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IN n the beginning there was one god all alone, the one great spirit, and this god’s name was Ometeotl (Oh-meh-TEH-ohtl). Before time itself began, before lightness and darkness, this spirit already existed. Whether it always existed outside of time and space or had somehow invented itself we cannot know, but certainly this spirit never had a mother or a father. Ometeotl contained within itself all of the energy of the universe. All life and death, all creation and destruction. And it possessed all the powers of the masculine and the feminine inside itself as well.
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For the name Ometeotl means the “God of Duality,” and it (or rather, He-and-She) ruled over all of the opposing and contradictory forces in the chaotic cosmos. Thus it was established at the top and from the start: Although the energies of day and night and of life and death were diametrically opposed, this orbit must not end in the victory of light over the defeat of darkness. Rather each one needed the other in order to be in harmony, and to be a creative force. As a bowstring is only powerful when kept in tension, it was the flip-side faceoff of confrontational natures that created everything, and that sustained everything.
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Now while the God of Duality was still all alone, the forces of light and dark, positive and negative, matter and spirit, were all jumbled up and infused with each other. But Ometeotl was too inventive for this equilibrium to last forever. The great spirit divided its essence into two halves: one male and one female. These were named Ometecuhtli (OH-meh-TEH-coot-lee) the “Lord of Duality,” and Omecihuatl (OH-meh-SEE-wahtle) the “Lady of Duality.”
Yet Ometeotl did not cease to be. These two gods when combined together equaled Ometeotl, for his-and-her spirit infused everything, and could never be separated from any its divine creations. In the future, many other gods would also split themselves into multiple variations of themselves which existed side by side. But instead of weakening the original, they empowered it. These offshoots of each god were known as his or her manifestations. |
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The Lord and Lady of Duality were endlessly fruitful, and all of the numerous gods and goddesses of the Aztec pantheon are descended from their partnership. The masculine partnered with the feminine thus became the first example of how two opposite forces could merge together to create life.
This Divine Couple embraced their roles as complimentary opposites. The Lord ruled over the forces of daytime, with its vaporous and ethereal elements of fire and air. He dressed in a cloak of blood red, representing the dawn. The Lady was nocturnal, ruling by moonlight over the cool and weighty elements of earth and water. She wore a black gown which twinkled with all the stars of the cosmos. They were equal and they were perfection together. |
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In the days of the ancients, the Aztecs saw the world above us as divided into thirteen different zones and heavens. Each was layered one upon the other as they transcended above the realms that we can see and feel, on up until they disappeared in the unknowable dominions of the gods, the children of the Divine Couple.
The first and lowest fundament of all was the surface of the earth. The second story was up in the sky where the beloved god of rain named Tlaloc performed his work, with his lush clouds kissing the mountaintops he ruled. Tlaloc was joined in his stratum by the orbit of the moon, which the Aztecs compared to a delicate little wire arch that grew into a large red millstone as the month rolled by. The third level was the expanse of the stars and the Milky Way. In the evening, the ancients imagined the Lady of Duality, Omecihuatl, as casting her luminous, black vast mantle of stars over and across the dome of night. The fourth of these heavens belonged to the god of the sun, Tonatiuh (Toh-nah-TEE-yoo). A magnificent god, this was the course he travelled as he rose from his palace of light in the east and travelled through his skyway triumphantly, until he plunged in the west through the crust of the earth and down into the midnight of the underworld. |
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Above the moon, the stars, and the sun, the fifth region belonged all alone to a suprising master: the planet we know as Venus. The Aztecs saw its appearance and disappearance as that of two powerful twin brothers trading off duties, gods who we will hear much more about.
One brother, Quetzalcoatl (Ket-sal-COH-ahtl), was born in the east as the Morning Star each day, only to retreat from view as the majesty of the sun rose higher and chased him away. His twin brother Xolotl (SHOW-lowtle) later appeared at dusk as the Evening Star, and as he set he pursued the sun below the horizon, passing away and following him down into the land of the dead. |
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Higher still was the sixth sphere of the comets, known as “smoking stars.” When comets appeared, they were believed to be unnatural and frightening omens of coming tragedy, such as invasion or the death of a ruler. This was the most distant orbit that human eyes were able to see.
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The next three domains were without divine inhabitants, remainders of the primal turmoil from before the first creations. The seventh Black Heaven was a vacant cloak of perpetual midnight. Above it was the tranquility of the radiant eighth Blue Heaven: Its brilliant, everlasting azure was that of the meridian daylight at its most lucid; a sunless sky at its brightest and bluest. And frowning above this cerulean serenity was the ninth heaven: A turbulent world of storms, where discord and strife clashed in a realm of primal chaos. Although the Lord and Lady of Duality were soon to merge and unify the forces of darkness and light, these realms remained permanently split into the stark contrast of opposition.
At last came the three dominions of the White Heaven, the Yellow Heaven, and the twelfth Red Heaven. These were the elevated dwelling places of the gods themselves. However, the knowledge of which divinity chose what heaven for their abode was and remains a mystery. From this eminence the gods would hear mortal prayers and descend to earth in physical form. At the summit of the universe was Omeyocan, the “Place of Duality.” In this primordial source of all life, the Lord and Lady of Duality dwelled amongst waters pictured as the color of a bluebird, in a delicate atmosphere that was cold and iced. Although exceedingly remote within such majesty, the Divine Couple played not only a powerful but a tender and intimate part in human life. It was they who would determine not just the birthday but the fundamental destiny of each and every mortal as we enter the world. |
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13 Omeyocan- The Place of Duality
––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––– 12 The Red Heaven ––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––– 11 The Yellow Heaven ––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––– 10 The White Heaven ––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––– 9 The Heaven of Storms ––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––– 8 The Blue Heaven ––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––– 7 The Black Heaven ––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––– 6 The Heaven of the Smoking Stars ––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––– 5 The Heaven of the Morning and Evening Star ––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––– 4 The Heaven of the Sun ––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––– 3 The Heaven of the Star-Skirted Goddess ––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––– 2 The Heaven of the Rain God and the Moon ––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––– 1 The surface of the earth |
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These levels of the cosmos were reflected in a towering temple the Aztecs built to Ometeotl. This tower had one story for each layer of the heavens, and the highest was black and studded with stars. Although this temple was richly adorned inside it uniquely contained no statue, for Ometeotl was the “Unknown God,” as invisible as the night and intangible as the wind. Ometeotl never felt love or anger for mortals, but was aloof and ambivalent to our existence, finding completion in itself.
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IN the age when darkness still ruled, the Lord and Lady of Duality chose to bring forth new life and gave birth to four sons.
The first of these brothers was named Xipe Totec (SHEE-peh TOH-tec). He was the god of springtime and rejuvenation, of fertility itself, and his skin was the color blood red. The second son was Tezcatlipoca (Tess-cot-lee-POH-cah), and his skin was as black as night. He was the lord of darkness, the biggest of the four brothers, and some would say the most terrible of them. His name means “Smoking Mirror,” and he was capricious and inscrutable. The third child was Quetzalcoatl (Ket-sal-COH-ahtl), the kindhearted god of the wind. When in the form of a man he shone as white as a star, but often he soared through the sky as a giant serpent covered in plumes of emerald green. The youngest of the four was Huitzilopochtli (Weet-seel-oh-POACH-tlee), the prince of war. His name means “Southern Hummingbird.” He wore a mask in the shape of his namesake, and his weapons and attire were of turquoise blue. |
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With the appearance of these four new gods, eternity started to be counted in the years, and the vastness of space was separated into dark waters below a midnight sky. Ometecuhtli and Omecihuatl, the Divine Couple, entrusted their sons with unique creative powers of their own.
Six hundred years passed by in divine tranquility. Since the dawn of time, the order of duality had always held the universe in harmonious balance. But now the new gods were proving restless, and the tensions between them were ever growing. It was this tension the world had been waiting for. Under the Lord and Lady of Duality opposites were often found to be complementary to each other, and when these dynamic forces strained away from each other, the result was often a bursting of creations. The four brother gods assembled together at last. They debated what work needed to be done, how to organize their duties, and which laws they would establish and agree to follow. Of all the gods, no relationship was more volatile than that of the two greatest, Tezcatlipoca and Quetzalcoatl. Since they were both offshoots of the same great spirit, they could sometimes work together as allies. But their destinies more often called on them to strive against each other as eternal rivals. Quetzalcoatl and Tezcatlipoca were each other’s nemesis and trickster. 
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Now in these days, beneath the dark and swirling heavens there was no land to be found, just the endless surface of the water. As they looked over this vast and black expanse the gods said to one another, “Somehow, we will have to create an earth.” But with what raw material? As it happens, these brothers were no longer alone in the cosmos.
At the horizon where the sea meets sky, an endless waterfall poured steadily down from the levels of heaven, filling up the ocean. It was down this primeval cascade a hideous goddess made her way. Her name was Tlaltecuhtli (Tlahl-teh-COOT-lee). She was a colossal, amphibious monster, as broad and loathsome as a toad. Spiny, taloned, and with a huge toothy maw, she had crocodilian ridges along her back that stretched like great mountain ranges. Her body was covered over with alarming eyes where no eyes should be. Being eternally hungry she even had beastly jaws at her elbows, jaws at her knees, and jaws at her wrists, snapping at the air when there was nothing left to bite. |
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Quetzalcoatl and Tezcatlipoca said to each other that they could not complete their work of forming the earth with such a horrendous creature in their midst. No sooner was this agreed upon when they were struck by an idea: They could mold the earth using the body of Tlaltecuhtli herself.
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Peering into the dark water the two brothers could see the female monster swimming far below. To entice her to come to the surface Tezcatlipoca wiggled his mighty foot above the water as a bait. Rushing up as fast as a shark, Tlaltecuhtli suddenly bit down on Tezcatlipoca’s leg and tore his foot clean off, swallowing it whole. This event would ripple forever through the ages for, as it happens, Tezcatlipoca would one day become the most powerful god on earth, and neither he nor anyone would forget this mutilation. Enraged, Tezcatlipoca seized the monster by her mouth and, pulling violently, tore her lower jaw from her skull. Unable to close her mouth, Tlaltecuhtli was now trapped on the surface of the water.
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The two brothers quickly transformed themselves into a pair of enormous serpents. Quetzalcoatl seized the goddess by the right hand and the left foot, while Tezcatlipoca bound her from the left hand to the right foot, forming a sort of cross along her body. Wrestling with the immense deity, the two pulled violently at Tlaltecuhtli until finally she was torn in two pieces. Tezcatlipoca and Quetzalcoatl left one half of her body floating on the water to make the earth. Her other half they carried victoriously up to heaven, with which they formed the watery dome of the sky. To their minds she had been chaos itself, and her transformation seemed to reintroduce a kind of order to the world.
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Far from being proud of their sons, however, the Divine Couple were furious with the violent slaying and dismembering of Tlaltecuhtli. They ordered all the gods to descend to where her shambled remains lay floating, in order to console her spirit and try to make amends with her. The Lord and Lady of Duality ordered that from her body would spring a new and abundant form of life. This was the first vegetation.
The gods labored to form the features of the earth from Tlaltecuhtli’s body. Her hair sprouted into trees and flowers, while dainty grasses billowed from her skin. From her sorrowful eyes came springs and fountains, from her mouths deep caverns and mighty rivers. Her shoulders pushed up to form the mountains, and around her nose was found their rolling valleys. |
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The Divine Couple was pleased. “Now at last she will be satisfied,” they said to each other. But one feature had not changed. Those hungry mouths were still everywhere, biting at her own lips and moaning with hunger. True, when it rained she was refreshed. When flowers shriveled, trees fell down, or an animal quietly returned to dust she found a form of sustenance. But she demanded more than being polluted every day with worldly filth and refuse. In time, the nutrition that she would come to demand and depend on above all others would be the hearts of human beings.
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The ancients believed that when men were killed in combat or were offered up as victims on the stone of sacrifice, Tlaltecuhtli greedily drank their blood. Sometimes late at night, they said, when the wind blows you could still hear her weeping, whispering for our flesh. She would not be silenced without such offerings, nor bear fruit without an irrigation of the blood of men.
The ancients found a poetic way to honor Tlaltecuhtli: At first it seems as if the Aztecs carved sculptures of every god but her. Yet if you could look underneath those statues’ feet, on the underside of their base was sometimes carved an elaborate portrait of Tlaltecuhtli, hidden where none would ever see it again save the earth goddess herself. |
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Meanwhile, the Divine Couple was busy as well. They formed the formless darkness into a sacred night, and pinpointed the light into twinkling stars. At the horizon, the night sky curled down to join with the water, as if it were a house whose walls were made of the sea, and the black water and stars mingled in the heavenly vault. Pleased with their creation, the Lord gave himself the title “Star-Shine,” and the Lady named herself “Starry Skirt.”
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SOON after the formation of the earth and sky, other gods began to appear in the heavens. One was Tlaloc, the god of rain who poured forth fresh springs from the mountaintops. Although he looked fearsome, with large sharp canines and a goggled mask, he was a very giving and benevolent god. Another was Xiuhtecuhtli (SHEE-oo-TEH-coot-lee) the god of fire. He made himself known in the flames bursting skyward from earth’s volcanoes. As he was also the god of time, the march of time itself was now divided into the days and months. The gods then caused the passage of the stars through the night sky to reveal a person’s future destiny, the foundation of the astrological calendar.
The spirits next soared up into the sky, dividing the heavens into thirteen levels, and they dove down to the center of the earth, sculpting the underworld into nine dark regions. The Lord and Lady of the Underworld were then created and seated in their thrones to rule the hereafter, while the Lord and Lady of Duality looked down approvingly from heaven’s heights. |
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Although the sky had been hoisted high above the water, it still would need four pillars to prop and brace it up securely. The four original brothers traveled to each of the four compass points. Red Xipe Totec went to the East, black Tezcatilpoca to the North, Quetzalcoatl to the white West, and Huitzilopochtli to the blue South. From there they were supervised by the fire god Xiuhtecuhtli from where he sat at the earth’s center. These gods conjured up four impossibly tall trees, higher than the peaks of mountains. So tall in fact that they became known as the World Trees. Now the looming, watery dome of the sky overhead was stabilized in their mighty, interwoven branches.
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The gods decided to create a new, perishable race that would resemble the gods in form and serve them on the earth. To begin with, they created a prototype: The first two human beings. The male was named Oxomoco (Oh-sho-MO-co) and the female, Cipactonal (See-pock-TOH-nahl). Their duty to their creators was made clear from the first: “You must never waste time,” the gods murmured to them, “but reproduce yourselves, and always labor.”
In this hazy age of creation, the first ancestors set to work. Oxomoco cultivated the fields while Cipactonal busied herself with spinning and weaving. As the first human children of such illustrious parents, this happy couple was sparked with a divine fire. When their time on earth was spent, their spirits were not sent tumbling into the Underworld but were lifted into the heavens to forever live as immortals among the gods. |
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The great spirit of Ometeotl contained the four corners of these new creations like a splendid dream, living simultaneously above the highest heaven, beyond the water that circled the world, within the foundation of the earth, and below the roots of the underworld.
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AT last the earth had been completed, sculpted into mountains and valleys, and all was much as we know it today. There was just one massive omission: The sun. The gods assembled in a conclave down on earth to create the first sun together. But soon they would have to agree on which god would escort it up through the sky; a tremendous honor. Unsurprisingly, several gods coveted that duty.
The gods stood in a large circle facing each other and stretched their hands forward. Together they summoned a new light from the depths of the cosmos, and they began to gather it up into a ball. As he worked his magic along with the others, Tezcatlipoca kept persuading himself, “I am the one who ought to be the sun.” Although he of all gods was dark as a shadow. When the disc of the sun was complete, all the gods stepped backward to admire what they had created together. Tezcatlipoca said to himself, “Now is my chance.” He rushed into the circle, kidnapped the newborn sun, and bound it to his waist. With a leap, Tezcatlipoca rose up into the sky, and the first dawn was born. |
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The other gods were astonished at first. Finally they looked at each other and shrugged. After all, Tezcatlipoca was so powerful. “Oh well,” they said. “After all, someone has to be the sun. Let’s let him do the best he can.” According to the ancient books, this was the year 955 BCE.
Tezcatlipoca was victorious, but his sun was not the glory that we know today. It did shine, but dimly and dark red, about as half as bright as nowadays. It did rise, but when it reached the zenith the sun would start to sputter and go out, having only enough power for the first half of its course. |
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To people his world, Tezcatlipoca molded a race of giants from the earth’s ashes. These he called the Quinametzin (Keen-ah-MET-seen). These giants were so powerful they could rip trees up by the roots. They knew no crops. The giants lived only on acorns they gathered from the tree tops. They were so big, in fact, that they were afraid to crouch down or lean over, scared of collapsing under their own weight. While they walked the earth, instead of saying “hello” the giants greeted each other by calling, “Don’t fall!” For he who fell, fell forever.
For 676 long years the Smoking Mirror, Tezcatlipoca, ruled in this dismal fashion. The other gods realized they had made a mistake, that this first run of the cosmos was a failure. The people were too big and the sun too small. |
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The Divine Couple chose to commemorate this first sun, the “Sun of the Jaguar.” To this end they hung a new constellation of the Jaguar up in the sky, which we know as the Big Dipper. The Aztecs were able to watch it recreate the fall of the first sun, as it disappeared into the Pacific every night.
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Quetzalcoatl wasted no time in taking his rival’s place as the ruler of the universe. His second sun was known as the “Sun of the Wind.” He was brighter and more energetic than his adversary had been, having enough power to make it all the way across the sky.
What happened to the sun each night after it set in the west? As it happens, the widespread jaws of the earth monster Tlaltecuhtli lay waiting for it. The sun was swallowed by her and during the night it passed eastward through the bowels of the underworld. At dawn the sun was reborn from Tlatecuhtli’s womb and rose again. |
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Dethroned from the sky, Tezcatlipoca turned his energies to the earth. He created a new and smaller race on earth, people the size of modern humans. First he sculpted four hundred men, and after that he crafted a mere four women. These early people ate handfuls of pine nuts and the harsh mesquite for food, and they lived a hard life.
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Now, the earth monster Tlaltecuhtli’s cries for sustenance had grown more and more insistent over time. With the appearance of these new humans, it became their hearts’ blood that she craved. To satisfy her, Tezcatlipoca ordered these men to learn the arts of warfare. They were instructed to do battle not with the goal of killing their opponents, but to capture them and bring them home where they would be offered to Tlaltecuhtli as a human sacrifice on the altar stone. The fields of battle where the first blood fell became the meadows where the earth lady sent forth grateful shoots.
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Tezcatlipoca suffered Quetzalcoatl to rule for as long as he himself had ruled. But once the 676 years had passed, the time had come to end it.
