this happen. Everything you see here was ritually destroyed—terminated and buried, laid to rest so it could become wild again.”  The photo above is a different mound than the one the guide showed me. Here, I imagine the stones are a mixture of carved stones from the structure that sat atop the mound, and raw limestone from its termination.

Ritual termination is in evidence throughout Mesoamerica, particularly in ceramic plates that have “kill holes,” and monuments where the carved faces of former rulers had been smashed or destroyed in antiquity, rendering them inert, no longer able to influence human affairs.  

House Termination Scene

Excerpt from Jaguar Sun (pp. 180, 181) 

Facing us at the end of the patio, there was a tall masonry gate with a doorway. Going through, we entered another patio and saw a group of people standing well back, watching two houses engulfed in flames. A holy man paced in front of them facing the fire, chanting and shaking a gourd rattle, while an assistant cast copal nuggets into the inferno. Both roofs had fallen in, the thatch was sending up sparks and the roaring flames spun blue and orange around the roof beams. Because of the noise and everyone watching the fire, they hadn’t noticed us.

Among the thirty or more people, all wearing black, three men stood at the front wearing heron headdresses with long yellow beaks similar to what my father wore on ceremonial occasions. On both sides of the burning heaps, men stood ready with buckets of dirt and water in case sparks or flames would leap to one of the other roofs. One of the men up front turned to talk to someone and he saw us. He in turn got the attention of another man, and when he turned abruptly, everyone looked our way. Someone pointed and instantly, as we might have expected, young men ran to a long rack and took up spears. They kept their blades high, but we were quickly surrounded. (p. 180)

The leader grabbed my wrist and put his hand on my shoulder as he turned. “Everyone! This is Wakah, fourth born of Smoking Claw! He has come from Naranjo.” He turned to me. Speaking above the noise of burning timbers, almost shouting, he said he was Father’s oldest brother, Thunder Maker. The other two wearing heron headdresses were also my uncles—introduced as Singing Sling and Flint Thrower. Judging from the painted white teardrop under their eyes and the fresh wounds on their arms, I realized they were in mourning. “Your coming is a blessing,” Thunder Maker said. “We are terminating the houses of two of my sons. They fought under the supervision of our brother, Throwing Spear. They all distinguished themselves at Tikal.” Thunder Maker led me by the arm to one of the burning houses. “This was the house of my first son,” he said. “They say it took a warlord and eight holcan to bring him down. The three of us were with Our Bounty, so we did not see it.” 

Our Bounty? Ayaahh, they led the attack with Yuknoom Claw!

I had to ask. “Did you see my father at Tikal?”

Thunder Maker shook his head. “We wondered if he was there, kept an eye out for him. But there were thousands. We fought many battles, never one like that. We mourn our defeat. What could we do? The gods willed it.” (p. 181)

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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 

Jaguar Wind And Waves: A novel of the Early Classic Maya

Jaguar Sun: The Journey of an Ancient Maya Storyteller  

Kakaw (Chocolate)

 

Kakaw trees can’t tolerate high altitudes or temperatures below 60º F. They need moisture year-round, so during prolonged dry seasons irrigation is necessary. Given these considerations, they were domesticated in the Pacific coastal plains of Guatemala and Chiapas around 1000 B.C., at the height of the Olmec civilization at San Lorenzo. The area around Izapa, a Late Formative site in Chiapas, was a particularly rich source of kakaw (cacao) because it was very hot with volcanic soil. 

The variety of cacao grown in the Maya area is called theobroma bicolor—“pataxte” in Mayan. The tree’s flowers and fruits or pods grow directly on the trunk. Each fruit is around 11” long and 4” wide with an average weight of one pound. The color ranges from reddish to green, but it changes to yellowish orange as the fruit matures. The pods contain 20 to 40 beans enveloped in a sticky, white pulp. The beans are large and flat, and are sometimes eaten raw. Each tree will produce around 40 pods, yielding about 4.5 pounds of chocolate. It has been suggested that the name “chocolate” derives from the Mayan word chokola’j, “to drink cacao together.”

Mentioned frequently in the inscriptions as a trade good and an elite consumable, it seems kakaw was an array of beverages rather than a single drink. Beverages are described as “honeyed kakaw,” “flowered kakaw,” “bright red kakaw, “black kakaw,” “ripe kakaw,” “sweet kakaw,” and “frothy kakaw.” The ancients toasted the beans and used them to make gruels and porages. Additives could include honey, chile peppers, annatto (to make it red), fruit juices, flower blossoms and vanilla. And through fermentation, they produced a cacao flavored  alcoholic beverage. Perhaps because kakaw concoctions were such an imported extravagance, some of the inscriptions specify the cities where and when they were served.

This palace scene from Dos Pilas shows flowers being presented to the seated lord. In front of him is a platter of kakaw pods.

A study by Joanne Baron, published in Economic Anthropology, revealed that cacao beans, “originally valued for their use in status display, took on monetary functions within a context of expanding marketplaces among rival Maya kingdoms. These products would eventually go on to serve as universal currencies across the different Maya regions and were used to finance state activities, as well as household needs. By the time the Spanish had arrived in the early 1500s, these (kakaw) products were being used to pay tribute or tax to leaders, to buy and sell goods at the marketplace or pay workers.” 