Once more Tezcatlipoca took the form of a great jaguar, and he rushed up to Quetzalcoatl in his flight. He attacked the wind god with a tremendous kick, and the second sun was knocked from his firmament. |
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Quetzalcoatl plummeted toward earth, picking up speed as he fell. As he tore through the atmosphere the god swirled up a mighty windstorm. For days, the force of a hurricane swept across the earth. Homes were dashed apart, trees blown flat, and the warlike residents were thrown to the winds. A few were spared by scrambling to the tops of trees, clinging to their flexible branches, but even these were transformed by the gods into monkeys. One couple alone survived the blast by hiding deep within a cave. It was they who would repopulate the species. |
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It was time for a third sun to rule the skies and now old Tlaloc, the rain god, took his turn. This was the “Sun of the Rain.” Tezcatlipoca was thrilled with this promotion, for during this reign his authority would be in the ascendant again. Under Tlaloc’s rule crops were discovered by humankind. This however was not the corn we know today, and the people had to make do with a scrub called “water corn,” a coarse and nutty grain.
After 364 relatively peaceful years Quetzalcoatl convinced Xiuhtecuhtli, the god of fire, to put an end to it. One morning, as if in a cynical tribute to the Sun of Rain, Xiuhtecuhtli let fall his own precipitation: A rain of fire. Lava, flames, burning sand, and volcanic rock blazed from the sky, consuming everything in the inferno. The few who miraculously survived were transformed into wild turkeys. Just as before, one human pair was saved by imitating their clever ancestors who hid in a cave. These two emerged reborn from a cool, deep cavern out into the scorched earth’s sizzling remains. After a day-long blaze, the sun himself finally succumbed to the heat and went up in smoke. |
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In selecting the fourth sun, Quetzalcoatl saw an opportunity to reassert his influence. He chose to invite Tlaloc’s own consort and partner, the goddess of water Chalchiuhtlicue (CHAWL-chee-oot-LEE-kway) to enjoy that high honor; an invitation she accepted. It began to seem as if all creation and all destruction in the universe would simply be cosmic battles between Tezcatlipoca and Quetzalcoatl. Chalchiuhtlicue’s rule was appropriately called the “Sun of the Water.”
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Food was much improved–there was a richer crop called “grass corn” now–and the people multiplied rapidly. Life was prosperous, but melancholy: It rained all the time. Three hundred and twelve years passed by of nibbling grass corn, sitting, and staring at the rain.
Then one day it rained much harder and it didn’t stop. After weeks went by it became obvious it was unnatural. Did it come from Tezcatlipoca? Was he exacting his revenge upon his rival? Or was Chalchiuhtlicue overdoing her own watery bounty for reasons known only to her? |
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First the lakes and then even the ocean continued to rise and rise. People were evacuated to the mountaintops to escape the flood, but at last even these high peaks washed over. These few poor, swamped people were transformed by the gods into all the fishes of the sea. In the end, even the exhausted heavens finally collapsed onto the earth, and the tempest was over. |
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Four suns had been born and then wiped out in turn by the four elements. First by monsters of the earth, then by air, then by fire, and lastly by water. But life on earth was not quite through. There was one man and one woman left alive on earth.
No one has ever claimed to be able to peer into the mind of the inscrutable Tezcatlipoca. But although that god had so often been indifferent to the lives of mortals, for a reason known only to him he had shown affection to a certain human couple just before the flood. These two were named Tata and Nene, which means “Dada” and “Mama.” As the deadly flood waters began to rise he had said to them, “You must hollow out a great cypress tree and hide in it. Thus, when the flood arrives, you will be safe.” Next he presented them with a new and wonderful kind of food: Corn! “You will have only one cob of corn each,” Tezcatlipoca told them, “but this will see you through. Above all, do not be greedy for what you haven’t got. When the last of the kernels are gone you will find that your tree trunk has stopped rocking, and the water has receded from the earth.” When the rain fell, the two were cradled in their hollow barque. Obediently they nibbled their corn cobs, finding that just a little in fact went a long way. After many days of the deluge their vessel finally lodged on a high hill and they found that they were safe. But while they were finding their land-legs again they saw something they had never seen before: A fish, one of their unfortunate brethren left behind by the flood. Tata and Nene had grown used to corn by now, and were tempted by the promise of this new and exotic food. So Tata took some splinters of wood and began to twirl them rapidly between his hands. A little smoke appeared from this fire drill, then fire. The couple happily began to roast the fish in what they thought of as yet one more new discovery. But while they were feasting, meanwhile the black smoke was rising up into the heavens. As luck would have it, the telltale plume was noticed by none less than the Divine Couple–Star-Shine and Starry-Skirt. They called out to the gods their children, demanding, “Who is still on earth to have made this fire, and smoke up all the heavens so?” Tezcatlipoca immediately dropped from the sky in a rage, and demanded, “Oh, what have you done, Tata, what have you done?” Their action it seemed was wrong. It was as if they had been preparing a sort of human sacrifice to the gods from their kindred fish, but why was the Smoking Mirror so angry? Was it because instead of fasting (as would be appropriate for such a penance) they were about to consume the burnt offering themselves? Or because to create a fire without asking for a blessing from the gods was in itself a transgression? Or worst of all was their sin of having directly disobeyed Tezcatlipoca? Disgusted, the god struck off their heads, attached them to their bottoms, and transformed the two of them into a pair of dogs for having behaved like animals. |
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Granted, Tezcatlipoca and Quetzalcoatl had been the agents of destruction through four ages of man. But for now they agreed to meet once more not as adversaries but as allies. At the destruction of the fourth sun, the celestial vault had collapsed onto the earth and would need to be restored to proper height.
Although the sky below it was filled with the elements or air and fire, the blue dome itself was actually as heavy as earth and swollen with water, for it had been created from a part of Tlaltecuhtli. Having collapsed back onto the mountains, it would take a tremendous effort to lift it again. |
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The two gods traveled across the earth in opposite directions until they reached the horizon. From there, Tezcatlipoca entered the goddess Tlaltecuhtli through her mouth and Quetzalcoatl entered through her navel. Next they passed through the underworld towards each other, until they finally met up in her heart. Here they took root and began to grow skywards, transforming themselves into two saplings. Up, up they grew, pushing through the earth and lifting the sky with them, until as two great new World Trees they supported the firmament once more with their mighty limbs. Tezcatlipoca had become the “Mirror Tree,” its black trunk marked all over by shining circles of obsidian. Quetzalcoatl’s tree was called the “Plumed Willow,” and was covered by feathers as brilliant as an emerald.
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Leaving the World Trees to their duty, the two spirits leapt from the trunks and set about reconstructing the damaged earth. Tezcatlipoca used his wooden fire drill to kindle many small flames, relighting all of the extinguished stars in the night sky to honor the Lord and Lady of Duality once more.
When the earth was restored to her former glory, Quetzalcoatl and Tezcatlipoca rose into the sky from the edges of the world and traveled across the re-illuminated universe. Meeting each other at the center of heaven, they stood side by side and proclaimed themselves the rulers of all that lay before them. The Divine Couple was pleased. To honor their two sons for their efforts, they unfolded the Milky Way, to be a road for Tezcatlipoca and Quetzalcoatl as lords of the heavens. |
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EIGHT years after the great downpour, the last of the flood tides had drained away. Once again the world was cold, dark, and deserted. A council was held in heaven, and all of the gods attended. (All that is except Mictlantecuhtli [Meek-tlawn-teh-COOT-lee], the Lord of the Underworld, and his Lady. Their kingdom of the dead was quite bustling by now.) The heavenly council agreed that recreating humankind was the first priority. “The skies have subsided and the earth is dry,” the gods said. “Now who will the people be to live on it?”
One may well wonder why the gods would find the existence of humans necessary in the first place. One answer may be that the gods were simply not masters without mortals to serve and worship them. The other may be that, like Tlaltecuhtli, the gods were finding a hunger inside them that only the vitality of humans could fill. The council decided that one of their number must make a journey down into Mictlan (Meek-TLAWN), the underworld, to search for the bones of humans who had died in an earlier age. These precious bones once brought up to heaven might then be magically resurrected into a pair of living beings. Quetzalcoatl, the god of wind, was chosen for the quest. |
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Quetzalcoatl departed, travelling north into the great steppes––a chilly, twilight country. Here the entrance to Mictlan lay through a large, deep cave. At this hellmouth Quetzalcoatl was met by a god friendly to him named Xolotl (SHOW-lowtle). Now all of the gods were in a sense brothers, but Xolotl in particular was Quetzalcoatl’s own twin. Xolotl took the form of a large dog. He offered to serve his brother as a guide through Mictlan, with which he was very familiar.
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Descending cautiously into the underworld, Quetzalcoatl passed beneath the rocks and roots of trees into a dangerous place, daunting even to the god who had long ago helped create it. It was damp and cavernous, and moist with excrement where insects fed and bodies rotted. He dropped deeper and deeper through the nine levels of the kingdom of the dead, until he reached the throne room of the Lord and Lady of Mictlan.
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There they sat, in all their hideousness, surrounded by owls and the webs of spiders. Their clothing was made from bones, and they wore frightening masks made from broad-jawed skulls.
Quetzalcoatl presented himself before these two grim gods, and without so much as a polite introduction to the king and queen of this realm he got right down to business. “The precious bones of the human ancestors are all in your possession,” he announced. “I have come for them.” Mictlantecuhtli leaned forward, with his long, black hair. “Quetzalcoatl,” he hissed, “what will you do with them?” |
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Quetzalcoatl told him of the divine plan. “The gods are anxious,” he said. “They keep asking, ‘Who will inhabit the earth?’”
“Very well,” said Mictlantecuhtli, “I will give you some of my bones, if you can perform a simple task for me: Take this trumpet, and blow music from it while you circle four times around my beautiful realm. |
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Now trumpets, in the ancients’ time, were always made from a conch shell, by drilling holes into it for the fingers and mouth to play. What Mictlantecuhtli handed Quetzalcoatl, however, was no instrument––just a plain shell, with no holes at all. Quetzalcoatl was not to be outsmarted now. After considering a moment, he began to whisper to all the worms that dwelled in the dead land: “Come O worms, come to me, and hollow out this trumpet.” And the worms came, poking through the soil overhead and dropping onto the shell. They quickly burrowed through the conch as if it were made of earth. Quetzalcoatl called next to the bees, which came swarming down the tunnels. They buzzed into the trumpet, making it sound, while Quetzalcoatl the god of wind breezed four times through craggy Mictlan as light as a feather.
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When Mictlantecuhtli heard the trumpet roar he admitted defeat. Quetzalcoatl alighted before the throne and the dead god told him, “Very well, then. The bones are yours. Take them.” Quetzalcoatl left his presence and hunted for the skeletons he needed. Finding a good specimen of a man and a woman, he gathered their bones together and tied them up in a bundle.
Meanwhile, Mictlantecuhtli was having second thoughts. Was not Mictlan called the “Cul-de-Sac,” and the “Place of No Exits?” And would the Lord of the Dead now allow two of his subjects to escape, in any form? There was something else: Though we can never know, it may have been that Quetzalcoatl was intending this generation of humans to be special, that––being the final race of mankind––they would live forever. If this were true Mictlantecuhtli was right to be nervous, for death was like birth to him. His kingdom was filled with subjects to do his bidding, and they were right where they belonged––underground.
“People of Mictlan!” he cried to his minions. “Spirits!” And the shadowy phantoms of the land of death came rising before him. “Find Quetzalcoatl and tell him that the bones he has borrowed must return to me. He may have them for a while, but he must bring them back.” 
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The spirits sailed down the corridor, calling, “Quetzalcoatl, our lord decrees you must not keep the bones forever.”
Quetzalcoatl chortled to himself at this, “Indeed I shall. They are mine once and for all, and they must live forever.” But the spirit of his twin, Xolotl was by his side to guide him. “Don’t tell them that,” he warned. “Just tell them that the bones will be returned. Tell them you will leave them here.” Quetzalcoatl accepted this advice and boomed down the corridor, “All right! I am leaving the bones here!” The spirits were satisfied and turned around, returning to their master. But Quetzalcoatl was running up to earth as fast as he could. The devious Mictlantecuhtli sensed this and he cried to his servants, “Don’t believe him! Spirits, can Quetzalcoatl really be carrying away our precious bones? If you let them get away they will never come back. Spirits, hurry! Go and dig a grave for him.” Although Quetzalcoatl was running back up at great speed the phantoms were in their own element and quickly overtook him. Stopping in a dark part of the catacombs where they knew he must soon pass, the spirits dug a deep pit into the earth and hid. Quetzalcoatl, running on foot with his bundle, soon came upon it. Suddenly a flock of quail burst out from the cave and flew up in his face. Quetzalcoatl was startled by these birds of the underworld and he tripped on a rock, dropping like a dead man into the pit. The world spun around him and went black . . . When Quetzalcoatl came to, he found the bundle had torn open and the precious bones were scattered everywhere. The quail were still present, and to his horror he saw them nibbling and gnawing at the bones. Because the bones had been broken, we are today the flawed and ill-proportioned creatures that we are, some greater and some smaller. Worst of all however, by eating of our flesh the birds of the dead land claimed and corrupted our tissue, meaning that humankind must return to the lord of Mictlan after all. Quetzalcoatl wept. “How could it be?” he lamented. “The bones have been preyed upon, and after a while they will begin to rot and there will be death in the world. You cannot change it.” He turned to the spirit of Xolotl, his twin brother, and asked him, “What shall I do now?” |
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Xolotl answered, “How will things be? They will be undone. But seeing as things have turned out so badly, let’s just let them turn out as they may.”
Although he felt defeated, Quetzalcoatl saw that nothing prevented him from taking the bones now. Gathering them up, such as they were, he finally escaped the underworld and the saw the light of the stars once more. The god carried them up to the heavens. |
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When he arrived in the home of the gods he was greeted a very powerful goddess named Cihuacoatl (See-wah-COH-ahtl). Her name means "Lady Serpent," and she was the most feared and respected goddess of them all––dark, ruthless, and militant. Cihuacoatl took the bones from the depleted Quetzalcoatl and she kneeled down by her hearth. There she ground the bones on her mortar as if they were made of so much corn, and poured the bone meal into a beautiful jade urn. Quetzalcoatl was a powerful creator god, but even gods looked for assistance.
Several gods joined Quetzalcoatl around this vessel while he prepared to perform an act of self-sacrifice. Drawing out a sharp needle, the god steeled himself and pushed the length of it through the end of his penis. As the drops of blood welled up he let them fall into the urn of bone. Through an act of divine magic this blood fertilized the ground bone meal. The other male gods followed Quetzalcoatl’s example, each adding their own potency to the mixture. From this blood-moistened dough, the body of a baby boy began to take form. He was followed some time later by the appearance of a little girl. The circle of deities rejoiced. “O gods, the people have been born!” they proclaimed. “They have been given life through our penitence, and they will serve us. We bled for them, and they shall bleed for us!” The Aztecs believed that the gods, as sons and daughters of the Divine Couple, were in debt to their creators and served them always. By our creation the gods became masters of children of their own, and we were born their vassals and debtors. To pretend to be independent from them was the sign of a dangerous ego run wild. The gods could now celebrate a great victory: Humans were returned to the face of the earth! But, fragile as they were, the gods also knew they must quickly find something suitable for them to live on. The spirits convened in heaven once more. This time the great question was “What will the people eat?” Now corn was known about and Tezcatlipoca had given a precious pair of ears to Tata and Nene. But where to find this rich food now, there was no god who could or would say. “This corn must be discovered,” was the consensus, and after the meeting a refreshed Quetzalcoatl swept down to earth to hunt for it. |
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In no time at all, his sharp eyes spied a little red ant. Her name was Azcatl (AWS-cawtle) and she was carrying a single kernel of corn in her jaws. He dropped down before her. “This food you are carrying is very important,” he told her. “Where did you find it?”
But the stubborn little ant refused to tell. It took a bit of bullying on Quetzalcoatl’s part, but in the end she finally confessed, “I got it from there!,” indicating a rocky mountain. “Come this way,” she told him. |
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Quetzalcoatl transformed himself into a black ant and followed her to this hill. Its name, she told him, was “Mount Sustenance.” Within the rock there was a narrow little tunnel that only an insect could have squeezed through, and the two of them passed within. Once inside, an astonished Quetzalcoatl beheld that the mountain was hollow, and filled like a vault with all kinds of seeds and grains. There were corn, peppers, beans, and all the bounty that Mexico enjoys which had been concealed for eons.
Quetzalcoatl lifted a few kernels of corn with the assistance of the little red ant Azcatl, and carried them out of the mountain. Returning to his natural form, he carried his helper with her precious cargo up to heaven where the gods were waiting. These deities had become as loving and as doting as a mother bird to the infant humans. The gods themselves chewed up the corn for the babies and placed it in their little mouths to give them strength. “Now,” Quetzalcoatl asked the gods, “what shall we do with Mount Sustenance?” “We shall break it open,” they cried, “and give the produce to the mortals!” Quetzalcoatl valiantly slung a long rope around the mountaintop and tried to fly away with it on his back, but the peak was too massive for even that god to lift. After the failure of this heroic (yet presumably humbling) attempt, the gods decided to ask the advice of the oldest humans of them all, Oxomoco and Cipactonal. This was the first man and woman ever created, who had been granted eternal life even before the first sun had ever risen. |
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This immortal couple had by now lived to a very ripe old age indeed. By studying the astrological calendar and practicing therapeutic magic, they had become experts in curative witchcraft and the art of soothsaying. Commissioned by the gods to answer their pressing question, Oxomoco and Cipactonal consulted the very substance that was sought: They cast a handful of corn kernels into a bowl of water, in order to divine the future from its patterns. From this augury, the husband and wife could positively state that the god named Nanahuatzin (Nah-nah-WAT-seen) must throw down a bolt of lightning to crack open Mount Sustenance.
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The gods must have been surprised, for Nanahuatzin was an unlikely candidate. His name means “Lord Venereal Disease,” and he was poor, sickly, and covered with scabs. Despite this, he was rumored by some to be the son of Quetzalcoatl himself. Nanahuatzin, though modest and humble, obediently did as he was asked. He took up a powerful, destructive creature called a “Fire Serpent” (which we can see in the sky today as a lightning bolt) and cast it with all his might at Mount Sustenance.
It was a success! The mountain split wide open, and the peppers, the sage leaves, the beans, and all came spilling out through the rift. Over everything poured the black, white, yellow, and red grains of corn that had been so coveted. |
This magnificent cornucopia lasted but a moment, however, as he who had hidden such bounty finally revealed himself––Tlaloc, the god of rain, who would by no means permit the priceless crops he had so jealously guarded to be released from his stewardship. He sent in his diminutive assistants, spirits called the Tlaloque (TLAW-low-kay) who looked very much like their master (right down to his distinctive mask) but were much smaller. From the four directions they whistled down the wind; blue and yellow, white and red they came. The Tlaloque rushed to the spilled wealth of grains, hastily gathering up every last seed, and spirited them away before the other gods could claim them for their own. Everything was stolen back and dropped at Tlaloc’s door. Since then he has been the real dispenser not only of the rain but of the crops as well. Tlaloc would only give a portion of both rain and grain each year at his discretion, though some years less than others. Tlaloc was worshipped as a kind-hearted god, but in some years even he would demand an exchange in offerings of human blood.
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To see things through, the gods decided to hold another grand council, not in heaven this time but down on earth. There they had built a majestical city of their own called Teotihuacan, the “Place where Gods Are Made.” The ruins of this remarkable metropolis with its magnificent pyramids can still be visited today northeast of Mexico City. The gods descended into this perpetual midnight to debate which of their number should be the final sun to light the world. “O gods, come hither!” cried the first spirits to arrive, alighting round an outdoor hearth. There they kindled a blaze to warm them, which spread into a great bonfire. |
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When all of the gods had gathered there in Teotihuacan, one of their number broke the silence: “Who shall carry the great burden, spirits? Which of us will take it upon himself to leap into the fire, to become the fifth sun and bring the dawn?”
“I will be the one to do it,” one god quickly volunteered. It was Tecuciztecatl (TEH-coo-sees-TEH-cahtle), whose name means “Lord of the Conch.” He was rumored to be the son of the rain god Tlaloc, and was very aristocratic. The other gods however insisted on having a second contender, just to be sure. As they all stared into the hot coals, however, fear began to grow in many of their hearts. A few names were suggested and yet, “I’ll let someone else do it” was the invariable response. While some of the most popular and powerful gods were excusing themselves and stepping back from the heat, one god humbly stood his ground and just listened: Nanahuatzin, he who had broken open Mount Sustenance with the fire serpent. No, there was no equality among the gods. Some were wealthy and powerful, while others were poor and trampled on. When the gods finally noticed the wretched Nanahuatzin, however, it was the venerable Xiuhtecuhtli––the father of the bonfire which blazed before them––who offered, “Why not let Nanahuatzin be the sun?” This nomination was seconded by no less than the majestic Ometecuhtli, the Lord of Duality. The Lord of Venereal Disease modestly demured, saying, “Oh no, not me! I’m ugly, and covered in open sores.” But despite these courtly protestations he did not refuse his duty. Like a stoic warrior, he prepared to pay his debt on behalf of the gods. Now that the future sun and his understudy had been selected, they were ordered to purify themselves through acts of penance. Two enormous pyramids were constructed by the gods, for Tecuciztecatl and Nanahuatzin to fast and prepare themselves upon. These can still be seen in the ruins of Teotihuacan, the Pyramid of the Sun and the Pyramid of the Moon. The great bonfire burned on for four days (such as days could be counted, when all the world was in a predawn darkness). All that time the two gods kept their vigil. |
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Tecuciztecatl, on his pyramid, offered to the gods the most costly materials that riches could buy. The Aztecs would expect a worshiper's ceremonial trappings to be made of fir branches, but the Lord of the Conch instead provided the rare tail plumes of the quetzal bird. A mortal worshiper would have pushed cactus spines through his flesh to draw blood, which would then be stored in a pincushion of laurel leaves. But this haughty god offered up awls of jade tipped in blood-red coral, then folded them into an orb of gold. The incense he burnt, needless to say, was rare and fine indeed. |
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Atop the other pyramid, Nanahuatzin was making his own homely obeisance. True, in place of fir boughs he had set mere bundles of reeds, but the cactus spines he nested in a grass pincushion were covered with his own very real blood. These thorns were scratched across his limbs, pressed through his ears, and even pushed through his tongue, to mortify his flesh through such self-discipline. For incense, the penniless god burned syphilitic scabs he picked from his own body. |
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The four dark days passed, and when the holy hour of midnight rolled around, the gods dressed the prospective sun and his alternate for the great event. Tecuciztecatl was richly adorned in costly fabrics and heron feathers, accoutered like an emperor. Nanahuatzin made do with a suit of paper, but his garb was styled like a warrior’s. The two gods then adopted the markings that every sacrificial victim since would imitate: They chalked their bodies white, and pasted black feathers upon their arms.
The gods then formed a circle around the hearth. All the creators were there, with names like “First Born,” “Red Skirt,” and “Lord on the Water.” Tezcatlipoca, Quetzalcoatl, Tlaloc, Xipe Totec, even the Divine Couple had descended for the great event. Many animals and birds were attracted by the spectacle as well, and they formed an audience. Within that ring, the fierce sacrificial pyre was burning so hot that they nicknamed it the “God-Oven,” and the two victims faced each other on either side. The pompous Lord of the Conch stepped forward, and the gods cried to him, “Now, Tecuciztecatl, do it! Hurl yourself into the fire!” The star of the show advanced towards the wall of fire, when suddenly overwhelmed by its hot wind, he drew back afraid. Four times the arrogant god walked to the pyre, and four times he inevitably cringed away again. |
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But there would be no fifth attempt. The gods now turned to the second-string Lord of Venereal Disease, calling, “All right then, Nanahuatzin, you try!” The moment the gods spoke his name, Nanahuatzin knew he would never falter nor turn back in fear. Now he felt hard, resolved, and he told himself, “Don’t be afraid. You will soar up through the air, and light up the world!” Determined in his heart and daring, Nanahuatzin firmly shut his eyes and leapt into the fire once and for all: The god’s body was soon consumed by the flame, crackling and sizzling as it roasted on the blazing hearth. Seeing his glory stolen by such refuse, Tecuciztecatl leaped into the dying embers of transformation, and he too was consumed. |
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The ancient legends say that two spectators from the animal kingdom also found the lure of immortality irresistable. They too leapt into the dying coals. To prove his bravery, the golden eagle came first, followed closely by the jaguar. The eagle was scorched all black and became a creature of the sun. The jaguar, mottled by the ashes, became a monster of the night. Our ancestors honored them for their courage, naming an order of military knighthood after each of them.
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Now there was nothing for the gods to do but sit and wait while Nanhuatzin, as all the dead must do, dropped into Mictlan. He had voluntarily destroyed his heavy, corrputed flesh, and was purified by such a sacrifice. There in the underworld was he visited by the Divine Couple, who bathed him lovingly, seated him on a throne they had made from the feathers of the spoonbill, and placed a bright red diadem upon his brow. Thus decked, the rejuvenated god began to travel underground, toward the horizon.
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Suddenly, the sky above was lit by the pink light of dawn, from all directions at once. The rosy glow grew until noon, when they knew Nanahuatzin must soon appear. But from where? Some spirits peered to the north, hoping that was where the sun would rise. Others craned to watch the west or south. But Quetzalcoatl said to himself, “I know the sun will rise in the east.” He was right.
The fiery sun rose flaming and red, newly delivered from the underworld. Nanahuatzin no longer existed. He had been transformed into a new god who would henceforth be called Tonatiuh (Toh-nah-TEE-yoo), meaning “He Goes Warming.” His piercing beams were brilliant, blinding, and fired in all directions like arrows from a bow. |
The admirable scene was suddenly intruded upon by the appearance of the coward Tecuciztecatl, who rose up in the sky as a second sun. But such equality was intolerable to the gods. One of them, named Papaztac, snatched a luckless rabbit from the crowd, and used it to strike the Lord of the Conch smack in the face. Wounded and humiliated, the light of the second sun went dim. (A rabbit can still be seen to this day as a scar on the face of the moon.) The scoffing gods said amongst themselves, “He offered fake blood, and dove into a spent fire. No wonder he became a false sun.”
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At last the sun was up. But all too soon, disaster struck: After climbing slowly for a moment, Tonatiuh faltered a little bit from side to side and then came to a halt. The gods were aghast: “How shall we live if the sun is still?”
They decided to send a messenger to the distant sun to find out what was the matter. They chose one of the attendant birds, the “Obsidian Hawk." After speaking with Tonatiuh for a while, the bird returned to report that the sun demanded the blood of the gods along with their allegiance, or else he would not budge an inch. The spirits were outraged by such arrogant behavior. |
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Now at this council was the god of the Morning Star, the first "star" that appears at dawn which we now know as the planet Venus. This god was named Tlahuizcalpantecuhtli (Tlah-wees-cahl-pahn-TEH-coot-lee), which means the “Lord of the House of Dawn.” In a rage he drew back his heavy bow and fired an arrow at the headstrong sun. He missed. Now the sun hefted his own fiery spear, and hurled it with all his might at the Morning Star. He was pierced clean through the head and fell, plummeting all the way down to the underworld. |
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There, like the sun before him, he was transformed. He was changed into a god called Itztlacoliuhqui (EETS-tlah-coh-lee-OO-kee), which means “Curved Obsidian.” When he took the form of this alter ego he became the god of frost, cold, and stone. This is why it is always chilly during the dawn, as the cold of the Morning Star defends and protects us from the sun’s excessive heat. |
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Back on the earth the gods had learned their lesson. They now agreed to sacrifice themselves so that the sun would move. Quetzalcoatl was named to do the honors in the form of a sacrificial priest. One by one he broke open their chests with a blade of flint, and offered their hearts up to the sun.
But while the Plumed Serpent methodically performed his duty, his own twin brother had a different idea. As Xolotl neared the end of this queue of victims, his eyes were swollen with weeping. “Oh gods, let me not die!” he cried. |
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At the last minute, he made a break from the line and dashed into the countryside. His twin sped after him, fleet as the wind. Xolotl hid in a cornfield by transforming himself into a young shoot sprouting two ears of corn. Discovered by his brother, he next fled into a field of maguey cactus and changed into one of the plants. But as the god of twins, he was growing from two tell-tale trunks. Spotted once more, he was cornered in a stream where he had turned into a salamander. There the resolute Quetzalcoatl sacrificed his twin brother, sending the last of the pantheon into the underworld.
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The unapologetic Tonatiuh was now bursting with energy from the payment the gods offered him of their blood and throbbing hearts. With a steady puff of wind blown from Quetzalcoatl the sun was set in motion. Up he soared like an eagle, clutching his fiery arrows. Tonatiuh was carried in his course through the sky on the backs of magical creatures called the Fire Serpents, bright dragons of flame who had been created by the Divine Couple.
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Thus the present age began, and with it our responsibility to maintain the balance of the universe. Some say the moral of this story is a warning of how greed and arrogance will bring disaster: After all, it was not the rich and prideful god who became the sun, but the poor yet brave in heart. However see how quickly the once-humble Nanahuatzin swelled in pride beyond imagination! No, to the Aztecs the more important moral was that we must take an active role, as the gods did, in restoring the strength of the sun with the most precious vital essence we have to offer.
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The fifth sun would be the final sun, and it was called the “Sun of Motion.” Following four ages where each of the elements––earth, air, fire, and water––had been dominant in turn, there was at last a balance. But like those suns, ours contained the method of its own destruction in its name: It was said this world will finally meet its end in violent earthquakes, swallowing up all things. When the earth is tired and has exhausted her store of seeds, the cold, vicious she-demons of darkness shall descend to earth, and famine will follow in their wake.
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WITH the creation of the sun, the sacred stories of the ancient Aztecs invisibly move onwards from the realm of myths to the legends of the heroes caught halfway between heaven and earth, and from legend on to our history books. The cosmos of the fifth sun is now in working order. Let us then explore all the gods of the Aztec pantheon in turn.
The gods of ancient Mexico floated invisibly by the hundreds, passing through springs, hearths, and hills. The land was filled with magic. The very mountains themselves were enchanted, and imagined to be wide awake. It was believed they were hollow and filled with secret lands, in which the shades of the dead dwelled happily inside. Minor little spirits would drop the rain and the thunderbolts, or keep watch over the hopeful plot of a poor farmer by his fireside. Like us, the old gods enjoyed gifts. They listened to mortals, and they based their actions on what was said to them. And at times even the gods would bow their heads to fate, to events they considered inevitable. The gods loved precious things: Flowers, jadestones, butterflies, and brightly colored birds. While the gods of the Greeks and the Norsemen were bearded, fatherly types, the gods of Mexico preferred to appear very youthful. They could arrive as a human or as an animal, but they really had no “true” shape. In human form the gods dressed as the ancient nobles did. The males wore loincloths and sandals and were often armed with weapons, while the goddesses wore skirts and blouses. But all of them liked to wear large earrings and noserings, and tall headdresses covered in bright feathers. |
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Most of the gods wore masks at times. These were meant not to conceal, but to reveal; not to hide their identity but to broadcast those powers they possessed. As we have seen before, all of the gods were made of the same great spirit of the Lord and Lady of Duality. This means that some gods could actually transform themselves into other gods, or even split themselves into several gods at once. In this way, one god could borrow the mask from another one, and by doing so display that he was also borrowing some of that other god’s powers. Some gods under closer scrutiny turn out to be just a "phase" or a manifestation of a yet more powerful deity.
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For example, we saw how the god of the Morning Star rose up against the rising sun Tonatiuh. As it happens, we will see that that "Lord of the House at Dawn" is actually an incarnation of the god Quetzalcoatl. And yet we read that these two gods were side by side when the sun was created. How can this be? It is a mystery, but one in which thinking of the Trinity in Catholicism can help point the way. For example, when we read the Bible and find Jesus praying to his Father, we know that these are not really meant to be two different gods but only one.
Now the ancient gods of the Aztecs did not dwell in a palace or live together like a family. They didn’t divide themselves into battles of good versus evil. And they didn't fall in love or hold a grudge. Like their parents the Lord and Lady of Duality, these deities were a riddle of contrasts. At one moment they could be loving parents, gliding down from the hills to banish disease from the towns. At other times they could be cruel and unreasonable, filling the night with phantoms. They could accept a worshipper's gifts but betray the giver. They lived off such friendly vapors as the scent of flowers, incense, and tobacco. And yet they could also demand the grisly carvings of human flesh as well. They could be both beautiful and monstrous at the same time––causing the bones of the battlefield to grow like seeds, or flowers to bloom in the darkness. But the Aztec gods were never entirely good or bad. Having a free will, the gods could work as predictably as the calendar if they so chose, or else surprise us by shattering the rules of their own system into a disjointed anarchy. Of all the gods, none was more so capricious or arbitrary than Tezcatlipoca. |
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TEZCATLIPOCA (TESS-cot-lee-POH-cah) was overwhelmingly the most powerful deity––a god of gods. He was the prince of darkness and of night, a surprise perhaps from a culture so bound up with the sun. This god was both the patron of the ruling dynasty, and guardian of the lowest slaves as well. He sponsored not only the noble warrior, but also the sorcerer and the thief. Tezcatlipoca was known as a fickle master, and his nickname was “The Enemy on Both Sides.”
This shapeshifting deity could appear in the form of a noble jaguar, with his coat speckled like all the stars in the sky. The jaguar, king of beasts, was seen as a nocturnal spirit strong with the elemental powers of the earth. This beast could be seen rising from the earth each night as the constellation known as Ursa Major. |
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When he took the shape of a man, Tezcatlipoca was painted all over as black as night, with stripes drawn across his cheeks. The name Tezcatlipoca means “Smoking Mirror,” a name evoking his hazy, cloudlike, and mysterious nature. He carried a knife and a large round mirror, both made from obsidian. The Aztecs used this polished volcanic glass to make mirrors, in which they were darkly reflected. Within his black, magic mirror, the god could see anyone in any place, not only watching their actions but even reading the secrets buried in their hearts. Thus, no one could deceive Tezcatlipoca in their prayers. Another little round, obsidian mirror bound up his hair, and the god had even made an artificial foot from the reflective glass to replace the one lost in his long-ago struggle with Tlaltecuhtli.
Tezcatlipoca was the patron of the school for young warriors. In such a function, the god appeared as a young and virile warrior himself, clutching spears and a shield. Most often, however, Tezcatlipoca passed through the darkness as invisibly as thought, and was known then as the “Night Wind.” |
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This riddling and shape-shifting Tezcatlipoca was the giver and taker away of life. Everyone was rendered helpless before him. He was omnipotent and ruled everywhere, on earth and in heaven, while those in the underworld were trampled by his feet. Tezcatlipoca was told by his worshipers in their prayers, “You do not want for friends. Throughout the world, your truest friends remain sighing and calling to you, though you accept no one’s friendship.” |
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While the great spirit Ometeotl expressed duality by male and female, Tezcatlipoca did so in the tension between the illuminating day and the obscure, obsidian night. This dark, sacred night over which Tezcatlipoca ruled was always feared as a dangerous time. The ancients believed that in dreams, our souls would rise from our bodies and travel on perilous journeys among the supernatural. In the morning we recalled our dangerous nocturnal exploits of the night before. Sometimes even the gods would communicate with us in dreams. Demons were known to prowl in the hours of darkness, where cremated ashes billowed and groaned, and the ghosts of shrouded corpses haunted the streets.
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The restless Tezcatlipoca was known to be chronically malicious, and casually malevolent. But he was not an evil god. He simply was who he was and did as he pleased. The Aztecs were never astonished at how bad things could happen to good people. For they did not believe that god was entirely good, and that cruelty was something foreign to him.
Tezcatlipoca, known as “He whose Slaves We Are,” could reward the wicked and punish the good if he so chose. He held us in the palm of his hand and shifted us around, rolling us like marbles, spinning us endlessly as toys to amuse himself with laughter––and the laughter of Tezcatlipoca “The Mocker” was the chime that rang in destruction. |
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Because the earth was bandied about this way, it was thought of as a treacherous place of banishment and havoc. To live on this earth was said to be like walking along a mountain ridge, as sharp as the blade of a harpoon. On either side drops an abyss, and if you stray but a little to the left or right, you will fall.
Of all the gods, Tezcatlipoca, the “Lord of the Near and Nigh,” stood closest to men whether they liked it or not. In a time of crisis, such as when disease swept across the land, a common man might pray to Tezcatlipoca in the following way, using words calculated to awaken his pride: |
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“Lord, I who am an unrighteous and evil vagabond now come sidling up next to you, but let me not meet with your annoyance. “It seems that heaven and hell have ordained that we shall all be forsaken now. Pestilence is growing, for a plague has descended to the earth. Well, take glory in your wrath, take pleasure in your anger, delight in castigating us, if this is what your heart wishes. Yet how can it? Shall emptiness and darkness truly prevail? Will your already miserable city now be choked with trees, and filled with stones? Will you then let your pyramids be broken into fragments? If this plague continues, soon none will be left alive to provide you with the sacrifices you require. “O compassionate one, let your rage now pass. You have tugged at the city’s flank, but now like a baby let it take you by the ear. May the common folk have enjoyed and profited from the punishment of your curving fangs and stinging nettles, and let the icy water of castigation benefit us, like dew sprinkled on the reeds. Lord, cease amusing yourself at our expense! “I throw myself before you, into a place whence none are known to rise again. O master, perform your office, do your work!” |
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One way the Aztecs worshipped the gods was by delivering their prayers through the use of statues. In his temple Tezcatlipoca had his own icon made from obsidian which held a gold-backed mirror.