The kakaw sacks shown in the Bonampak murals were labeled with the kakaw glyph surmounted by a number which David Stuart deciphered as 5 pik of forty thousand seeds. He also notes the frequent use of a 3 pik—twenty-four thousand seeds—label, which coincides with a count of cacao seeds that was considered a “carga” in Postclassic highland Mexico. At the time of the conquest, a “load” of kakaw—24,000 beans—was worth twice as much in Tenochtitlan as along the Gulf coast. A rabbit costs 10 beans, and a porter charged 20 beans for a short trip. A 1545 document written in Nahuatl states that a turkey was worth 200 cacao beans, a tamale worth one, and the daily wage of a porter at that time was 100 beans. It was also noted that dishonest traders made counterfeit beans by stripping the husks of the beans, filling them with sand, and mixing them with genuine beans. Careful customers squeezed each bean to test it.

Counting Kakaw Beans

Excerpt from Jaguar Rising (p. 205)

OUR EARLY TRAINING HAD TO DO WITH TRADING, TERRITORIES, the names of places, rulers, ministers and counting. We learned the value of goods, especially those desired by lords, noblemen and holy men. We learned hand signs, not only to trade and speak with foreigners but also to signal each other under conditions of scouting and attacking. We learned how to use vines, moss on the side of trees and the stars as directional pointers. Especially, we learned which goods would be traded in the various markets. 

To learn how to show respect to power and speak in our trading partner’s favor, we put on hats and bargained with each other. Instead of using stones and sticks for counting, Pech taught us to use lucina shells for “zero,” kakaw beans for “one’s,” and flat hands for “five’s.” A hand covering our chins stood for “twenty.”  In the counting trial, we had to place and call, sum and subtract numbers in orders of thousands because kakaw beans were traded in “loads”—cloth bundles of eight thousand, what one man could carry.

Kakaw Valuation

Excerpt from Jaguar Sun (p. 98)

BY THE THIRD DAY IN THE MARKETPLACE AT IXKUN, SO many warriors and farmers were coming to have me rework their cherts and flints, Eagle fixed the exchange at two, four or eight hundred kakaw beans depending on how long it took me to do the work. After another day, a line formed. I was spending nearly as much time counting kakaw and shell beads as I was shaping stone, so Eagle had one of the assistants do the counting for me. It felt good to be contributing to the expedition, but by the end of the day, the muscles in my chopping arm were chattering. And I was out of Strong Back. Darts came by several times and stopped to watch me work. Whenever I looked at him or nodded he turned away. 

Checking For Counterfeit Beans

Excerpt from Jaguar Rising (p. 67)

In the days leading up to Grand Procession, the counters and court scribes examined every needle, bead, feather, hide and kakaw bean. Day and night, a band of guards walked the perimeter of the compound while others armed with spears, axes, knives and flint-tipped darts walked the patio. Two of them stationed at the stairway searched everyone who came and went, including those of us who lived on the compound.

Pouring Kakaw To Make Foam

Excerpt from Jaguar Wind and Waves (p. 67)

For the feast I had arranged for the ministers to sit on reed mats in a circle. Lime Sky and her assistants prepared maize leaf tamales, most stuffed with turkey, others with paca meat. Four of my serving women had never been to court before, so I worried that they would drop or spill something—or not understand a minister’s gesture. Along with the tamales we served roasted grubs with mashed beans and platters of cooked chayote greens topped with crumbled roasted squash seeds that she dusted with chili powder. For the beverage we served chih with lime juice and honey. The final offering, an extravagance usually reserved for lords and their ladies, was kakaw poured into tall cups from the height of the server’s breast to raise a dark brown foam.

(Photo of the palace scene courtesy of Justin Kerr “Maya Vase Database”)

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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 

Jaguar Wind And Waves: A novel of the Early Classic Maya

Jaguar Sun: The Journey of an Ancient Maya Storyteller  

Sacred Spaces

For the ancients, there was no separation between the secular and the sacred. Everything of the Earth was sacred, ensouled with a vital source that comes from the sun. Outside it was chaotic space, peopled by ghosts, demons, spirits and “foreigners” who were considered demons. Because human beings couldn’t live in chaos, life and living was all about maintaining order. And the model for it was (and remains) nature and the cosmos. In both, they and we observe constancy, beauty, pattern and cyclical motion, apparent features of absolute reality. Modeling these in architectural forms, they created sacred spaces, distinct from the “wilds” of chaotic fields and forests. In a way, using dimensions and forms found in nature, they consecrated a space by making is a universe.

For the ancient Maya, the parts of a house were correlated with parts of the human body and the cosmos. The floor was “feet,” the door a “mouth,” the thatched roof a “head of hair,” the walls the “bones,” and the four corners a replica of the cosmos. Houses were mostly for sleeping; the activities of daily life took place outside. Functional structures, such as kitchens, storehouses and workshops were generally separate from the house because it was not only sacred, it was a living entity. Doorways were open, without doors, to show hospitality. And for privacy, a fabric was pulled across the opening and tied to wooden pegs inserted into the walls. 