But the ancients also had a very unique custom: In addition to worshipping stone idols, they would also dress up humans in the costume of the gods, to act as their living impersonators. |
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Tezcatlipoca’s living idol was the most famous of these. Now when the Aztecs fought in combat, their objective was not to kill their opponent but to capture him alive and bring him home. Of these captives, some were set aside to be offered to the gods as human sacrifices. Once a year, from a group of captives they had taken in combat, they selected a warrior to be the living representation of Tezcatlipoca. This young man must be as handsome as “a handful of stars,” they say, and the criteriae for his good looks ran for pages. Tutors then instructed him in how to play the flute, speak graciously, and handle a pipe with elegance and dignity. Dressed in the god’s trademark black, and wearing a lei of sweet-smelling flowers, the impersonator lived in luxury for a year. A royal entourage carried him through the city, and where he paused to play upon his flute the people lay prostrate and paid him homage, knowing Tezcatlipoca was watching them.
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One month before the Smoking Mirror’s annual holiday, this human avatar was stripped of his godly costume and dressed as a soldier once more. The emperor himself now presented him with many gifts. Among these were four beautiful girls––themselves mimicking goddesses––who were honored to share his bed as his divine wives. Feasting, dance, and song filled up their final days, until the fateful morning of Tezcatlipoca’s festival. The impersonator said farewell to his newly-won brides, and boarded a royal barge which ferried him to the outskirts of the capital.
A great crowd awaited him there, where he alone climbed up the steps of Tezcatlipoca’s temple. As he ascended, he let fall his fineries and broke his flutes, approaching the sacrificial stone. There he became the finest offering humans possessed: A god, sacrificed to honor a god. Meanwhile, in the city, another warrior was being auditioned for the upcoming year. |
Tezcatlipoca was the protector of the slaves, whom he referred to as “my well-beloved children.” On the holiday sacred to this god, the wooden collars which yoked the unhappy human chattel were struck off by their masters. The household then bathed their slaves, pampering them with gifts and treating them sweetly in order to please the Smoking Mirror. If someone on that day had the audacity to mistreat a slave, a wrathful Tezcatlipoca would strike the brute with sickness or sudden poverty. He listened to the prayers of slaves. If one were continually mistreated, Tezcatlipoca would pity him and see that he was freed and the cruel master thrown into slavery instead. As a result, the ill-starred fate of slaves was a constant reminder of that riddling god’s gratuitous power over human destiny.
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As the spring and reservoir of all earthly power, Tezcatlipoca was also the patron of rulers. Through ritual, he offered humans a direct link to the creative force of the abstract––and otherwise inaccessible––Lord and Lady of Duality. While Tezcatlipoca channeled the ubiquitous life force of these distant and aloof creation gods down to the ruler, the emperor of Mexico in turn mediated between Tezcatlipoca and the common man. Rulers claimed from Tezcatlipoca the authority to punish and reward. The emperor of Mexico was so exhalted that for a commoner to look him in the eyes meant a death sentence. Even kings approached him barefoot. Yet the ruler himself was humbled and abashed before Tezcatlipoca. He would pray naked before the god, asking for help in his duties from that ruler of man’s destiny in a manner such as this:
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“Lord, I am unreliable, filled with vice, and an imbecile. Why have you placed me on this reed throne? For my merit? Then perhaps you have mistaken me for another. O master, may I not consider myself worthy of what I see even in my dreams. However, such is how you have determined it, and may you thus be provided with laughter on earth.
“May your spirit and your word be regarded and satisfied. Do not hide your mirror and torch with which you light the world. Do not let me lead my people over the cliff. Wretched, untrained, and ignorant as I am, what will happen when I have ruined this city? Use me for your eyes, ears, and voice, as you would bring sound from a flute. Warmth, freshness, tenderness, and sweet fragrance arise from you. I know that you may send peaceful well-being and contentment by your grace; or else paralysis, blindness, poverty, and death as you see fit. |
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“Perhaps you are feasting with your friends at table, and take no notice of my tears or the blood I draw for you. But lend me a little bit of your light, be it no more than the flicker of a firefly. You by whom we live, you have made me from my teeth down to my nails, and I am your backrest.”
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Tezcatlipoca was impossible to predict, and at times could be very generous to humankind. Back in the beginning of the fifth and final world he gave mortals one of the greatest gifts we have ever known: Music.
After the earth monster Tlaltecuhtli had been transformed into enchanting landscapes, and animals and humans were formed, Tezcatlipoca still felt that something was missing. He knew that music would delight the soul, but humans had never been exposed to it, for the mysteries of music were jealously guarded by the god of the sun. The Smoking Mirror determined to find a way to share this music with the rest of the world. First he summoned the wind god Quetzalcoatl to him, leaves blowing and tree leaves creaking as the Plumed Serpent came: “I ask you to come to my aid and embark on a special journey. The sun has retained all of the singers and musicians with him in his home, and will not share the knowledge of music with the world. Go to the ocean’s edge and there you will find three of my servants. Order them to build a bridge for you that will stretch all the way across the ocean to the house of the sun. There you may select the most talented musicians to bring back to earth and share the secrets of their music.” Quetzalcoatl obeyed, and at the beach he found the servants: Water Woman, Water Monster, and Cane & Conch. Some say these were a whale, a sea turtle, and a sea cow. The three constructed the enchanted bridge and Quetzalcoatl crossed over it to the house of the sun, from which came the marvelous sound of music. Inside were a great number of musicians wearing uniforms that reflected their own specialty. Those who played lullabies and songs for small children dressed in white, wandering minstrels wore blue clothing, flute players dressed in golden yellow, and the singers of love songs wore red. Here there no sad songs and no dark clothing. But in an instant this orchestra was hidden away from Quetzalcoatl’s eyes by the god of the sun. Music was for his private enjoyment alone and he had no intention of ever letting the wind god recruit his musicians. He commanded them to stay hidden and be silent. Over and over Quetzalcoatl called for them to come with him to the earth, but not one of them took a step or made a sound. Now Tezcatlipoca had grown angry with their disobedience. If they would not come when called then he would frighten them from the house of the sun. That god of darkness summoned a mighty thunderstorm which swirled across the sky in a raging mass of black clouds and lightning. At last the sun himself was swallowed up and hidden from sight in the darkness. This time when Quetzalcoatl called, the terrified musicians ran to him. Holding and gently protecting them, the wind god carried them safely back to earth. The singers taught their arts to the people of earth, who held celebrations and sang songs to honor the gods. In the old days, even the divine ones would descend from the sky to sing with the people and join in their dances. |
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Yes, Tezcatlipoca could be sweet to humankind. He created the first man and woman, brought fire to the earth, and now he introduced music. It was he, called the “Giver of Life,” who sent the new souls of little babes down to earth to grow in their mother’s womb, and it was his fancy that guided our growth to resemble our parents.
These little babies were as precious as jade or turquoise to Tezcatlipoca. On the sad occasion of their passing away, a special heaven was reserved for them. Infants, too young to transgress, were still closer to the world of gods than of men. Their souls were thus returned to Omeyocan, the highest heaven, and watched over by the Lord and Lady of Duality. Here they arrived at the “Land of the Wet-Nurse Tree,” a warm and peaceful garden. This magical tree had countless, bountiful breasts dangling from her boughs. From these the souls of infants happily sucked, waiting for Tezcatlipoca to call them, to be reborn on earth and given a second chance at life. |
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Tezcatlipoca, the “soul of the world,” was proof that one can both fear and love god. But for all his generative power, the creative godsends of Tezcatlipoca to mankind had nothing on his eternal rival, the Plumed Serpent.
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QUETZALCOATL (KET-sahl-COH-ahtl) was the lord of the wind, a sky god like his brother and nemesis the lord of darkness.
His name means “Plumed Serpent,” and he took the form of a giant rattlesnake with a mouth full of fangs and a broad, forked tongue. Instead of scales, however, his body was covered with the emerald-green feathers of the rare quetzal bird. Ancient cultures reported seeing this god as a venerable sky dragon, writhing and whipping in loops over the sierras, his deep hiss striking fear into the hearts of men. |
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Snakes were thought to be one of the most spiritually charged of animals, rising up from rifts in the underworld as they did, quiet and watchful yet wild and fearsome. Because they shed their skins and rose from the near-death of hibernation, they were considered creatures of resurrection.
The quetzal was the bird of royalty, prized for its rare and breathtaking green feathers which stirred in the slightest breeze. So precious were they it was forbidden to kill them. Fowlers stunned them with blowguns, plucked the twin tail feathers, and released the birds. The powers of earth and sky thus combined in the form of this ancient creator god. |
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Quetzalcoatl was a great friend to mankind. He created the people of the Fifth Sun with his own hands, and he loved them. Because of this he was the only god to refuse human sacrifice, asking only for offerings of snakes and birds, butterflies and flowers. In order to make the world a kinder and gentler place he gave mankind the gift of knowledge: Books, the arts, the calendar, painting, urban planning, the working of feathers, metal and gems––all these were taught to humans by the Plumed Serpent. Wisdom and civilization itself were the bounty flowing from his generous hands.
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While Tezcatlipoca was the patron of the public schools, Quetzalcoatl oversaw the private schools of the priesthood. He was the patron of penitence and self-sacrifice.
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The temples of Quetzalcoatl had a unique shape. Instead of the usual square pyramid he preferred his temples to be round, perhaps so as not to spoil the flow of his wind currents as they passed over its surface. These shrines were decorated with serpents and had a conical, thatch-roof top. The entrance was sometimes through the mouth of a giant snake, and the cave-like interior was a reminder that the god often used deep caverns as the birthplace of his winds. Quetzalcoatl had two distinct manifestations he could transform into whenever he chose, each with a different character and powers. |
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The first of these was named Ehecatl (Eh-HEH-cawtle). This was the god of wind in a human form. His skin was painted black and he always wore a large, red mask. This mask had a broad square nose and a wide duckbill, with a pair of curving canines at the jaw. Ehecatl wore a conical cap made from a jaguar hide. In one hand he held the incense bag of a priest, in the other a serpent. He wore a great deal of jewelry made from shells, the showpiece being the "Wind Jewel" around his neck. This talisman was a cut, spiraling conch shell as big as a breastplate. It was a symbol of his powers over the wind and even life itself. For the air he ruled was thought of as fertile, not only scattering seeds but enriching our lungs. Yet unlike other fertility gods (such as those of rain or corn) Ehecatl never deprived us of his gift, the breath of life.
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Ehecatl in fact was known as the “roadsweeper of the rain gods,” and he worked intimately with them as a friend. When the rainy season of the year was on its way, Quetzalcoatl released his howling gusts and the twisters known as “wind snakes,” to announce the coming of Tlaloc’s showers.
It was in this manifestation that Quetzalcoatl had descended into the underworld to steal the bones. The circling of the wind god through Mictlan to bring humans to life was remembered by the old shamans, who used deep breathing and circling as part of a magic spell that attempted to bring the dead back to life. They believed that while we humans are made of mostly earth and water, it is the air and inner fire that enlivens us. |
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Quetzalcoatl’s other manifestation was as the Morning Star. To the Aztecs, his name was Tlahuizcalpantecuthli (Tlah-wees-cahl-pahn-TEH-coot-lee), the “Lord of the House of Dawn.” As we have seen, the gods were complicated creatures and even the benevolent Plumed Serpent had a dark side. The Lord of Dawn was a fierce and dangerous god. It was he remember, the Great Star, who had fired an arrow at the arrogant Tonatiuh.
Taking a human form, the Lord of Dawn appeared as a warrior whose weaponry was covered with green feathers, his face painted with white dots like the stars. He was the paragon of warriors who have fallen in combat. |
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Just before the dawn, the Morning Star waited restlessly in the underworld. As the priests sounded a drum on top of his temple, the Lord of Dawn rose triumphantly before the sun, hurling his rays of light with a javelin-thrower. Coming directly from the world of the spirit as he was, his beams were still dangerously charged with tremendous power, and they could inflict injury to early-rising humans. Up he rose, into the fifth heaven that was all his own, the Heaven of the Morning Star. Because he disappeared behind the sun and then reappeared at night, the Lord of Dawn was a symbol of rebirth. Later in the evening his rays would flash on the dark water like so many serpents of light. |
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Although Tezcatlipoca knew what secrets lay in every man’s heart, it was Quetzalcoatl of all the gods who loved humankind the most. So much, in fact, that he alone once decided to be born on to this earth as a human, and to taste the life of a mortal man. Here is the story of that remarkable life:
Now the Aztecs gave every year in the century its own name, and these events happened the year named One-Reed. Up in the highest heaven, the Divine Couple dropped a little jade stone down to earth. This precious stone was just like the ones the Aztecs would place in the mouths of the recently deceased to embody the departed soul. The jade fell down, and dropped right into the mouth of a young woman in fact, who accidentally swallowed it. From that moment on this woman, who was named Chimalma, was divinely impregnated with the spirit of Quetzalcoatl. In time she gave birth to a baby boy, and he was named Topiltzin (Toh-PEEL-tseen) which means “Our Prince.” Right from the beginning the young Topiltzin knew in his heart he was one with the god Quetzalcoatl. |
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Chimalma was a widow, and Topiltzin had an older sister named Quetzalpetlatl (KET-sahl-PET-lahtl), which means “Quetzal Feather Mat.” Unfortunately, poor Chimalma died not long after Topiltzin’s birth. It was left to the powerful goddess Cihuacoatl to raise him up to adulthood. This was the goddess who had helped the Plumed Serpent to create the new human race from blood and bone.
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The world at this time was a rough place. People were still hunters and gatherers, migrating with the herds of deer and chasing rabbits and birds. Even snakes went into their pot. Corn grew wild and ignored. Their clothing was made from hides, and houses were unknown. The nearest large tribe was ruled by a queen who worshiped a violent-minded goddess named Itzpapalotl (Eets-pah-PAH-lowtle). She was the "Night Butterfly," a mistress of death and war.
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Into this rugged scene the grown Topiltzin arrived to bring enlightenment to the world with a wave of his hand. Under his guidance a marvellous city was built: Tollan (TOW-lawn), whose people would be known as the Toltecs. He was the fount of knowledge, from whom all wisdom and abilities began to flow. Within a generation the Toltecs went from being savages to the most sophisticated culture the world had known. Nothing was difficult for them. Topiltzin taught them the sciences of agriculture and astronomy, the names of the stars, the motion of the planets, and how to read an astrological calendar. Troubled sleepers woke to consult the “Dream Papers,” a manual of the signs and symbols of dream interpretation
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These Toltecs were rich: Squashes were six feet around, and corn cobs so tall and fat that you could barely wrap your arms around them. Any smaller than that and the Toltecs would simply toss the stunted cobs as kindling to stoke their steaming sweat baths. Chocolate flowed, and the popular amaranth stalks grew so tall that children played in their branches. Dyes were unknown and unneeded––cotton grew in every color of the rainbow. Beautiful birds flocked to the city and sang happily in their arbors. Because no one knew want, covetousness was unheard of.
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Topiltzin taught the fine arts to his people: Stone carving, casting gold, jewelry tooled from conch and coral, and the setting of his namesake––quetzal feathers––into their beautiful headdresses. Once-humble pottery began to be painted with scenes from the lives of the gods.
Topiltzin also taught his people how to hunt for precious stones. Before sunrise, he would lead a few of them out to the hills overlooking the countryside. As the sun rose he told them to scan the fields for little puffs of steam coming from the earth. It was, he told them, the breathing of precious stones Down they would rush, and quick digging brought up a stone called the “jewel-mother,” a dull and ordinary rock. Cracking her open, the victorious prospectors would find a softly breathing jade or a turquoise inside. Tollan prospered and children were everywhere. Topiltzin now shared the rule of the city with a king named Huemac (WAY-mock), whose name means “Great Hands.” While Huemac worried about the day-to-day beauracracy of Tollan, Topiltzin was freed up to pursue his religious mission. |
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Topiltzin wanted to show his people what it meant to live the pure and holy life of a priest. He would invoke the four directions to send up humble and penitent prayers to the Lord and Lady of Duality, they who maintain and give order to the universe. At midnight, when the sun was at the bottom of the underworld, Topiltzin would go down to the river to cleanse and invigorate himself in the freezing water. He drew blood from his calves and offered it with the finest of burnt offerings to heaven. He built four shrines of penance and prayer called the “Houses of Fasting.” Set to the four directions, they were built in turn of turquoise-encrusted wood, bright red coral, white conch shells, and green quetzal feathers.
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Topiltzin taught his people that (after the Divine Couple) Quetzalcoatl was the greatest god and that he was his avatar. The Toltecs built a pyramid to Quetzalcoatl with stairs so narrow they had to be climbed on the balls of the feet. At its pinnacle, a temple to the Plumed Serpent was under construction, its pillars sculpted in the form of snakes. It was here that Topiltzin increasingly took his spiritual retreat. |
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Now, his exterior was a far cry from his beautiful soul: Topiltzin had a battered ruin of a face, almost inhumanly ugly. But the Toltecs didn’t mind, and they loved him as he was. Topiltzin had reached fifty-two years old. This was a sort of “century” to the Aztecs, the completion of a cycle of time. His skin was very pale, his hair reddish-brown, and he wore a long and wispy beard like an Asian sage. He had a pointed cap made of jaguar skin, a long blue robe draped his shoulders, and he wore sandals of sea foam green.
Topiltzin had given his followers a startling announcement: Human sacrifice was never to be performed again. Quetzalcoatl had created humans with his own two hands, and he loved them, and would never want to see them come to harm for his sake. Instead, he suggested the offering of birds and butterflies as a token of respect. Quetzalcoatl did not want blood from the bodies of men, but rather chastity and service. The people were in paradise. |
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Unfortunately, however, as Topiltzin withdrew further and further into metaphysical speculation his followers became increasingly idle and neglectful, taking their life of luxury and sensuality as a given while they reclined, feasting on their mats of feathers, gold, and jade. Neglecting their responsibilities they abandoned themselves to pleasure. |
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All the while up in heaven dark Tezcatlipoca was looking down and growing very jealous. “I see. The people have forgotten me,” he said to himself." He gathered together many spider webs and twined them into a sturdy line. One end he lashed to the clouds, dropping the other to the earth. Down this silken cord Tezcatlipoca made his descent, sliding closer and closer to the city of Tollan.
Not everyone was thrilled with Topiltzin’s rule. There were the sorcerers, followers of the Smoking Mirror, who scoffed at the mild Quetzalcoatl and tried to trick Topiltzin into offering human sacrifice. These provocative wizards were called the “Human Owls,” and they longed to drive the soft-heart from his kingdom. Tezcatlipoca honored two of these sorcerers with his presence, and sat down to hold a council with them. “Let Topiltzin live somewhere far off,” growled one of the Human Owls, “but he must leave the city.” “Perhaps,” suggested the other, “we might brew him some agave wine. If he drank it now, when he is supposed to offer penance, he would be corrupted.” Tezcatlipoca spoke, “I say we show him his body. He has never seen it before. How do you suppose he will find it?” The sorcerers agreed with their master, who wrapped up his round, black mirror and set off. |
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When Tezcatlipoca reached the temple of Quetzalcoatl he began a transformation. His muscular body became crooked and stooped, and his hair turned stark-white until he seemed no more than a little old man. Tottering up the pyramid steps with a bowl of agave wine, he confronted the temple guards. “I have come to pay a call on the master,” he told them in a cracking voice.