Making a new structure a “home” a living entity required an Och K’ahk’ “Enters the Fire” ceremony where fire was drilled between three large hearthstones. (On a clear night a “cloud” in the center of three bright stars in Orion is visible—Alnitak, Saiph, Rigel. We know that cloud of gas, dust and stars as nebula M42). By investing the space with life—heat and light—the home reflected health and vitality. At the same ceremony, the shaman offered a blood sacrifice, usually a bird, to entice a spirit—often a deceased ancestor—to take up residence in the house as a protector. 

Tikal Temple II

Temples, which were an extension of the Maya home, were considered the dwelling places of the gods. They also replicated caves, places where underworld supernaturals resided. When the temple curtain covered the doorway, the god was asleep in his resting place. At many sites, the inscriptions speak of three hearthstones being places in the sky as one of the founding acts of creation. The hearth in the temple was an essential conduit between it and the cosmic hearth planted by the Maize God. Ceibal, a medium-sized city in northern Peten, Guatemala may have been called “Three-Stone Place” anciently because there was a cache of three jade boulders under a stela in the center of a temple.

In his study of architectural dimensions, archaeologist Christopher Powell found that “the width of most Maya houses in Yucatan consisted of units called uinics ‘humans,’ which are measured by stretching a cord from fingertip to fingertip, with arms outstretched and perpendicular to the body. One uinic was virtually equal to the height of the person who was doing the measuring. Thus, a human being with arms outstretched and perpendicular to the body may be inscribed by a square.” This is seen in many temple doorways that are square. It calls to mind the drawing of the Vitrucian Man by Leonardo da Vinci. 

Besides the human form, Dr. Powell also found that the ancients incorporated the shapes of flowers and shells which display Phi, nature’s most common proportion. Flowers have five petals or multiples of five petals. Projected onto the Maya world, there were four directions and a center. “The shapes of houses, milpas, and temples and their works of art all share the proportions inherent in three simple geometric forms: the equilateral triangle, square and pentagon. These three regular polygons, with their square root of two, square root of three, and phi rectangular expressions, provide an underlying structure that unites the Maya cosmos… Pentagonal arrangements of seeds in the cross-sections of fruit are common. The phi equiangular spiral is observed in seashells and snail shells and in the growth spirals of various plants. The Yucatec Maya word for belly button, “tzuk,” or division place, divides the human form by the phi proportion. 

In the Popol Vuh, the sacred book of the Quiché Maya, there’s a passage that, according to Dr. Powell, may be viewed as a concise formula for measuring a phi rectangle with a cord. 

It took a long performance and account to complete the emergence of all the sky-earth: the fourfold siding, the fourfold cornering, measuring, fourfold staking, halving the cord, stretching the cord, in the sky, on the earth, the four sides, the four corners, as is said, by the Maker, Modeler, Mother-Father of life, of human kind…

Christopher Powell

The ancients used cords (intertwined vines) of different lengths with knots along them to lay out the location and length of walls. To lay out a floor, for instance, a cord was dowsed with white lime powder (pulverized limestone), stretched taught at the specified location and then snapped to leave a white impression, along which the builders would lay their stones to build a wall. The cords were equivalent to today’s measuring tapes, providing a means to create and reproduce lines with consistency over time and place. In this way, they replicated the proportions found in nature and the cosmos. 

Geometry and numbers are sacred because they codify the hidden order behind creation.

Stephen Skinner

 

Ensouling A House
Excerpt From Jaguar Rising (p. 74 )

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. 

 

Using Measuring Cords (At Xunantunich, Belize)
Excerpt from Jaguar Sun (p. 246)

Approaching the broad steps of the temple, I saw again, high up, the beautifully stuccoed figures of men and gods that I’d seen from a distance. The deeply sculpted, brilliant red frieze wrapped around the temple like a headband. At the foot of the steps, Obsidian explained that he and the other workers were the only ones permitted to be up there, so I waited and watched while he and his brother-in-law took the cords to several men who were pacing on the floor above the sculpted band. 

It was fascinating to watch my brother moving the measuring cords back and forth and dusting them with lime powder. I couldn’t see when they stooped down, but I knew a firm snap of the cord would leave a white line to show the placement of the walls and doorways so another worker could chisel small holes to mark them permanently for the stone setters.

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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 

Jaguar Wind And Waves: A novel of the Early Classic Maya

Jaguar Sun: The Journey of an Ancient Maya Storyteller  

Maya Creation Myths

The events of creation are recorded on monuments throughout the Maya region. At larger cities such as Tikal, Uaxactun, Copan, Palenque, El Mirador and Caracol the more detailed inscriptions name the involved deities and provide dates. The information varies somewhat from place to place and across time, but there are commonalities that closely match the creation myth described in the Popol Vuh, a written account of creation, and other stories derived from K’iche’ oral traditions, such that scholars tend to agree in principle, if not in the details of the ancient Maya view of creation. In Popol Vuh: The Definitive Edition of the Mayan Book of the Dawn of Life and The Glories of Gods and Kings by Dennis Tedlock, the writer(s) provided this succinct overview:

And then the earth arose because of them

(the sky deities). It was simply their word

That brought it forth.