A guard stepped in his path. “Go away, old man. The master is feeling ill and you would only bother him.” “Oh, no,” said Tezcatlipoca. “I really must be at his side now. Go tell our priest that ‘The Youth’ has come to present him with his body.” “Oh, all right,” said the guards, “but you must wait here.” Entering the temple the guards approached Topiltzin, who was suffering from an illness. “Lord,” they spoke, “a little old man has come to see you. We tried to send him away but he won’t leave. He says he wants ‘to show you your body’ but he seems suspicious, as if he’s setting a trap for you.” Topiltzin was intrigued. “What can that mean, my heralds? What body of mine could he bring here? Examine his present first, then you may let him in.” The guards tried to do so, but Tezcatlipoca refused. “This is for the eyes of the priest alone,” he said. “Tell him so.” The frustrated guards reported to their master. “He refuses. He alone will show it to you. He says to tell you ‘The Youth’ has come.” Now Topiltzin would well have known that this was one of Tezcatlipoca’s many nicknames, and he told them “Let him in, for he is one that I have been expecting for as many days as there are fingers on my hands.” And in a moment Tezcatlipoca was before the priest. Tezcatlipoca and Quetzalcoatl were face to face once more. But the Plumed Serpent was at a disadvantage: While Tezcatlipoca was simply a god in human form, Quetzalcoatl had taken upon himself all the weaknesses of mortal life. The Smoking Mirror now addressed the Plumed Serpent: “My son, my prince, my priest, Quetzalcoatl, I am your humble subject and I salute you.” “Come close, old one,” Topiltzin said, “You have travelled far, and troubled yourself in coming. You must be weary. But let me now see this body of mine.” And Tezcatlipoca unveiled the mirror, crying, “Behold yourself and know yourself, my prince, and a vision of your true form shall appear in this obsidian!” |
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Topiltzin was shocked by what he saw: Sunken eyes with swollen lids, pockmarked cheeks and monstrous lumps. “If my subjects see me they will run away!” he cried. Tezcatlipoca was silent. He knew that the fleshly matter of a man’s body, with all the dark weakness it contains, had played no part in Topiltzin’s life thus far. “Then they shall never see me,” the priest determined, “and I shall remain here alone, forever.” Tezcatlipoca sweetly reassured Topiltzin that there was no need to be rash. After all, a body can always be covered in fine plumes, a face with a beautiful mask, and no one need be the wiser. The little old man brought out just such a lovely costume, and helped Topiltzin to try it on. Now he looked almost superhuman, Tezcatlipoca assured him, and the mask merely brought his inner beauty to the outside. Topiltzin’s confidence in his appearance was restored, but in truth the opposite effect was occurring. Having been awoken to his own mortality, he could never return to an innocent life of pure spirit. Soon, his deformed body would be followed by a corrupted soul. |
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Tezcatlipoca asked the masked Topiltzin, “Now my grandson, how is your body feeling? What is it that ails you?”
“Oh, I hurt all over,” he admitted. “My strength is sapped and my hands and feet are numb, as if I were being pulled apart.” |
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Tezcatlipoca now revealed the little honey jar that he had filled with agave wine, called pulque (POOL-kay). “Well here my child, I have brought you this potion. Drink it. It is a very good medicine and will soothe your aching body. First it goes to your head and cures your body of its ailments. Next it works on your heart. You will cry, for you will think upon death, and you will think about how you must now travel far away to an unknown place.”
“And what place might this be?” “The rosy quarter where the sun will rise. At the house of dawn you will meet ‘the old man who is in charge of things,’ and you will return having been made like a child once more.” Topiltzin’s heart leapt when he heard these riddling words, but Tezcatlipoca would not rest. He pushed forward the honey pot held in his withered hand. “Come on. Drink the potion and you will be merry.” “Old man, I will not drink it,” Topiltzin insisted, “for I am fasting. Anyhow, has it not intoxicated people to the point of stealing their lives?” |
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“Just taste it. You’ll like it,” Tezcatlipoca pushed on. “It’s smooth and mellow, very fresh Or else just put the bowl in front of you like you were about to tell your fortune, and let fate decide. There, now all you need to do is touch the tip of your honorable finger to it and give us a taste.”
Topiltzin finally agreed to just taste it. But when his moistened finger touched his lips, something stirred inside him. He had found it good, and decided that a single drink wouldn’t hurt. “All right, let me drink it grandfather,” he relented. Topiltzin took a deep draught from the pot. “What’s this? Where did the pain go?” he wondered aloud. “I feel cured already!” |
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“Well, drink one more and your body will start to restore its strength,” Tezcatlipoca assured him.
“One? I will have three more drinks, grandfather!” Topiltzin cried. “You shall have four!” Topiltzin threw back vessel after vessel. “That’s one each for the four directions!” Tezcatlipoca cried. “Now let the fifth one be your own sacrament.” In reality, as everyone besides the naïve Topiltzin knew, it was the fifth draught that was supposed to make you drunk. The spent cup fell from his hand and a saucy Topiltzin called in all of the temple guards, shouting for them to make merry as well. As the bowls were passed and all was festive, Tezcatlipoca tried to start up a song. “Let’s sing my prince! I know a song: Of feathers and coral I built my houses, but oh, how I must leave them now!” |
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Topiltzin was too distracted to notice, however, and joyfully called to his guard, “Bring me my big sister, Quetzalpetlatl! I want us to sing, drink, and be together!”
Into the cool evening a group of elder heralds went to fetch her. She was on Mount Nonohualcatepec, lost in quiet meditation, when the drunken party stumbled upon her. “My princess Quetzalpetlatl,” they began, “noble lady of the fast, we come to take you where your brother waits, for you are to be alongside him.” The demure lady spoke, “Very well then, grandfathers. Let us go.” When she arrived at the temple, they seated her by her brother and served her several libations. Tezcatlipoca began a new but unheeded lyric then: “Where is your home now, Quetzalpetlatl? Oh, it’s right here, where you live in your bottle!” The time for worshipful midnight bathing came and went, the thorns of penance were forgotten. At last, Topiltzin left the revelry for his private chamber, taking his sister with him. When the harsh and sober dawn arose, the two were filled with abject misery. Topiltzin had known full well the effects of alcohol, and had suspected from the start that the old man was a trap. He had no one to blame but himself. “Oh, how wretched am I!” he cried. The old man was nowhere to be found, and Topiltzin sang a song of lament while his court set into a deep mourning. Topiltzin lay his body down in a stone sarcophagus as if he were dead, and there he lay weeping. Four long days passed while his city was lost without him. At last he rose from his coffin and said to his servants, “Enough! I will now leave this city Let us now let go of all the wealth we have brought into this world.” Topiltzin would not wait to be punished by the gods, but would take repentance upon himself. At his orders they burnt the Houses of Fasting to the ground, glittering with silver and shell as they collapsed. The priest’s possessions were carried to where he used to bathe and were sunk to the bottom there. All the magical wealth of the city was buried off in the canyons, and Topiltzin turned the beloved trees of the cocoa bean into the harsh mesquites. The lushly feathered songbirds were dismissed and they flew off toward the east. Finally, Topiltzin gathered the dwarfs and hunchbacks that had made up his royal court’s entertainment, and they followed the bright flocks off to the sunrise, never to return. Poor Topiltzin wanted to found a perfect life of the spirit here on earth, where corruption was unknown and flesh immaterial. As Tezcatlipoca taught him, there will always be sin as long as there is an earth, and all faces must ultimately wither. |
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Now that Tezcatlipoca had vanquished his archrival, his next task was to bend the city of Tollan to his rule. He would show the people whose hand the world rolled about in: His. And he would demand his dues of human sacrifice. His first step would be to undermine King “Great Hands” Huemac.
When Topiltzin departed for the east Huemac was left to rule Tollan by himself. But it was as if the magic blessing had left the town and the people now had to work harder than ever. King Huemac had a beautiful young daughter and she was showered in offers for marriage. Her father, however would not hear of it and so she remained with him in the palace.
Tezcatlipoca now assumed the form of an eastern barbarian, going around---as was the custom of the hinterlands---stark naked. He strode through the public marketplace until he was right before the palace doors. There he shook out a blanket, and placed upon it hot chili peppers for sale.
That day, the princess was out for a stroll in the market when suddenly she saw the well-formed barbarian, with everything hanging out for all to see. When the sheltered girl beheld the wild man’s “bird,” she was immediately stricken with a fever. The princess rushed back inside the palace, hot and tense, and swollen with desire for this stranger.
Word traveled around the palace that the princess was indisposed, and the king rushed to her chamber. “What is it? What happened?” he demanded of her guardians. “How did my little girl catch this fever?”
Her nurses told him, “It started when she saw a wild chili peddler. Now she is burning with desire for him.”
Now, Huemac was an understanding father. Something of a fetishist it seems, he had once exhausted his men to the point of mutiny by sending them to hunt for a woman whose hips were a roomy four hand-lengths wide. The king now issued a command to his men: “Toltecs, there is a barbarian selling chilis in the market. Find him and bring him to me.”
These men hunted high and low, shouting for a general search from the crier’s mound, but finally returned to the king and gasped their failure. Tezcatlipoca chose this very moment to reappear, right where he had first been seen. Now the humiliated servants rushed to tell the king they were mistaken.
“Bring him quickly to me,” Huemac ordered. The wild man was quickly siezed and brought inside.
“Where do you live?” the king demanded.
“I’m just a barbarian from the east. I sell little chilis.”
“And where do you suppose you are now, savage? Is this any way in which to live? Put a loincloth on and cover yourself up!”
“But this how we have always been!” the pepper man protested.
The despondent king then told him, “You have stirred up desire in my daughter, and it is you who must be the one to cure it.”
“Oh, my foreign lord!” cried Tezcatlipoca. “How can this be? Are you telling me that you must kill me in order to cure her? And me, just a poor old vendor!”
“Of course not!” the king spat. “Have no fear. But you will cure her.”
Retainers now took the peddler for a bath. They gave him a haircut, anointed him with oils, and made him put on a loincloth. In this spruce condition, he was returned to the king.
“Look through this doorway,” Huemac told him. “Among her loving nurses you may behold my daughter. She is yours now.” Tezcatlipoca shut the door, and went to bed with the princess at once. From that moment on, the girl was flush with good health.
All around the kingdom, Huemac soon became a figure of fun. “The king has married his daughter to a wild, buck-naked chili man!” the people of Tollan laughed. After days of mockery, the king could take no more, and called his councilors to him.
“The people ridicule me on account of my son-in-law,” he told them. “And now we must get rid of him.”
“How will it be done?” they whispered.
“We are marching to battle with our enemies tomorrow at Grass Mountain. We’ll send him as a captain, but assign him only the palace entertainers for his army. Once the battle begins, you will abandon him and he will be crushed. That’s my plan.”
Next morning, the armies of Tollan marched to war, and the pepper man strode confidently among them. In his footsteps came his troops, but as all courtly entertainers were in those days, they were a ragtag bunch of misfits: Acrobatic dwarves, musical hunchbacks, and crippled clowns.
The generals of the regular army said amongst themselves, “We can’t return empty-handed. Before we abandon this fool, let’s make a rear assault and come home with at least a few Grass Mountain prisoners.” Once the battle was on, however, the Tollan forces found themselves overwhelmed, and ended up running for their lives.
Now the barbarian and his crippled army were abandoned, and the dwarfs and hunchbacks clung to his legs with fear. “Stand your ground, men!” Tezcatlipoca shouted. “Do not play the coward, but be filled with great spirit. If you lose heart, they will cut you down right now. But this I know: Though every one of you could come home with many captives today, we shall finish them here, and they will perish in our hands! Now brothers, now uncles, move!”
The misfit army struck back with a vengeance, pounding, kicking, and pushing forward until countless warriors of Grass Mountain lay piled in a great heap.
Back in Tollan, the cowardly generals reported the success of their plot to King Huemac, assuring him that the pepper man and his minions were now doubt slaughtered by now. The king was pleased with this news yet filled with shame, though whether he felt shame for his cruel deception or merely for his lingering humiliation we do not know.
At that moment, a great cry of victory rose up from a crowd gathered outside. “What’s this I hear?” the king asked of his councilors. “It seems we have a victory after all. Well then, we must go and greet these men with the honors of war.” The astonished king strode proudly into the marketplace, holding aloft a quetzal feather headdress and a shield made from turquoise. The cheering crowd followed him to the edge of the city, where the warriors returned, their trumpets roaring, singing songs of victory and dancing as proudly as lords. Huemac crowned the barbarian with the victor’s headress, and placed the shield upon his arm. The faces of the dwarfs were painted like heroes, with bright red and yellow stripes.
As the happy throng returned to the palace, King Huemac turned to the pepper man: “Now the hearts of my people have been satisfied, and you truly are our son-in-law. You’ve earned it. Now take a seat, my son, and rest your feet.”
If only the story of Tollan had ended at this bright moment!
While Tezcatlipoca was enjoying such casual success, far to the east, Topiltzin was slowly travelling with his own melancholy train of hunchbacks and dwarfs. Topiltzin (Quetzalcoatl, we might as well say) soon came upon a tall, sturdy tree, whose thick branches spread out overhead. There he stood in silence for a while, and then said to one of his servants, “Hand me a mirror.”
Quetzalcoatl gazed at his human face now for the second time, and murmured, “I thought so. I have grown old already.” He picked up a stone, and threw it at the tree with such force that it stuck into the trunk. He picked up another, and another, throwing them angrily until the tree was crusted with stones from the top to the bottom. “Let this place be called ‘Beneath the Old Age Tree,’” he announced, and the troupe moved on.
Quetzalcoatl grew tired of walking, and sat down to rest on a great boulder. Looking back toward the west, he could still see the city of Tollan in the distance. He wept. Tears dropped from his cheeks as heavy as hailstones, carving two little hollows in the rock. Beneath the weight of his grief, the boulder became as soft as wax. His hands and haunches sunk into the stone, and their marks can still be seen to this day.
“Let this place be known as ‘Where the Handprints Are,’” Quetzalcoatl announced as he rose to depart. “I leave these marks to testify that I shall accomplish all that I have promised.”
Back in Tollan, Tezcatlipoca was about to loose his motiveless caprice upon the people. So wanton would be his ravaging, the Tollans would drop to their knees and worship him above all other gods.
First he called for a dance, to celebrate the Tollan victory over Grass Mountain. Heralds announced it from the crier’s mound, and that evening the young men and ladies came from all over the countryside. Tezcatlipoca, still disguised as a handsome barbarian, struck up a beat on his drum and the happy crowd began to dance. He called out the lines from a song of his own making, and the young people sang them back to him. Hand in hand they leaped through the air, the men grasping their ladies from behind, and the music crashed like waves across the valley.
Darkness fell, and Tezcatlipoca led the happy band out of town and off to the canyons. He guided the innocents to the edge of a cliff, but the dancers could not control their frenzied motions, for Tezcatlipoca was working his godly powers on them. So intoxicated by his magic were they that no one had any regard for his own safety or that of others. Soon, one youth was bumped from the crowd and fell to his death on the crags below. Then one after another began to tip over, as a panic ensued. The frightened mob tried to swarm across a narrow stone bridge, but Tezcatlipoca shattered it into fragments, and all were lost in the ravine.
That night, the god of darkness turned all of the fallen bodies into stones, and wiped the horrid memories of the night from the minds of all survivors. At sunset the next day, Tezcatlipoca once again beat on his drum, and once again the young people gathered.
As Quetzalcoatl trudged to the east, he came upon a broad, unfordable river. With inhuman strength, he made a bridge by laying boulders in the water, and carried on across it with his retinue. This site is still known as “Stone Crossing.”
The fourth stop along his journey was the “Serpent Spring.” As Quetzalcoatl paused to refresh himself, he was surprised by a group of supernaturals, who tried to detain him. Whether these were malicious spirits or merely human sorcerers has been lost to history.
“Where are you going?” they asked of him.
“The sun has called me home, to the house of dawn,” he replied.
“Very well,” they said. “In that case, we can not detain you. But you must leave all of your arts and knowledge behind: Stonecarving, gold casting, bookmaking, and feather work. You can not take them with you.”
Around his neck Quetzalcoatl wore a number of jewels that represented the different disciplines. As a testament that the world would keep the knowledge he had introduced, he tore the jewels from his neck and dropped them into the water. “It is called Jewel Spring now,” the god announced. The spirits were satisfied, and let him pass.
Tezcatlipoca, freshly disguised, returned to the marketplace. This time he was accompanied by his favorite of all the other gods: His brother Huitzilopochtli. Tezcatlipoca found a seat while brother shrunk down to the size of a doll. Then Tezcatlipoca shouted to the townsfolk, “I am the Log-Man! And this here is Huitzilopochtli!” His brother now hopped into his hand, and began to do a wild warrior’s dance.
Amazed by the novelty, a crowd quickly jammed in to get a closer look. As before, however, Tezcatlipoca overwhelmed their judgment, and amidst the pushing and shoving of the mob many people wound up trampled to death. Tezcatlipoca taunted them, saying, “Why do you put up with this treatment? Why not find some rocks and just stone me to death?”
The crowd was now released from his spell, yet too overwhelmed by the power of his suggestion to run away. Grabbing whatever stones were on hand, they pelted this terrifying mind-stealer. Soon Huitzilopochtli had disappeared, and the stranger lay dead on the ground.
But it wasn’t over. From the fresh corpse, a miasma of carrion stench poured out. As the bystanders were struck by these fumes of corruption, they fell down in a deadly sickness. Next, to their horror, the lips of the cadaver began to move: “Toltecs, why put up with this? Why not drag me out of town with a rope, before you wind up getting killed?”
When Topiltzin departed for the east Huemac was left to rule Tollan by himself. But it was as if the magic blessing had left the town and the people now had to work harder than ever. King Huemac had a beautiful young daughter and she was showered in offers for marriage. Her father, however would not hear of it and so she remained with him in the palace.
Tezcatlipoca now assumed the form of an eastern barbarian, going around---as was the custom of the hinterlands---stark naked. He strode through the public marketplace until he was right before the palace doors. There he shook out a blanket, and placed upon it hot chili peppers for sale.
That day, the princess was out for a stroll in the market when suddenly she saw the well-formed barbarian, with everything hanging out for all to see. When the sheltered girl beheld the wild man’s “bird,” she was immediately stricken with a fever. The princess rushed back inside the palace, hot and tense, and swollen with desire for this stranger.