For the forming of earth they said ‘Earth.”

It arose suddenly, just like a cloud,

Like a mist, now forming and unfolding.

Then the mountains were separated 

From the water, all at once the great mountains

Came forth.

Given the limitations of space of a blog and variations in scholarly interpretation, I offer the following as a condensed but representative sampling of the key players and places in the ancient Maya creation story.

Creation Date: Time for the ancients was cyclical, spiraling in eras. There were three before the current one, which began in 3114 B.C.. Scholars still debate the precise date, but this began the “Long Count.” Every day in the future was referenced to it, literally by counting the days forward. There’s some indication that the days were counted using stones and that these were bound into bundles to represent periods. For instance, a t’un or one year “bundle” or “binding” consisted of 360 days or stones. Five more were added to make a complete year. A “binding of the k’atun” referenced a bundle of 20 years or 7200 stones. Why the date in 3114 B.C. was chosen is not known, 

Creation Deities: The names of creation deities differ between the Popol Vuh and inscriptions on monuments, but their attributes as diviners, healers, and makers is nearly identical. As the story goes, two creator “grandparents”—First Father and First Mother—had twin sons, identified by scholars as “The Hero Twins.” In addition, there were three sky gods. At Palenque, scholars refer to them as GI, GII, GIII. The Popol Vuh gives their names: Hurricane Thunderbolt, Youngest Thunderbolt and Sudden Thunderbolt. According to iconographer Karen Bassie-Sweet, these  gods paralled the “Heart Of Sky” deities, and the thunderbolt brothers were manifestations of the Maize God. 

Creation Events: According to art historian Julia Guernsey on August 13, 3114 B.C. the gods established three hearthstones in the sky as thrones. They named them “Jaguar,” Snake” and “Water.” We know them as the stars Rigel, Saiph and Ainitak in the Orion nebula. And what astronomers refer to as M42 Nebula, they saw as the fire in the cosmic hearth. Creation of the Earth itself was credited to the Maize God—Hunal Ye “First Father.” He “entered the sky and made proper” the raising of “Raised-Up-Sky-Place, the eight-house-partitions, house of the north on February 5, 3112 B.C.” That happened 542 days after the 3114 B.C. creation event. To make proper is to circumambulate, so this refers to the act of setting the constellations in motion around the North Star.

Cosmic Order: The cosmos was seen as a gigantic ceiba (kapok) tree growing at the center of the universe. Its branches reach to the Upper World; its trunk is the Middle World and the roots extend into the Underworld. As sap travels up from the roots of a maize stalk, souls travel up and down this sacred tree. At the top, where the three stones were set in the sky, sits Itzam Yeh, a bird deity who fancies himself greater than the sun. And from his perch, referred to as Heart Of Sky (the North Star region), he dispensed the life force.

Creation Locations: In the fourth creation, before human beings, Chahk, the lightning and rain god, went to the mountain that first rose above the water. There, he raised his gigantic axe and split the mountain, allowing Huun Ixim, the Maize God, to ascend and bring life-sustaining abundance to the Earth. That mountain was referred to as Yax Hal Witz “First True Mountain.” Archaeologically, many temples—such as Mundo Perdido (Structure 5C-54) at Tikal—and other structures—Uaxactun’s Group H—were replicas of the Yax Hal Witz.

Previous Creations: Eras before the present creation, First Father and First Mother attempted to create beings who would pay them respect and praise their names. The first world was inhabited by dwarf beings who resembled animals and couldn’t speak. In the second world they were made of mud, and in the third they were made of wood. These not being satisfactory, the creators said “The dawn has approached and morning has come for humankind—born in the light, begotten in the light.” So, from the maize that came forth at First True Mountain, First Mother fashioned the first human beings from maize dough and water. Grinding it nine times, it became human flesh.  And when she washed her hands, the grease became human fat. These humans were perfect and knowledgable. They were able to see as well as they gods, so they blurred their vision. In that way, they could only see what was close to them. 

Philosopher David Hume said we would be utterly incapable of making sense of the world around us were it not for the process of cause and effect. Every civilization attempts to explain how things are, how the universe, the world and we came to be. The sustained nightly dedication of the ancient Maya in observing the sky over centuries is beyond remarkable, a testiment to how determined they were to understand the workings of the visible universe and world. 

Equally remarkable, were the many and unique ways they attempted to replicate and invigorate the stories they told about creation and its perceived creators. In our era, the emphasis has shifted. Instead of naked-eye observation to understand the mysteries of the universe and life, we use sophisticated technologies. And there appears to be little interest in modeling—“clothing”—ourselves and our environments in either the creation story inherited from the East, or the Universe story that’s emerging from science. Hopefully, somewhere ahead, that connection will be restored.  

Author Willis Harman tells the story of talking with a Native American leader about how white people have difficulty understanding the Indian way of looking at the world. The Indian replied: “It’s easy. You only have to remember two things. One is, everything in the universe is alive. The other is, we’re all relatives.” 