Word traveled around the palace that the princess was indisposed, and the king rushed to her chamber. “What is it? What happened?” he demanded of her guardians. “How did my little girl catch this fever?”
Her nurses told him, “It started when she saw a wild chili peddler. Now she is burning with desire for him.”
Now, Huemac was an understanding father. Something of a fetishist it seems, he had once exhausted his men to the point of mutiny by sending them to hunt for a woman whose hips were a roomy four hand-lengths wide. The king now issued a command to his men: “Toltecs, there is a barbarian selling chilis in the market. Find him and bring him to me.”
These men hunted high and low, shouting for a general search from the crier’s mound, but finally returned to the king and gasped their failure. Tezcatlipoca chose this very moment to reappear, right where he had first been seen. Now the humiliated servants rushed to tell the king they were mistaken.
“Bring him quickly to me,” Huemac ordered. The wild man was quickly siezed and brought inside.
“Where do you live?” the king demanded.
“I’m just a barbarian from the east. I sell little chilis.”
“And where do you suppose you are now, savage? Is this any way in which to live? Put a loincloth on and cover yourself up!”
“But this how we have always been!” the pepper man protested.
The despondent king then told him, “You have stirred up desire in my daughter, and it is you who must be the one to cure it.”
“Oh, my foreign lord!” cried Tezcatlipoca. “How can this be? Are you telling me that you must kill me in order to cure her? And me, just a poor old vendor!”
“Of course not!” the king spat. “Have no fear. But you will cure her.”
Retainers now took the peddler for a bath. They gave him a haircut, anointed him with oils, and made him put on a loincloth. In this spruce condition, he was returned to the king.
“Look through this doorway,” Huemac told him. “Among her loving nurses you may behold my daughter. She is yours now.” Tezcatlipoca shut the door, and went to bed with the princess at once. From that moment on, the girl was flush with good health.
All around the kingdom, Huemac soon became a figure of fun. “The king has married his daughter to a wild, buck-naked chili man!” the people of Tollan laughed. After days of mockery, the king could take no more, and called his councilors to him.
“The people ridicule me on account of my son-in-law,” he told them. “And now we must get rid of him.”
“How will it be done?” they whispered.
“We are marching to battle with our enemies tomorrow at Grass Mountain. We’ll send him as a captain, but assign him only the palace entertainers for his army. Once the battle begins, you will abandon him and he will be crushed. That’s my plan.”
Next morning, the armies of Tollan marched to war, and the pepper man strode confidently among them. In his footsteps came his troops, but as all courtly entertainers were in those days, they were a ragtag bunch of misfits: Acrobatic dwarves, musical hunchbacks, and crippled clowns.
The generals of the regular army said amongst themselves, “We can’t return empty-handed. Before we abandon this fool, let’s make a rear assault and come home with at least a few Grass Mountain prisoners.” Once the battle was on, however, the Tollan forces found themselves overwhelmed, and ended up running for their lives.
Now the barbarian and his crippled army were abandoned, and the dwarfs and hunchbacks clung to his legs with fear. “Stand your ground, men!” Tezcatlipoca shouted. “Do not play the coward, but be filled with great spirit. If you lose heart, they will cut you down right now. But this I know: Though every one of you could come home with many captives today, we shall finish them here, and they will perish in our hands! Now brothers, now uncles, move!”
The misfit army struck back with a vengeance, pounding, kicking, and pushing forward until countless warriors of Grass Mountain lay piled in a great heap.
Back in Tollan, the cowardly generals reported the success of their plot to King Huemac, assuring him that the pepper man and his minions were now doubt slaughtered by now. The king was pleased with this news yet filled with shame, though whether he felt shame for his cruel deception or merely for his lingering humiliation we do not know.
At that moment, a great cry of victory rose up from a crowd gathered outside. “What’s this I hear?” the king asked of his councilors. “It seems we have a victory after all. Well then, we must go and greet these men with the honors of war.” The astonished king strode proudly into the marketplace, holding aloft a quetzal feather headdress and a shield made from turquoise. The cheering crowd followed him to the edge of the city, where the warriors returned, their trumpets roaring, singing songs of victory and dancing as proudly as lords. Huemac crowned the barbarian with the victor’s headress, and placed the shield upon his arm. The faces of the dwarfs were painted like heroes, with bright red and yellow stripes.
As the happy throng returned to the palace, King Huemac turned to the pepper man: “Now the hearts of my people have been satisfied, and you truly are our son-in-law. You’ve earned it. Now take a seat, my son, and rest your feet.”
If only the story of Tollan had ended at this bright moment!
While Tezcatlipoca was enjoying such casual success, far to the east, Topiltzin was slowly travelling with his own melancholy train of hunchbacks and dwarfs. Topiltzin (Quetzalcoatl, we might as well say) soon came upon a tall, sturdy tree, whose thick branches spread out overhead. There he stood in silence for a while, and then said to one of his servants, “Hand me a mirror.”
Quetzalcoatl gazed at his human face now for the second time, and murmured, “I thought so. I have grown old already.” He picked up a stone, and threw it at the tree with such force that it stuck into the trunk. He picked up another, and another, throwing them angrily until the tree was crusted with stones from the top to the bottom. “Let this place be called ‘Beneath the Old Age Tree,’” he announced, and the troupe moved on.
Quetzalcoatl grew tired of walking, and sat down to rest on a great boulder. Looking back toward the west, he could still see the city of Tollan in the distance. He wept. Tears dropped from his cheeks as heavy as hailstones, carving two little hollows in the rock. Beneath the weight of his grief, the boulder became as soft as wax. His hands and haunches sunk into the stone, and their marks can still be seen to this day.
“Let this place be known as ‘Where the Handprints Are,’” Quetzalcoatl announced as he rose to depart. “I leave these marks to testify that I shall accomplish all that I have promised.”
Back in Tollan, Tezcatlipoca was about to loose his motiveless caprice upon the people. So wanton would be his ravaging, the Tollans would drop to their knees and worship him above all other gods.
First he called for a dance, to celebrate the Tollan victory over Grass Mountain. Heralds announced it from the crier’s mound, and that evening the young men and ladies came from all over the countryside. Tezcatlipoca, still disguised as a handsome barbarian, struck up a beat on his drum and the happy crowd began to dance. He called out the lines from a song of his own making, and the young people sang them back to him. Hand in hand they leaped through the air, the men grasping their ladies from behind, and the music crashed like waves across the valley.
Darkness fell, and Tezcatlipoca led the happy band out of town and off to the canyons. He guided the innocents to the edge of a cliff, but the dancers could not control their frenzied motions, for Tezcatlipoca was working his godly powers on them. So intoxicated by his magic were they that no one had any regard for his own safety or that of others. Soon, one youth was bumped from the crowd and fell to his death on the crags below. Then one after another began to tip over, as a panic ensued. The frightened mob tried to swarm across a narrow stone bridge, but Tezcatlipoca shattered it into fragments, and all were lost in the ravine.
That night, the god of darkness turned all of the fallen bodies into stones, and wiped the horrid memories of the night from the minds of all survivors. At sunset the next day, Tezcatlipoca once again beat on his drum, and once again the young people gathered.
As Quetzalcoatl trudged to the east, he came upon a broad, unfordable river. With inhuman strength, he made a bridge by laying boulders in the water, and carried on across it with his retinue. This site is still known as “Stone Crossing.”
The fourth stop along his journey was the “Serpent Spring.” As Quetzalcoatl paused to refresh himself, he was surprised by a group of supernaturals, who tried to detain him. Whether these were malicious spirits or merely human sorcerers has been lost to history.
“Where are you going?” they asked of him.
“The sun has called me home, to the house of dawn,” he replied.
“Very well,” they said. “In that case, we can not detain you. But you must leave all of your arts and knowledge behind: Stonecarving, gold casting, bookmaking, and feather work. You can not take them with you.”
Around his neck Quetzalcoatl wore a number of jewels that represented the different disciplines. As a testament that the world would keep the knowledge he had introduced, he tore the jewels from his neck and dropped them into the water. “It is called Jewel Spring now,” the god announced. The spirits were satisfied, and let him pass.
Tezcatlipoca, freshly disguised, returned to the marketplace. This time he was accompanied by his favorite of all the other gods: His brother Huitzilopochtli. Tezcatlipoca found a seat while brother shrunk down to the size of a doll. Then Tezcatlipoca shouted to the townsfolk, “I am the Log-Man! And this here is Huitzilopochtli!” His brother now hopped into his hand, and began to do a wild warrior’s dance.
Amazed by the novelty, a crowd quickly jammed in to get a closer look. As before, however, Tezcatlipoca overwhelmed their judgment, and amidst the pushing and shoving of the mob many people wound up trampled to death. Tezcatlipoca taunted them, saying, “Why do you put up with this treatment? Why not find some rocks and just stone me to death?”
The crowd was now released from his spell, yet too overwhelmed by the power of his suggestion to run away. Grabbing whatever stones were on hand, they pelted this terrifying mind-stealer. Soon Huitzilopochtli had disappeared, and the stranger lay dead on the ground.
But it wasn’t over. From the fresh corpse, a miasma of carrion stench poured out. As the bystanders were struck by these fumes of corruption, they fell down in a deadly sickness. Next, to their horror, the lips of the cadaver began to move: “Toltecs, why put up with this? Why not drag me out of town with a rope, before you wind up getting killed?”
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Unable to disobey, the onlookers found their heaviest log-hauling ropes, and tying them around the body began to pull. It was then they realized that this body was heavy beyond anyone’s imagination and wouldn’t budge---Was the god showing the people how the foulness of their sins of sensuality had by now become practically immovable?
Only after several dozen men struggled at the ropes did Tezcatlipoca finally decide to let the corpse slide along, and his lips began to move in a work song: “Pull our log, Master Log!” Ropes snapped, men fell, and where the cadaver touched healthy flesh, it killed with its corruption or crushed with its great weight. Several casualties later, the hateful body at last was safely out of town, but once more the memories of the men were wiped clean by the god. |
Marching eastward, Quetzalcoatl was soon halted by another dark supernatural. “Where are you going?” he demanded of the god.
Just as before, Quetzalcoatl told him, “I am going to the house of dawn, for the sun has called me home.”
“Very well,” the spirit assented, “but before you go, you must taste of the potion I have concocted here.”
“No,” said Quetzalcoatl. “It is wine and I will not even taste it, let alone drink it.”
“But neither can it be that you will not drink it,” the bullying spirit rejoined. No one passes without sampling my wine. Now, why not be cheerful and drink it!”
Now, while the gods are strong almost without limit, Quetzalcoatl was still Topiltzin, and still a human being. He felt weak, and a failure, and had no resolve to stand up to much. He hoped half-heartedly that maybe the alcohol wouldn’t affect him as much if he sipped it through a straw. Nonetheless, the liquor overpowered him. He dropped to the ground and snored like thunder.
When he woke, the spirit was nowhere to be seen, only his dwarfish companions. He asked for a mirror, rearranged his hair, and as he rose to leave he announced, “We will call this the ‘Sleeping Place.’”
East of the Valley of Mexico, there stand two tall mountains. One is named White Woman, and the other---a volcano---Smoking Mountain. The only way between these peaks is through a high and frozen pass, and it was here that Quetzalcoatl took his way. Snow began to fall, until it became an icy blizzard. The way on was as far as the way back. The cold was too much for his little assistants, and one by one the poor men froze to death.
Quetzalcoatl wept. He had broken his fast, sinned with his human sister, lost his kingdom, abandoned his people, and now he had led his most loyal followers to their deaths. He was alone in the wilderness. Through moans and tears, however, he kept going, and dropped down into the warm country beyond.
At this point, something crossed over in Quetzalcoatl’s mind. It was as if he had reached the bottom of his pain, and wanted to rise back up. His thoughts began to turn from death to creation and rebirth.
Quetzalcoatl now began to build, and the works of his idle hours would stand for centuries as great monuments: A stone court for the ballgame, so large that its center line was made from a canyon; a huge rock balanced in such a way that a finger could rock it, but even several men could never tip it over. Even the scar left behind where he slid down a hillside would be held in later years as a relic. Finding two silk-cotton trees, a symbol of life, he tossed one like a spear right through the other, so that they formed a sort of cross. He even constructed an subterranean entrance into Mictlan.
Naming all of the mountains and all the lands he passed, Quetzalcoatl continued east, making his way to the ocean.
Tezcatlipoca’s ambushes began to multiply, as the city fell into a final chaos. Omens appeared: A white kite circled above the Tollans’ heads, with an arrow pierced through its head. A nearby mountain burned at night, the flames rising high. Food became sour and bitter. Stones rained on the Toltecs, until finally a large sacrificial stone dropped from heaven. The victory was final: Tezcatlipoca had replaced Quetzalcoatl as the chief deity, and human sacrifice was performed once again. Soon the passion for bloodletting became such a vogue that people literally lined up for tickets to let themselves be sacrificed, handed out by an old woman sent by Tezcatlipoca himself.
Huemac increasingly took the blame for the sinfulness of his people. They even whispered that he had prevented his daughter from marrying because he had been saving her for himself. Huemac’s grief was such that he ran away from the city, and finally, in desperation, the good king hanged himself.
Just as before, Quetzalcoatl told him, “I am going to the house of dawn, for the sun has called me home.”
“Very well,” the spirit assented, “but before you go, you must taste of the potion I have concocted here.”
“No,” said Quetzalcoatl. “It is wine and I will not even taste it, let alone drink it.”
“But neither can it be that you will not drink it,” the bullying spirit rejoined. No one passes without sampling my wine. Now, why not be cheerful and drink it!”
Now, while the gods are strong almost without limit, Quetzalcoatl was still Topiltzin, and still a human being. He felt weak, and a failure, and had no resolve to stand up to much. He hoped half-heartedly that maybe the alcohol wouldn’t affect him as much if he sipped it through a straw. Nonetheless, the liquor overpowered him. He dropped to the ground and snored like thunder.
When he woke, the spirit was nowhere to be seen, only his dwarfish companions. He asked for a mirror, rearranged his hair, and as he rose to leave he announced, “We will call this the ‘Sleeping Place.’”
East of the Valley of Mexico, there stand two tall mountains. One is named White Woman, and the other---a volcano---Smoking Mountain. The only way between these peaks is through a high and frozen pass, and it was here that Quetzalcoatl took his way. Snow began to fall, until it became an icy blizzard. The way on was as far as the way back. The cold was too much for his little assistants, and one by one the poor men froze to death.
Quetzalcoatl wept. He had broken his fast, sinned with his human sister, lost his kingdom, abandoned his people, and now he had led his most loyal followers to their deaths. He was alone in the wilderness. Through moans and tears, however, he kept going, and dropped down into the warm country beyond.
At this point, something crossed over in Quetzalcoatl’s mind. It was as if he had reached the bottom of his pain, and wanted to rise back up. His thoughts began to turn from death to creation and rebirth.
Quetzalcoatl now began to build, and the works of his idle hours would stand for centuries as great monuments: A stone court for the ballgame, so large that its center line was made from a canyon; a huge rock balanced in such a way that a finger could rock it, but even several men could never tip it over. Even the scar left behind where he slid down a hillside would be held in later years as a relic. Finding two silk-cotton trees, a symbol of life, he tossed one like a spear right through the other, so that they formed a sort of cross. He even constructed an subterranean entrance into Mictlan.
Naming all of the mountains and all the lands he passed, Quetzalcoatl continued east, making his way to the ocean.
Tezcatlipoca’s ambushes began to multiply, as the city fell into a final chaos. Omens appeared: A white kite circled above the Tollans’ heads, with an arrow pierced through its head. A nearby mountain burned at night, the flames rising high. Food became sour and bitter. Stones rained on the Toltecs, until finally a large sacrificial stone dropped from heaven. The victory was final: Tezcatlipoca had replaced Quetzalcoatl as the chief deity, and human sacrifice was performed once again. Soon the passion for bloodletting became such a vogue that people literally lined up for tickets to let themselves be sacrificed, handed out by an old woman sent by Tezcatlipoca himself.
Huemac increasingly took the blame for the sinfulness of his people. They even whispered that he had prevented his daughter from marrying because he had been saving her for himself. Huemac’s grief was such that he ran away from the city, and finally, in desperation, the good king hanged himself.
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Quetzalcoatl stood on the eastern shore, staring into the Gulf of Mexico. Summoning his godly powers, he created a raft for himself woven from live serpents. Stepping aboard and pushing off from shore, he disappeared into the distance as the sea was swept by a steady wind. After passing through a realm of the spirit, Quetzalcoatl arrived at one of his rightful domains, the house of dawn, the land of writing and of wisdom. There he dressed himself in all of Topiltzin’s priestly vestments, and built a great bonfire. His sojourn as a human being had come to an end, as of course they all must do. In the rosy sky, the banished flocks of bright birds suddenly reappeared. Those macaws and spoonbills who had joined their master in exile now flew into the heavens above his head. With that, Quetzalcoatl stepped into the blaze, and his earthly shell was consumed. The mighty spirit of the god was now released in all his power. |
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Having lived a human life, Quetzalcoatl now descended to Mictlan--- man’s common home---and there he experienced a human death. For four days wandered as a fleshless skeleton. Four days more were spent in the underworld as the Lord of the House of Dawn fashioned his arrows, the brilliant beams of the Morning Star. This descent into Mictlan is still commemorated today, as Venus disappears from the earth for eight days of its cycle. Now the god was ready to return to the world of spirit, and he sprang from the ashes of his funeral pyre in all his glory, the heart of his essence rising up to merge with the Morning Star.
Topiltzin had tried to find tranquility in the flawless world of the spirit, but he learned that an adult existence is one of carnality, disillusionment, ugliness, and pain. The presence of suffering in our lives, although mysterious to us, is undoubtably permanent. And yet, it is through this heavy trial of experience that we ultimately suffer into wisdom, to a true understanding of the tragic nature of life.
This is the story of how Tezcatlipoca became the dominant god of our ancestors. Yet it was said, even five hundred years after Topiltzin went away, that Quetzalcoatl would one day return to earth in human form, to unseat the influence of his dark brother, to smoothe away the ancient wrongs, and reclaim his kingdom here on earth.
Topiltzin had tried to find tranquility in the flawless world of the spirit, but he learned that an adult existence is one of carnality, disillusionment, ugliness, and pain. The presence of suffering in our lives, although mysterious to us, is undoubtably permanent. And yet, it is through this heavy trial of experience that we ultimately suffer into wisdom, to a true understanding of the tragic nature of life.
This is the story of how Tezcatlipoca became the dominant god of our ancestors. Yet it was said, even five hundred years after Topiltzin went away, that Quetzalcoatl would one day return to earth in human form, to unseat the influence of his dark brother, to smoothe away the ancient wrongs, and reclaim his kingdom here on earth.