First True Mountain
Excerpt from Jaguar Rising (p. 254)

My brother went across the courtyard and stood on the steps above Red Paw and Pech. Dragonfly continued to translate. “What did the Makers do? They invoked Grandmother of Glory! And their thoughts came clear. Fox, Coyote, Parrot and Crow brought ears of yellow maize and white maize from the split place, from First True Mountain, Flowering Mountain Earth where Grandmother Of Glory ground the maize nine times. The water she used in rinsing her hands made fat—human fat. And with it Sovereign Plumed Serpent made the first humans, our Mother-Fathers.” With a swish of his robe, Comb Pace came down the steps and went to center. “The humans made from fat were different,” he said. “They made words! They praised the directions and they listened. They walked and they used their muscles. They offered their sweat, blood and smoke to the Makers and Modelers. Such was the making by First Grandfather and First Grandmother.” 

Comb Paca approached the dais, turned his back on us and spoke with his hands at his side. “Let it be said, let it be known. In our k’in, the making and modeling continues. As at the split place, First True Mountain, Flowering Mountain Place, so here at Kaminaljuyu. We see the making in the ground, in the trees, in the animals. We see the modeling in the lake. It comes clear to us what has been done when we honor the sky bearers and keep the count of k’inob. It comes clear when we celebrate the rounds of the wanderers and the turnings of the sun. It comes clear to us when we make our circuits at the sowing and the dawning, planting and harvesting. It also comes clear when Our Bounty stands before us as the Center of All That Is, as Great Tree, as Lord One Maize.”

Calendar Fixed To The Creation Date 
Excerpt from Jaguar Rising (p. 45)

The shaman’s assistant took the bloodied cloths and put them into a ceramic jar with a lid. Meanwhile, a daykeeper dictated the time periods to a scribe—3,082 years and 242 days since the beginning of the fourth creation of the world. He said the gods who carried the burden of the day were Chan Ik’, Laju’n Pax. After this, it was recorded that “Lord Jaguar Tooth Macaw, Great Tree of Kaminaljuyu and his son, Lord Flint Axe Macaw, underlord at Ahktuunal, took Thunder Flute Rabbit, master merchant at Cerros, in regard as their brother. Later, the cloths would be fed into the conjuring house censer but for now the shaman’s assistants applied “takes-away” to their wounds, a sticky pink substance that stopped the bleeding and eased the pain. With his arm now cleaned, Lord Macaw pointed to the warlord who had the largest spray of quetzal plumage streaming from his helmet. Holding up a blue-and yellow-feathered shield, the hulking warrior led a procession of warriors carrying bundles and baskets from the side of the pyramid to the front, where they set them down on a long bed of fresh pine needles. 

The Three Stones Of Creation
Excerpt from Jaguar Rising (p. 199)

Under the influence of six cups of chih, Lord Smoking Mirror praised the work of my uncles at the House of the Maize God. And judging from his wife’s expression, he told us something we were not supposed to know—that he was going to halt the construction on his brother’s temple in favor of a more modest but equally powerful snake mountain named for the place where the maize god set the three stones of creation in the sky. “It will be like the Three Stone Mountain at Mirador,” he said, “Just not as tall. Next to it will be a compound for warriors with a proper lodge, patios and a larger training field…” As he spoke, Thunder Flute’s glance told me that Smoking Mirror, like his brother, was desperately trying to win favor with his father. Had Laughing Falcon heard what his brother was planning he would have been furious.

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 

Jaguar Wind And Waves: A novel of the Early Classic Maya

Jaguar Sun: The Journey of an Ancient Maya Storyteller

The Dancing Maize God

Vessel of the Dancing Lords (A.D. 750/800)
 Photo courtesy of the Art Institute of Chicago. Maya Image Archive

This vessel was produced in the Naranjo, Guatemala workshop for Lord K’ahk’ Ukalaw Chan Chaahk. At the top, above a band of symbols indicating the sky (a “sky band”), the hieroglyphs read: “His painting, (artist’s name?), artist sage, Lord Maxam, child of woman, Holy Lady Water-Venus, Lady Lord of Yaxhá (title?)(title?), child of man, Three Katun (60 year) Sacrificer, Lord Flint Face, Holy Lord of Naranjo, pure artisan.”

The Classic Period name of the youthful maize god depicted with a tonsure is not known for certain, but because it includes the number “One,” scholars have referred to him variously as Hunal’-Ye, “One Maize Revealed,” Hun Ixim “One Maize,” the creator deity, Hun Ajaw “One Lord” and “First Father.” Some scholars have suggested that he is the father of the Hero Twins, “One-Hunahpu,” in the Popol Vuh—the mythic story of the Quiché Maya. In the inscriptions, Nal is the hieroglyphic word for “maize.”

Frequently the tonsured maize god is shown in elaborate regalia dancing his descent into the underworld and his death and resurrection that mimic the life cycle of the maize seed which is buried in the ground. Then, due to the action of his “sons”—farmers—he rises from the dead and is revealed as a sprout. Our word “mimic” does not convey what was going on in the minds of the ancient kings. We can only imagine, but it has been suggested that the kings who reenacted the dance of the maize god, likely under the influence of a hallucinogen, allowed their bodies to be inhabited by the ch’ulel “spirit,” “soul” of the deity. So the depictions are of the actual maize god dancing. (This is what happens in Jaguar Sun. See the segment from my novel below).