HUITZILOPOCHTLI (WEET-seel-oh-POACH-tlee), youngest of the four sons of the Divine Couple, was the driving force behind the sun. He was the patron of holy warfare, and the citizens of the city of Mexico were his chosen people. This great god’s name means the “Hummingbird of the South.”
Huitzilopochtli dwelled in a chilly region of wings and clouds. The god’s proper color was blue, like the bright sky on a sunlit day, or like a great blue heron stretching his vast wings over the valley of Mexico. Huitzilopochtli always took the form of a virile young warrior. He wore a blue-green feathered helmet shaped like a mask of a humming-bird, the god’s face peering through the open beak. Spreading out from his yellow-feathered cape rose a large pair of wings, like an angel |
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Left-handed, like his sinister brother Tezcatlipoca, this god wielded a searing fire serpent as his weapon, that magical creature with all the brilliance and power of a solar flare. To his right arm was strapped a shield covered in eagle feathers, which mapped the four directions. He carried spears and their spear-thrower, all crafted in a turquoise blue.
This god’s left foot was unnaturally thin and withered, and to conceal this he wore a sandal with a tall spray of feathers. A black mask studded with stars surrounded his eyes. Below this, his cheeks were painted in diagonal stripes of yellow and blue, and blue stripes circled his limbs. Add to all this a golden crown, bright paper banners, white heron feathers, dazzling earrings---the Hummingbird’s appearance was overwhelming. |
[THE BIRTH:]
One day’s journey from where the famous city of Tollan would later be constructed, there stood high Snake Mountain. On its summit there lived a powerful earth goddess named Coatlicue (Coh-aht-LEE-kwey), which means “Serpent Skirt.” She was the mother of all the countless stars---who were fierce warriors---and two tough goddesses: Malinalxoch (Mawl-lee-NAWL-showtch), and Coyolxauhqui (COY-ol-shah-UH-kee). Coatlicue lived a pure and holy life, and she liked to testify her immaculacy by keeping her dwelling neat and clean.
One day, while Coatlicue was sweeping up, the Lord and Lady of Duality dropped a ball of fine plumage down from heaven. It landed right on Coatlicue and, being struck by the beauty of the feathers, she tucked the ball into the waistband of her skirt to keep it safe. Though she may not have known it, a ball of feathers was in fact the symbol of a dead warrior’s soul. After finishing her work she looked for the feathers again, but they had disappeared. From that moment on, Coatlicue was pregnant with child.
Time passed, until the swelling of her belly could no longer be concealed. On seeing this, her many sons were furious and ashamed. “Who has done this to you?” they demanded. “Who is the father? For he has insulted us and brought dishonor upon our family.” But when Coatlicue told them there was no father, they couldn’t believe her.
One day’s journey from where the famous city of Tollan would later be constructed, there stood high Snake Mountain. On its summit there lived a powerful earth goddess named Coatlicue (Coh-aht-LEE-kwey), which means “Serpent Skirt.” She was the mother of all the countless stars---who were fierce warriors---and two tough goddesses: Malinalxoch (Mawl-lee-NAWL-showtch), and Coyolxauhqui (COY-ol-shah-UH-kee). Coatlicue lived a pure and holy life, and she liked to testify her immaculacy by keeping her dwelling neat and clean.
One day, while Coatlicue was sweeping up, the Lord and Lady of Duality dropped a ball of fine plumage down from heaven. It landed right on Coatlicue and, being struck by the beauty of the feathers, she tucked the ball into the waistband of her skirt to keep it safe. Though she may not have known it, a ball of feathers was in fact the symbol of a dead warrior’s soul. After finishing her work she looked for the feathers again, but they had disappeared. From that moment on, Coatlicue was pregnant with child.
Time passed, until the swelling of her belly could no longer be concealed. On seeing this, her many sons were furious and ashamed. “Who has done this to you?” they demanded. “Who is the father? For he has insulted us and brought dishonor upon our family.” But when Coatlicue told them there was no father, they couldn’t believe her.
Coyolxauhqui then called a secret meeting with her brothers. Her name means “Bells on Her Cheeks,” as indeed there were. She was a rugged goddess: Snakes were her jewelry, one large serpent tying a skull to her waist for a belt. She wore a crown of eagle feathers arranged like a marigold, the flower of the dead. “Brothers,” she announced, “our wicked mother (now carrying a bastard child) has disgraced us all, and we must punish her with death!” The countless stars agreed with her unanimously. They dressed themselves in their war gear, grabbing their spears and winding a viny headdress around their brows, which prickled with nettles.
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Only one of the brothers, named Standing Tree, remained loyal to his mother and he rushed to her side. When Coatlicue got wind of her children’s plot against her, she was very sad and scared, and had no one to help her. Suddenly, from within her womb there came a soothing voice: It was the Hummingbird, Huitzilopochtli, and he told her, “Don’t be afraid, for I know what I must do.” When Coatlicue heard her son’s reassuring voice, her heart was calm and comforted. “Stay alert, and watch them,” he next told his brother Standing Tree, “and keep telling me what they say.”
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Coyolxauhqui led the warriors out in orderly squadrons, bells clattering from her ears and ankles. She shouted agitating words to her brothers, inciting their wrath to do the deed. As they began marching toward Snake Mountain, Standing Tree peered down from the heights and called out, “They are coming now!” “Where, my brother?” Huitzilopochtli asked. “Look carefully.” As the army passed through the outlying landmarks, Standing Tree called out their position. First they were at “Skull Rack,” then crossing “Sand Moat,” until soon they were halfway up the mountain. Finally Standing Tree cried, “They’re drawing near now, and Coyolxauhqui is leading them!” |
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At the last instant, Huitzilopochtli sprang fully armed from his mother’s womb at last. A marvel of sky-blue and gold, he gripped his shield and in his left hand held a snakehead scepter made of candlewood. “Light my scepter!” he shouted, and his brother touched the staff with fire. It burst into flame, turning into that magical creature, the fire serpent.
The Hummingbird hurled this living weapon at his sister as she rounded the peak of Snake Mountain. Obedient to its master, the fire serpent exploded into her with the fury of the sun. Her head was struck off, and her body fell into pieces as it tumbled down the slope. |
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Now Huitzilopochtli radiantly turned to face his brothers, the countless stars. These terrified warriors retreated from the mountaintop, and their brother pursued them four times around its base as if he were hunting so many rabbits. Even so numerous as they were, they could not surround the Hummingbird, and so they cried in vain for mercy, beating their breast with their shields. But Huitzilopochtli had no mercy, and in moments they were utterly destroyed.
Only then did the rage pass out through his system, and Huitzilo-pochtli settled in to strip his brothers of their fineries, incoportating some elements into his own insignia as trophies. Scooping a paper headdress from one of the fallen warriors he declared, “From now on this will be my crown.” As Huitzilopochtli was victorious, so he gave his chosen people the right to rule over their own vanquished rivals as he had done. |
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We can see this epic battle against the gods of night reenacted every morning at dawn: Coyolxauhqui’s spirit is linked to the moon and her brothers to the stars, while Huitzilopochtli rises like the sun from mother earth, wielding his fire serpent like the rays of the sun, banishing his rivals from sight, and lending us a new day of life.
The Mexicans mirrored this story in the construction of the god’s own temple. Huitzilopochtli and his mother’s statues were placed on the top of the Great Pyramid, as tall as Snake Mountain. Far below, at the foot of the staircase, was the sculpture of a dismembered Coyolxauhqui. As the bodies of his sacrificial victims were rolled down these stairs, they came to rest directly on her image |
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But what does it mean to say Huitzilopochtli “rises like the sun?” The fact is that the once-proud Tonatiuh’s power had dwindled over the passing ages, while Huitzilopochtli’s influence as a solar god began to grow. Tonatiuh became worshiped as not much more than the golden disc above, while the Hummingbird usurped much of the spirit needed to actually move the sun through the sky. |
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The rising of the sun was nothing our ancestors could take for granted. Every night he descended into the dangerous underworld, and a skyfull of stars poured in over him. Exhausted and dim, he sped to the east through the gladiatorial arena of Mictlan, battling with the spirits of death in order to reach the horizon. By dawn he was desparate for nourishment, and only the most precious food man could provide would aid him in his fight against the powers of darkness. Blood, whether spilled on the altar or the battlefield, was the “precious fluid” of life itself, which magically lent him vigor for the laborious ascent. As the sun provided life for man, a mature society was quick to return the favor.
Every night there still remained the terrifying possibility that he would be too weak rise again, and the world would be plunged into darkness forever. Thus, while the other gods might demand an occasional tribute, Huitzilopochtli required the “divine liquor” every morning. “It was not in vain that I wear an array of yellow plumes,” he would say, “for it is I who causes the sun to rise!”
Because the god’s favorite offerings were the prisoners of war, ceaseless combat and the welfare of the sun went hand in hand. Huitzilopochtli was in fact the god of young warriors---eternally brave and victorious, and his blinding speed was the stuff of myth. He set his people loose on the world to conquer in his name, a necessary religious ritual which produced a steady stream of captives for his altar. [DISCUSS WAR HERE] |
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When a baby boy was born, his midwife would say to him, “This house in which you were born is only a nest, for you are promised to the fields of battle. War is your talent, and your task is to give the sun and the earth the blood of enemies to drink.”
To declare their dedication to the sun, the growing warriors would burn a line of scars on their left wrist. Those in combat who could release all awareness of self and let go to the fury of battle, Huitzilopochtli would temporarily possess with his spirit, lending the mortal an unpredictable yet devastating berzerker frenzy. The sun himself was known as the “Heavenly Marksman,” as he shot his rays across the sky.
The Mexican warrior was a model of chivalry. Unlike the Europeans of the day, Mexican warriors never killed women, or those unable to defend themselves in combat. Some military units even swore never to take a backwards step on the battlefield on pain of death.
In order to take captives for sacrifice, Mexican warriors tried only to cripple their opponent, aiming for the ankles and other vulnerable spots. Unlike the Maya, however, who tortured and humiliated their prisoners, the Aztecs treated their captives with honor. [FLOWERY WARS HERE].
To declare their dedication to the sun, the growing warriors would burn a line of scars on their left wrist. Those in combat who could release all awareness of self and let go to the fury of battle, Huitzilopochtli would temporarily possess with his spirit, lending the mortal an unpredictable yet devastating berzerker frenzy. The sun himself was known as the “Heavenly Marksman,” as he shot his rays across the sky.
The Mexican warrior was a model of chivalry. Unlike the Europeans of the day, Mexican warriors never killed women, or those unable to defend themselves in combat. Some military units even swore never to take a backwards step on the battlefield on pain of death.
In order to take captives for sacrifice, Mexican warriors tried only to cripple their opponent, aiming for the ankles and other vulnerable spots. Unlike the Maya, however, who tortured and humiliated their prisoners, the Aztecs treated their captives with honor. [FLOWERY WARS HERE].
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What happens to us after death? The answer depended largely on the manner in which you died. There were in fact three different destinations for the souls of the departed. The most illustrious of these was reserved for warriors. Huitzilopochtli offered comfort to those who died as casualties of the battlefield, or were offered up as sacrifices on the altar. The souls of these deserving men rose up to the lovely heaven of the sun, over which the Hummingbird ruled. |
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Before the dawn, these shades gathered together at the eastern horizon, in a vast desert plain spotted with cactus and mesquite. Then, as the sun burst forth from the underworld, they escorted him into the sky, encouraging him with war cries, clattering their shields together, and sporting together in playful duels. Even these spirits could not stare the blinding sun in the face; only oblique glances could be stolen through punchholes in their shields. These souls would gaze down upon the loved ones they had left behind, and funeral offerings were much appreciated by them. When evening fell, these souls retired to become the army of stars who warmed the night sky.
This enjoyable routine lasted for four years, until the souls lost all memory of their earthly lives. At this point, they were transformed into hummingbirds and butterflies, and returned to earth to suck nectar from blooms.
This enjoyable routine lasted for four years, until the souls lost all memory of their earthly lives. At this point, they were transformed into hummingbirds and butterflies, and returned to earth to suck nectar from blooms.
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These were three animals sacred to Huitzilopochtli. The first of these was the golden eagle, symbol of the sun. Only the eagle could stare directly at the sun, and the rising and setting sun were compared to an eagle in his flight. The eagle made his own offerings of sacrifice to the god when he pierced the throats of his prey, letting the blood drip down. Even the downy feathers of the eagle were a symbol of human sacrifice.
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The second sacred animal was the butterfly, and these adorned Huitzilopochtli’s shrine. Swarming in bright red flocks, butterflies were identified with fire and war. Far from delicate, they were often drawn with the sharp teeth of a wildcat.
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The hummingbird, namesake of Huitzilopochtli, was a sacred bird of blood and war. Courageous birds who attack predators many times their size, the hummingbirds sucked nectar from a flower as a penitent draws blood. In the dry season, hummingbirds were believed to stick their bills in the bark of a tree and then pass away, the body hanging there until the rainy season began, when they returned to life in a model of regeneration.
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Huitzilopochli’s temple was on top of the tallest pyramid in the city of Mexico. It was painted red, and decorated with white skulls. Once a year, people came from all over the countryside to trim his temple with bright flower garlands. Worshipers danced down the temple steps, carrying huge paper models of the fire serpents like so many Chinese dragons, flames of red feathers blowing from their mouths. The god was offered skulls with false, staring eyes; the weapons of war; and sacrificial knives inlaid with eyes and teeth. Every town conquered by the Aztecs were forced to add Huitzilopochtli to the top of their pantheon, and it was by his name that courtroom witnesses swore.
Although he was the god of the daytime sky, Huitzilopochtli was close to his brother Tezcatlipoca. Always working together as friends, they could even borrow some of each others’ powers. As a result, the Hummingbird had a dark side, and could appear as a blood-lusting berzerker, or a magical skull that uttered cryptic omens.
At Huitzilopochtli’s feast, an image of the god was made from dough, baked, and dressed in his costume and weapons. His high priest shot this idol through the heart with a stone-tipped arrow, ceremonially sacrificing it. The idol was then broken into tiny pieces and distributed around the city. People ate these little “kisses of Huitzilopochtli” as an act of communion with the god.
Although he was the god of the daytime sky, Huitzilopochtli was close to his brother Tezcatlipoca. Always working together as friends, they could even borrow some of each others’ powers. As a result, the Hummingbird had a dark side, and could appear as a blood-lusting berzerker, or a magical skull that uttered cryptic omens.
At Huitzilopochtli’s feast, an image of the god was made from dough, baked, and dressed in his costume and weapons. His high priest shot this idol through the heart with a stone-tipped arrow, ceremonially sacrificing it. The idol was then broken into tiny pieces and distributed around the city. People ate these little “kisses of Huitzilopochtli” as an act of communion with the god.
The Mexicans now known as the Aztecs were not always the mighty nation that awed the world. For hundreds of years they wandered as a despised and humble tribe, until Huitzilopochtli raised them up to glory.
About a thousand years ago, the Mexicans lived far to the north in a land called Aztlan (AWS-tlawn), the “White Place.” Aztlan was a lush island paradise, surrounded on all sides by a marshy lagoon. At its heart rose high Snake Mountain, where the goddess Coatlicue dwelled with her beloved human servants, and at the foot of this mountain lay the entrance to the “Seven Caves.” Seven different tribes lived harmoniously in these caverns, and among them were numbered the ancestors of the Aztecs. Hardships were scarcely known in Aztlan, for crops grew in abundance, fish filled the waters, and colorful birds were always singing in the trees.
About a thousand years ago, the Mexicans lived far to the north in a land called Aztlan (AWS-tlawn), the “White Place.” Aztlan was a lush island paradise, surrounded on all sides by a marshy lagoon. At its heart rose high Snake Mountain, where the goddess Coatlicue dwelled with her beloved human servants, and at the foot of this mountain lay the entrance to the “Seven Caves.” Seven different tribes lived harmoniously in these caverns, and among them were numbered the ancestors of the Aztecs. Hardships were scarcely known in Aztlan, for crops grew in abundance, fish filled the waters, and colorful birds were always singing in the trees.
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Now, of all these tribes Huitzilopochtli had selected one alone---the Mexicans---as his favorite. One day he announced to his chosen people that they must depart from Aztlan. Although they would face formidable difficulties, their final destination would be greater than anything they had known. “For you will carry out my orders in every nation,” the Hummingbird told them, “and I will stand guard at your far-flung borders. The name of Mexico shall be exhalted to the clouds, and riches shall flow to my temple. I will have it all.” The obedient Mexicans prepared to leave this sanctuary of Coatlicue and travel to the promised land.
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When the other tribes heard of this divine prophecy, they too wanted to cling to such glory. As a result, most of the population set off under Huitzilopochtli’s banner, with the Mexicans bringing up the rear. While the god himself travelled only in spirit form, invisible to human eyes, his sister Malinalxoch marched with them in the flesh. The pilgrims soon learned to their dismay that Aztlan was girded with a wall of sharp rocks and entangled thorns. Jaguars haunted them when they camped at night, and serpents instead of songbirds glided through the branches. It was as if everything had turned against them |
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Travelling southbound, the Hummingbird’s cardinal direction, the pilgrims came upon two mysterious bundles. When these were opened, one was found to contain a shining emerald, while the other held only a pair of pointed sticks. Unsurprisingly, all of the tribes began to argue over who should keep the emerald. At last, the leader of the Mexicans told his people to just accept the pair of sticks, and they did so. Twirling the sticks rapidly between his hands, their leader brought forth a fire, and as the others squabbled over a stone in the cold and dark, the Mexicans laughed around a cheerful fire.
They had in fact been reluctant to let these others tag along in the first place, though the newcomers had agreed to worship Huitzilopochtli. Though the Mexicans believed these others were trying to take advantage of their glorious future, they were still prepared to tolerate their company. One day, however, out of nowhere came a huge cracking sound. A large cypress tree near the Mexican tribe broke in two and crashed to the ground. The voice of Huitzilopochtli boomed out, ordering his people to make a break with their past and proceed alone. |
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They did so: Travelling south, the Mexicans never knew where their god was leading them, or when their wanderings would end. The priests took turns lovingly carrying the idol of Huitzilopochtli in a shawl upon their backs, as if he were a little papoose.
Now, although the Hummingbird’s sister Malinalxoch was beautiful and soft-spoken, she was a cold-hearted goddess of witchcraft. With her magic bag of scorpions, centipedes, and spiders, she could drop the veil of illusion before men’s eyes, or haunt the night as a wild animal. When a member of the tribe dared to cross her will, she would cripple him or kill him. She could devour the heart by just an evil glance, and transport while they slept alongside a nest of serpents. Although they called her “eye-twister” and “heart-biter” behind her back, fear compelled them to worship her to her face.
Finally the priests complained to Huitzilopochtli in their prayers about his sister’s evil ways. The god was often aloof and would not appear before men’s eyes, but that night as they slept, he spoke to them in dreams: “My sister is indeed a menace. We are done with her and all her charms. Tomorrow night, once she falls asleep, you must steal away and leave her behind.