As noted in the “Significance Of The Ancient Maya” link on the home page, every detail of the ancient Maya world, at least for the elites, had cosmic associations. This vase provides an excellent example.

  • The maize god’s tapered head and tonsure represent the form of a maize husk (precious sustenance) and tassel. 
  • Although the precise meaning of hand-gestures is not known, their frequent and consistent repetition in Maya art is a demonstration of their significance. Here, they are very specific. “Today’s Maya, who sign, use the same gesture for corn as did the ancients.” (Justin Kerr)
  • He is decked out in jade (breath spirit) jewels—beaded necklace, ear flares, bands on his upper arms and knees and beaded ankle and wrist bands.
  • The headdress consists of iridescent quetzal feathers, the blue-green color symbolizing water, life and sky.
  • The uplifted heel and the long outward ends of his loincloth indicate vigorous motion, replicating the stars that “dance” circles around the North Star—sometimes referred to as “Heart of Heaven.” 
  • The belt assembly consists of a large Spondylus (spiny oyster) shell with three stars on it indicating the constellation Orion—that marks the three cosmic hearthstones and the split (birthing) place in the mythic turtle shell from the maize god arose after being reborn. The shape of the shell is a reference to Xoc, possibly the name of a kind of fish in the underworld. Shells were used to collect sacrificial blood, another allusion to rebirth.
  • What looks to our modern eyes like a jumble of elements alongside the dancer, are items of significance situated in a tall, very elaborate “backrack” attached to a waist-armature composed of interlacing elements. It’s worn to show that the dancer is the maize god, not just an impersonator. Each element of the backrack—faces, symbols, feathers, animal figures—reference cosmic events associated with the maize god after he was resurrected. Considering the weight and intricacy of the total costume, it’s likely that these elements were made of paper, palm fibers and fabrics painted with a thin plaster slip.
  • The head of the long-nosed figure toward the bottom-right is a “Witz Monster,” the personification of a hill or mountain deity, identified as such by the cleft in his forehead and circular symbols of stone.
  • The jaguar figure sitting atop the Witz Monster is a reference to “Waterlily Jaguar,” a transformer, indicating that the dancer has been transformed into the maize god. 
  • Above the horizontal band of five X’s in a frame indicating the “sky,” is a highly abstracted representation of a figure referred to by scholars as the “Principle Bird Deity.” On this vase, we’re looking at him from the back, indicated by the massive bundle of feathers at the top. His head, with a long, upward curling snout, is to the left. The feathers and scroll elements issuing from it represent the life force. In another post, I’ll talk about this mythic bird who set himself higher than the sun god because he dispensed the life force from Heart Of Heaven.

At the bottom of the vessel far left, there’s a figure of a dwarf. Often depicted on Maya vases, particularly alongside kings and the maize god, they were trusted companions. It has been suggested that they represent the stubby ear of corn that formed on the same stalk as the dominant ear. They are also seen as attendants to the king similar to pages, individuals chosen by the gods to manifest supernatural powers, leftovers from a previous creation and counselors. The line above his nose probably indicates speech. Dwarfs appear to have held high status at court. 

The Dance Of The Maize God
Excerpt From Jaguar Sun (p. 284)

THE WIND THAT HAD RUSTLED THE FEATHERS ON headdresses throughout the day had calmed by nightfall. As we entered the Court Of Sacred Directions, Venerable Amaté pointed out that the twenty men standing with torches around the courtyard were the sons of ministers. I judged there to be another thirty people already seated on the steps. My host made it very clear—“Lord Yellow Fire Macaw K’awiil will not be imitating the dance of the maize god. He will be surrendering his body, allowing him to dance again his rising from the Underworld.” 

The story preceding the maize god’s resurrection was well known. As Eyes told it, before the sun was, he lifted the sky off the water at a place called, “Raised Up Sky.” To bring order to the upper world once it was raised, he set three bright stones in the sky and connected them to the earth by establishing a great tree of stars. When this was done, he realized that he had weaknesses. To overcome them, he sacrificed himself and descended into Xibalba, the “Place of Fright.” Then, to defeat death, he ascended from the Underworld and released maize seeds—new life—from Sustenance Mountain. From the maize, which grew in great abundance, First Mother fashioned a dough and with it made the first human beings. It was why foreigners spoke of us as “maize people.” 

While we were waiting for the dance to begin, Venerable Amaté told me about the shrines that encompassed the courtyard, saying they were built in accordance with the ordering of the world directions—a red-painted House of the Sun on the eastern side where the sun is born, a black House of the Ancestors on the western side where the sun goes to die, a yellow House of the Underworld on the southern side and the tallest, a white-painted House of Raised Up Sky on the northern side to our left. 

He explained that about forty paces in front of us, the long platform made of lashed bamboo was, for the dance, the Underworld place called Seven Water. A blue covering with white-painted waves, waterlilies and fish made it clear that this was a watery world. Painted in the center of the great cloth, I recognized Xoc, the monstrous fish-serpent who, according to the story, aided the maize god’s rebirth. 

I wasn’t the only one growing impatient. “They cannot begin until the maize god fully enters Our Bounty,” my host said. “His wife offers him the sacred brew and watches until his eyes are no longer his own.”

“What brew? Do you know what it is?”

“Chih, but with the sap of the sacred buffo stirred in. Different frogs are more or less potent, so she has to keep giving it until his ch’ulel has gone wandering. Only then can the ch’ulel of Juun Ixim enter.”

“Where does his ch’ulel go?”

“Some say it treads the path of the Upperworld. No one knows. When Our Bounty returns, he has no memory of the dance or where he went during it. He describes it as a shimmering place with brightly colored serpents and other animals.” 

A DEEP-VOICED DRUM ANNOUNCED THE APPEARANCE OF a dwarf who, according to Eyes In The Sky, stood for the stunted ear of maize on many plants. This man wore a black hip cloth painted with yellow maize kernels, a yellow K’uhuuntak headdress pointed back and a shell pendant.

The Hero Twins followed behind him, walking toe first, with blowguns leaning against their shoulders. I recognized One Lord because he had black spots on his red-painted body. First Jaguar wore patches of jaguar pelt on his arms and legs. Next, I expected to see Yellow Fire come out dressed as the maize god. Instead, to the sound of a somber flute and a slow drum beat, the god himself entered just twenty paces from where we sat. “Ayaahh!” I whispered. He bore so little resemblance to my friend, the sight of him startled me. 

His head was drastically tapered, elongated and bald except for a yellow tassel tied high and hanging down the back. His skin color was lighter, painted, and he was naked except for a roll of twisted green cloth between his loins and drawn up to his waist. He even walked differently—more erect, also toes first. When he stopped, the drumming and flute playing stopped.

Suddenly, one drum pounded again, hard and fast. Chaak, the bulbous-nosed, serpent-legged lightning and rain god, came bounding into the courtyard, leaping and pounding his feet. Brandishing a long-handled axe and bent forward, he danced on his toes with alternating knee lifts. His bead-and-shell necklace clanked as he performed his well known swinging and chopping movements. I recognized the long black bag strung across his shoulder as containing rain.

The dwarf came to the front and gestured for us to sit. Avoiding the rain god’s swinging axe, First Jaguar approached, the drum went silent and he called out. “To atone for his weaknesses, Juun Ixim offers his body and blood.” 

One Lord came and stood beside his brother. “By sacrificing himself, he chooses to overcome three weaknesses. First, he is all good; there is only good in his being. To be a complete god there must be evil as well. Second, he believes he will live forever. Finally, there is fear in him—he is afraid of death.”

The twin gods parted and the maize god came forward. His wide eyes stared straight ahead as if he were looking through us. Chaak came and stood in front of him, not breaking his gaze. The maize god bowed low and stayed bent at the waist, while Chaak rose, spun around and swung the huge shiny axe high, bringing it down on the maize god’s neck. Somehow, as the twins danced in front of them, the bloody head of the maize god fell and rolled across the pavement. And now the black water bag was on the fallen body, covering the place where the head had been. 

Four men wearing black paint head-to-toe brought out a litter with a covering on it painted to look like a canoe. When they set it down, One Lord and First Jaguar lifted the lifeless body onto it. The painted men lifted it, and to the pounding of the drum, went forward with the twin gods paddling. Slowly, the bow of the “boat” tilted down to make its descent. With solemn footsteps, the canoe bearing the body of the maize god circled the courtyard and set the litter down in front of the watery Underworld. Behind it, was the face of the Xoc serpent.

With the dwarf swinging a ceramic censer over the body, the twins lifted it onto the platform and covered it with a black cloth. One Lord came before us again, to say the maize god’s body was being re-established by Xoc and the other fish. As he told about the fish-serpent, his brother danced the reconstitution rites in front of the altar with his arms upraised, hips swaying and toe-heel steps matched to heartbeats on the drum. Lub-dum, lub-dum. Behind him, the black cloth began to move. Slowly, the maize god pulled the cloth aside and sat up. I whispered to Venerable Amaté that, at Calakmul, the tellers said it was the twins, not Xoc, who restored his body.

With the dwarf guiding him, the maize god moved to the front of the watery Underworld. There, he was met by three young women, goddesses, naked except for red-painted arms and shoulders, pearl wristlets, jade ear ornaments and green waterlily headdresses. Two of the goddesses held out regalia items for the dwarf to cense. The third presented the items one at a time for the maize god’s appreciation and acceptance—by holding them up to his eyes, while averting hers. Pink anklets of thin shell-tubes came first. Then, attesting to his rebirth, they tied on the belt that had sky signs around it. And from it, a thick twisted cord hung over a white shell bearing the painted face of the Xoc fish.

Jewels came next—jade earflares and a necklace of jade beads surrounding a god-face medallion. Pearls sewn onto white sacrificial cloths were tied around his upper arms and then he bowed to receive a tall headdress of white flowers in front, with twisted and oversized maize leaves in back. 

Fully gowned, and gloriously adorned, the maize god expressed gratitude to the goddesses by facing the palm of one hand to them, while receiving the blessings from above with the other. 

I wondered, What about the skirt? In other places the story had him wearing a skirt made of jade tubes and beads in the form of an open net—like those on turtle’s carapace. Even the lords on monuments were shown wearing the beaded skirt. 

The dwarf escorted the maize god to the canoe again. Now, the twins turned and paddled with the bow rising. The dwarf followed, beating a turtle shell with an antler to call back the god of lightning and rain. While we were watching, another man painted black ran out, pulled the Underworld cloth off the platform and ran back. Six others clad in black paint with green leaves, twigs and vine carried out an enormous turtle shell, taller than a man and three times as long with the net pattern painted on its back. While they took it up the steps and set it on the platform, four more men painted black brought out torches and took positions alongside and in front of Great Turtle—the world. 

The tellers at Naachtun said the world was a bony skull. At Cancuen they said it was a crocodile. 

The tree drum pounded. Boom!—Boom! Another joined it. Boom!!—Boom!! Boom!! And then a third: BOOM!—BOOM! BOOM! Faster and pounding hard, the drums brought back Chaak who spun and swung his axe, dancing toes-first with knee lifts. I was so intent on the dance I didn’t notice that the canoe had disappeared into the darkness.

The twin gods came before us again, now with seed bags strung across their shoulders. When the drumming stopped, they raised their arms in a gesture that invited us to stand and recite the words we’d learned as sprouts and flowers. 

All is still, silent and calm. Hushed and empty is the womb of the sky. There is not yet one person, one animal, bird, fish, tree, rock or forest. All alone is the sky. The face of the earth has not yet appeared. Alone lies the expanse of the sea, along with the womb of the sky. There is not yet anything gathered together. All is at rest. Nothing stirs. All is calm, at rest in the sky. There is not yet anything standing erect. Only the expanse of the water, only the quiet sea. There is not yet anything that might exist. All lies calm and silent in the darkness of the night.  

After a moment of silence, there came a sound of knocking on wood. Chaak tilted his head and put a hand to his ear. The sound came again, louder. With the dwarf marking his steps on the carapace drum, the lightning lord approached the platform and went up the steps. Standing behind Great Turtle, he listened again. And then he spoke. “How shall it be sown? Who will be the Provider? Who will be the Sustainer? Let it be so. Let it be known. Let it be seen.”

To a flurry of drumming, Chaak gripped the handle of his axe with both hands, swung the head forward making it look heavy. Swinging it back and high, he brought it down with a single hard pounding of all the drums. After that, except for the fluttering of torches, silence. 

The sacred moment had arrived. I held my breath. And then it came—the sound of a crack. Then another, louder. The bearers in black leaned their torches toward Great Turtle. Another loud crack and the shell broke open. Chaak stood back with his palms facing the turtle, the sign of wonder and glory. First to rise out of the split shell were green maize leaves, then feathers and a headdress with yellow tassels. Beneath it, was the face of the maize god. Again, he seemed to be looking through us rather than at us. One Lord offered the seed bag to him, and he took a handful of seeds. Standing up to his knees in the crack, he turned and scattered the seeds to the four directions. 

At Waka’, the tellers said he rose from a split in a mountain. At Xultun they said it was the back of a peccary. So many differences.

The twins helped the maize god step out of the carapace. When he came down and his feet touched the floor a flute sounded and he began a joyful toe-heel dance with graceful arm movements, turning, taking more seeds from the bag, casting them to the four directions. 

With the dance completed and the dwarf drumming on his carapace shell, the dancers followed the maize god across the courtyard to House of Raised Up Sky. There, inside the shrine, according to Venerable Amaté, Yellow Fire’s wife would present him with the offering bowl containing the sacred bloodletter. Venerable Amaté said he preferred a stingray spine. 

WALKING BACK TO THE LODGE WITH MY BROTHERS, I mentioned some of the differences in The Dance of The Maize god story as it was told from place to place. “Just like us,” Venerable Amaté said, “the gods reveal themselves in different ways at different times and in different places.”

“Are you saying the stories can all be true?”

Venerable Toucan dropped back so he could see my face by the light of his torch. “It is the truth of the story that matters, what it says beyond what the tellers say about the gods—how they look and what they wear.”

“Even if I was authorized,” I said. “I would not tell god stories. I cannot know which of them is true.”

Venerable Amaté’s face flickered in the orange light. “Our Bounty is not a member of the brotherhood, but he took the vow of truth. Had he not believed the story of the maize god as it is told and danced here, he could not have surrendered his body to him.”

“If I were on your path,” Venerable Toucan said, “I would not want to be authorized. The gods are spirits. No one can say what they are like. Like rain falling on the hand, we cannot hold their descriptions. But we can and should grasp the truth of their stories—the lessons they provide.”    

“I have heard so many different voices on this, I do not know what to believe,” I said.

“What do your ancestors say?” Venerable Amaté asked.

“They were warriors, they have not guided me very well. I do not trust them.”

“Trust your ch’ulel, Wakah. That is where pure truth resides.”

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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 

Jaguar Wind And Waves: A novel of the Early Classic Maya

Jaguar Sun: The Journey of an Ancient Maya Storyteller

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