“O my fathers, the work that Malinalxoch does is not my work. When I came forth I was given arrows and a shield, for battle is my work, and with chest and shoulders is how I rule. I shall confront the cities and await their armies from every compass point. I shall join battle with them to provide the gods with drink and food. Here shall I conquer the diverse kingdoms and lash them together, that I may see the house of jade, gold, and quetzal feathers, the house of emeralds, coral, and amethysts, and sundry precious feathers, cocoa and cotton. I shall see all this, for in truth it was for this work I was sent here. And now my fathers, ready the provisions. Let us go! Out there we are going to find it.”
The next night, his priests did as their lord commanded and snuck quietly away, leaving Malinalxoch with only a handful of loyal servants. When she woke that morning, she looked around in disbelief. “My treacherous brother has cheated us!” she wailed. “Gone without a trace, and his whole hateful pack with him. Where do they think they can go? The countryside is filled with armed strangers. Well then, let us seek a land of our own.”
Leading her followers to the nearest town, the goddess begged its citizens to let her settle just outside. They reluctantly let her encamp at a place called Craggy Hill, whose townsfolk would later be famous for witchcraft.
Now, although the Hummingbird’s sister Malinalxoch was beautiful and soft-spoken, she was a cold-hearted goddess of witchcraft. With her magic bag of scorpions, centipedes, and spiders, she could drop the veil of illusion before men’s eyes, or haunt the night as a wild animal. When a member of the tribe dared to cross her will, she would cripple him or kill him. She could devour the heart by just an evil glance, and transport while they slept alongside a nest of serpents. Although they called her “eye-twister” and “heart-biter” behind her back, fear compelled them to worship her to her face.
Finally the priests complained to Huitzilopochtli in their prayers about his sister’s evil ways. The god was often aloof and would not appear before men’s eyes, but that night as they slept, he spoke to them in dreams: “My sister is indeed a menace. We are done with her and all her charms. Tomorrow night, once she falls asleep, you must steal away and leave her behind.
“O my fathers, the work that Malinalxoch does is not my work. When I came forth I was given arrows and a shield, for battle is my work, and with chest and shoulders is how I rule. I shall confront the cities and await their armies from every compass point. I shall join battle with them to provide the gods with drink and food. Here shall I conquer the diverse kingdoms and lash them together, that I may see the house of jade, gold, and quetzal feathers, the house of emeralds, coral, and amethysts, and sundry precious feathers, cocoa and cotton. I shall see all this, for in truth it was for this work I was sent here. And now my fathers, ready the provisions. Let us go! Out there we are going to find it.”
The next night, his priests did as their lord commanded and snuck quietly away, leaving Malinalxoch with only a handful of loyal servants. When she woke that morning, she looked around in disbelief. “My treacherous brother has cheated us!” she wailed. “Gone without a trace, and his whole hateful pack with him. Where do they think they can go? The countryside is filled with armed strangers. Well then, let us seek a land of our own.”
Leading her followers to the nearest town, the goddess begged its citizens to let her settle just outside. They reluctantly let her encamp at a place called Craggy Hill, whose townsfolk would later be famous for witchcraft.
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Huitzilopochtli kept pushing his people onwards to the south, allowing them a few months here and there to harvest a little corn before ordering them to strike camp once more. After many years, the Mexicans at last reached the shores of a lake that would become their future home. They camped on its banks at a site called Grasshopper Hill, but found themselves surrounded by a score of violent-minded tribes, who were just waiting for evil fortune to overwhelm the Mexicans. Huitzilopochtli reassured them. “Be patient, for I know what is to come. We merely rest here, for our home lies further on. Yet now you must be brave and dress for combat, as there are those who are coming to destroy us, and we must lie in wait for them. |
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Though it had been decades, the Hummingbird was aware that his sister had given birth to a son, by the mortal king of her city. That son, named Copil, was now fully grown. His mother had schooled him in the arts of wizardry, and raised him on stories of how his uncle had abandoned her in the woods. Copil was moved by his mother’s tears, and swore to her, “I will seek the evil one, and take revenge with the arts you have taught me. Do not be sad, mother, for I shall devour him.”
It was now the year 1285. Having heard the Mexicans were camped at Grasshopper Hill, Copil made a tour of the outlying cities to stir up hatred of the new intruders. “Beware of the Mexicans,” he told them all, “for they have come to conquer, and only when they have made you their slaves will you know how perverted their horrible practices are. I know, for I have seen them with my own eyes.”
In no time, a half dozen nations had allied themselves with Copil, and began to march against Grasshopper Hill. The gloating Copil climbed a nearby hilltop to survey the massacre. Huitzilopochtli told his priests, “Adorn yourselves, fathers, for my evil nephew is coming. I am off to destroy him.”
With incredible speed, the Hummingbird lighted before Copil, who cried, “It is I! How could you abandon my mother? I shall destroy you!”
“Very well,” said the god. “Come on!” The two began to battle, with Copil relying on the dark arts of magic, and Huitzilopochtli on his spear and shield. Sorcery proved no match for the god of war, however, and Copil’s head was soon struck off. Huitzilopochtli cut open his dead nephew’s chest, and tore out his heart.
This victory, however, could not prevent the Mexican forces from ultimately being defeated. Under the onslaught of six combined armies, the survivors fled for their lives. When the dust had settled, Huitzilopochtli comforted one of his priests, named Eagle Serpent, by honoring him with the extremely rare appearance of his godly presence. “Here is the heart of the evil one,” he uttered, holding it up before him. “Run with it towards the lake. In the rushes and the reeds you shall behold the stone where Quetzalcoatl once sat and wept. From there, cast the heart of Copil into the water with all your strength.”
The astounded priest immediately followed these directions, and soon found the very rock that had cast the handprints of the Plumed Serpent like so much wax. Flinging the heart, Eagle Serpent saw it drop amongst the canebrakes of a marshy sand bar, and he proudly returned to his people. The heart of Copil sank slowly into the mud, and---true to its origin---began a magical transformation. In time, a prickly pear cactus would grow from that root, its blood-red fruit the size and shape of a human heart.
For fifteen years the vanquished Mexicans were now pushed, unwanted, from town to town. They suffered the indignities of being stoned by their enemies or besieged in their forts. At last, they approached the king of a city named Colhuacan, on the southern shore of the lake. “In your mercy,” they begged him, “Grant us a small piece of land to live on.”
The king of Colhuacan had just as soon be rid of them, so he invited them to take over an uninhabitable sink named Chalk Water. The grateful Mexicans set off for this island to raise their huts, little suspecting that the cunning king had sent them off to die. Chalk Water was a trap, infested with swarms of dangerous insects, but worst of all it was crawling with poisonous snakes. The Mexicans feared for their lives.
Huitzilopochtli came to them in their dreams and soothed their fears. After all, was this not the god whose mother Serpent Skirt had borne him on Snake Mountain, and who wielded the fire serpent for his spear? He explained to his people how the dangerous snakes could be caught and be turned into a cookpot treat.
Days passed, and the king sent a few scouts to see if any Mexicans were still alive. There they were, the whole happy tribe, busy with their cookery. Snakes were indeed everywhere; boiling, roasting, and turning on the spit. The scouts were shown well-cultivated fields, a street with houses, and even a small temple.
When the king heard of this, he thought, “These people must be greatly favored by their god.” He began to respect the Mexicans after that, allowing them to enter the city to trade and even intermarry with his subjects.
But Huitzilopochtli was displeased. Twenty-five more years passed, and here the Mexicans were no more than menial drones: Chopping wood, shining stones, carving canoes. Some were even sold away as slaves and never seen again. He had not brought them here to be servants, but to be the masters of their own home.
The humiliations began to escalate. The Mexicans had built a new shrine to Huitzilopochtli on their little island, and they asked their masters in Colhuacan if they would like to make any offerings. Sure enough a party was sent, but their canoes were filled with rotting trash, dead birds, and excrement. These they overturned on the brand new shrine, and left guffawing. The little temple was so corrupted with filth they had to built a new one from scratch.
This was the last straw for Huitzilopochtli, for he was one of the four sons of the Divine Couple, and had helped create the heavens and the earth. He called for his priests and alerted them, “We must now move from here, and show the world that we are armed to the teeth. You will gird yourselves with weapons, and give Colhuacan good reason to go to war.
“There is a goddess called the War Woman. When we have built our city, you will also worship her as Our Grandmother. She is your divine queen. Do this: Go to their king, ask him to send his only daughter to us, and tell him she will be worshiped as your goddess, the War Woman.”
The priests visited the king of Colhuacan, and gave him the divine message. Eager to see his child become both queen and goddess, he sent her at once in a royal litter, amidst great celebration.
That night Huitzilopochtli spoke to his priests once more: “I told you this girl would be the cause for war, and now you must make my prophecy come true. Sacrifice her in my honor. Then you must flay her, and dress a young boy in her skin. Dress him in her girl’s clothing, and then call for her father to join in the worship.” The princess would indeed be worshiped---not as the War Woman herself, but as her fleshly idol.
It was now the year 1285. Having heard the Mexicans were camped at Grasshopper Hill, Copil made a tour of the outlying cities to stir up hatred of the new intruders. “Beware of the Mexicans,” he told them all, “for they have come to conquer, and only when they have made you their slaves will you know how perverted their horrible practices are. I know, for I have seen them with my own eyes.”
In no time, a half dozen nations had allied themselves with Copil, and began to march against Grasshopper Hill. The gloating Copil climbed a nearby hilltop to survey the massacre. Huitzilopochtli told his priests, “Adorn yourselves, fathers, for my evil nephew is coming. I am off to destroy him.”
With incredible speed, the Hummingbird lighted before Copil, who cried, “It is I! How could you abandon my mother? I shall destroy you!”
“Very well,” said the god. “Come on!” The two began to battle, with Copil relying on the dark arts of magic, and Huitzilopochtli on his spear and shield. Sorcery proved no match for the god of war, however, and Copil’s head was soon struck off. Huitzilopochtli cut open his dead nephew’s chest, and tore out his heart.
This victory, however, could not prevent the Mexican forces from ultimately being defeated. Under the onslaught of six combined armies, the survivors fled for their lives. When the dust had settled, Huitzilopochtli comforted one of his priests, named Eagle Serpent, by honoring him with the extremely rare appearance of his godly presence. “Here is the heart of the evil one,” he uttered, holding it up before him. “Run with it towards the lake. In the rushes and the reeds you shall behold the stone where Quetzalcoatl once sat and wept. From there, cast the heart of Copil into the water with all your strength.”
The astounded priest immediately followed these directions, and soon found the very rock that had cast the handprints of the Plumed Serpent like so much wax. Flinging the heart, Eagle Serpent saw it drop amongst the canebrakes of a marshy sand bar, and he proudly returned to his people. The heart of Copil sank slowly into the mud, and---true to its origin---began a magical transformation. In time, a prickly pear cactus would grow from that root, its blood-red fruit the size and shape of a human heart.
For fifteen years the vanquished Mexicans were now pushed, unwanted, from town to town. They suffered the indignities of being stoned by their enemies or besieged in their forts. At last, they approached the king of a city named Colhuacan, on the southern shore of the lake. “In your mercy,” they begged him, “Grant us a small piece of land to live on.”
The king of Colhuacan had just as soon be rid of them, so he invited them to take over an uninhabitable sink named Chalk Water. The grateful Mexicans set off for this island to raise their huts, little suspecting that the cunning king had sent them off to die. Chalk Water was a trap, infested with swarms of dangerous insects, but worst of all it was crawling with poisonous snakes. The Mexicans feared for their lives.
Huitzilopochtli came to them in their dreams and soothed their fears. After all, was this not the god whose mother Serpent Skirt had borne him on Snake Mountain, and who wielded the fire serpent for his spear? He explained to his people how the dangerous snakes could be caught and be turned into a cookpot treat.
Days passed, and the king sent a few scouts to see if any Mexicans were still alive. There they were, the whole happy tribe, busy with their cookery. Snakes were indeed everywhere; boiling, roasting, and turning on the spit. The scouts were shown well-cultivated fields, a street with houses, and even a small temple.
When the king heard of this, he thought, “These people must be greatly favored by their god.” He began to respect the Mexicans after that, allowing them to enter the city to trade and even intermarry with his subjects.
But Huitzilopochtli was displeased. Twenty-five more years passed, and here the Mexicans were no more than menial drones: Chopping wood, shining stones, carving canoes. Some were even sold away as slaves and never seen again. He had not brought them here to be servants, but to be the masters of their own home.
The humiliations began to escalate. The Mexicans had built a new shrine to Huitzilopochtli on their little island, and they asked their masters in Colhuacan if they would like to make any offerings. Sure enough a party was sent, but their canoes were filled with rotting trash, dead birds, and excrement. These they overturned on the brand new shrine, and left guffawing. The little temple was so corrupted with filth they had to built a new one from scratch.
This was the last straw for Huitzilopochtli, for he was one of the four sons of the Divine Couple, and had helped create the heavens and the earth. He called for his priests and alerted them, “We must now move from here, and show the world that we are armed to the teeth. You will gird yourselves with weapons, and give Colhuacan good reason to go to war.
“There is a goddess called the War Woman. When we have built our city, you will also worship her as Our Grandmother. She is your divine queen. Do this: Go to their king, ask him to send his only daughter to us, and tell him she will be worshiped as your goddess, the War Woman.”
The priests visited the king of Colhuacan, and gave him the divine message. Eager to see his child become both queen and goddess, he sent her at once in a royal litter, amidst great celebration.
That night Huitzilopochtli spoke to his priests once more: “I told you this girl would be the cause for war, and now you must make my prophecy come true. Sacrifice her in my honor. Then you must flay her, and dress a young boy in her skin. Dress him in her girl’s clothing, and then call for her father to join in the worship.” The princess would indeed be worshiped---not as the War Woman herself, but as her fleshly idol.
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The obedient priests followed his orders, and the king shortly arrived with an escort of noblemen. The priests invited him into a dark chamber where they were to make offerings to his daughter, who was now deified. The king entered and took a seat by a low fire. There across the room, he saw his child standing, dressed in her familiar clothing. The proud father laid out gifts of flowers and tobacco, then twisted the neck of a living quail to make a blood offering. Yet when he took out the incense he had brought and touched it to the fire, the flames leaped up, and he suddenly realized what they had done to his daughter.
“Come, Colhuacans!” he screamed, running from the room, “Have you not seen this? They murdered my daughter! They dressed a boy up in her skin! Devils! Kill them! Wipe them out!”
The Mexicans seized their weapons and took up battle formation. The women and children were protected from behind by the water, while the men drew up in a line before them. The army of Colhuacan came swiftly across the waves, and soon the Mexicans were locked in a losing combat. Knee-deep in mud, they were being pushed into the lake. But while the Colhuacans fought for their king, the Mexicans had their very families present to spur them on with the desperation of their cause. Looking only for survival by now, the Mexicans redoubled their efforts and broke through the enemy line. The entire tribe now took flight for their lives along the drier shore. With the king’s army behind them, whole families dove into the lake, using the men’s shields as tiny rafts. The warriors paddled their loved ones desparately to where they knew swampy islands lay in the middle of the great lake. Drenched, freezing, and miserable, the people huddled together in the mud and the reeds, fear straining their ears until they realized they had not been pursued. “Where can we go now?” the women cried. “We may as well just lie down here in the grass!”
When dawn broke, the Mexicans decided their best bet would be to explore the chain of islands they were on. Two elders, named Cuauhcoatl [Eagle Serpent?] and Axolohua, were hunting in the marsh for drier ground when they were suddenly astonished by their surroundings. Everything was pale white---The cypress and the willow trees, the fields of grass, the fish in the water, frogs on the banks, even the snakes were white. It was just like Aztlan, the White Place, the home their ancestors had left many generations before. The hearts of the two men were filled with hope as they said, “Here must be the place.” They hurried back to camp, eager to hear what their god would tell them next.
That night, Eagle Serpent was visited by Huitzilopochtli in a dream. “Eagle Serpent, you have beheld many things in the reeds, but there is something more that I want you to find. It is a prickly pear cactus, and on top of it you will see a golden eagle, sunning himself and feeding on his prey. Be pleased, for this is what has grown from Copil’s heart, which you yourself threw from the shore so many years ago, and this exact spot shall be the heart of our fortress, where we shall meet invaders with brawn and shield.”
“Come, Colhuacans!” he screamed, running from the room, “Have you not seen this? They murdered my daughter! They dressed a boy up in her skin! Devils! Kill them! Wipe them out!”
The Mexicans seized their weapons and took up battle formation. The women and children were protected from behind by the water, while the men drew up in a line before them. The army of Colhuacan came swiftly across the waves, and soon the Mexicans were locked in a losing combat. Knee-deep in mud, they were being pushed into the lake. But while the Colhuacans fought for their king, the Mexicans had their very families present to spur them on with the desperation of their cause. Looking only for survival by now, the Mexicans redoubled their efforts and broke through the enemy line. The entire tribe now took flight for their lives along the drier shore. With the king’s army behind them, whole families dove into the lake, using the men’s shields as tiny rafts. The warriors paddled their loved ones desparately to where they knew swampy islands lay in the middle of the great lake. Drenched, freezing, and miserable, the people huddled together in the mud and the reeds, fear straining their ears until they realized they had not been pursued. “Where can we go now?” the women cried. “We may as well just lie down here in the grass!”
When dawn broke, the Mexicans decided their best bet would be to explore the chain of islands they were on. Two elders, named Cuauhcoatl [Eagle Serpent?] and Axolohua, were hunting in the marsh for drier ground when they were suddenly astonished by their surroundings. Everything was pale white---The cypress and the willow trees, the fields of grass, the fish in the water, frogs on the banks, even the snakes were white. It was just like Aztlan, the White Place, the home their ancestors had left many generations before. The hearts of the two men were filled with hope as they said, “Here must be the place.” They hurried back to camp, eager to hear what their god would tell them next.
That night, Eagle Serpent was visited by Huitzilopochtli in a dream. “Eagle Serpent, you have beheld many things in the reeds, but there is something more that I want you to find. It is a prickly pear cactus, and on top of it you will see a golden eagle, sunning himself and feeding on his prey. Be pleased, for this is what has grown from Copil’s heart, which you yourself threw from the shore so many years ago, and this exact spot shall be the heart of our fortress, where we shall meet invaders with brawn and shield.”
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In the morning, Eagle Serpent spread the news to all the Mexicans. Together they searched the island, and soon they discovered an eagle on a cactus, just as had been predicted. The bodies of lesser birds were scattered all around, and his claws were punched into the body of a snake. As the Mexicans approached, the eagle bowed his head low to them.
“This is Mexico,” the voice of Huitzilopochtli suddenly boomed from the sky, “where the eagle screams and spreads his wings, where fish do fly and the serpent is torn asunder. Mexico, city of the cactus tree, where many things shall come to pass. My people, it shall be here.” The weary tribe began to weep. “We are blessed,” they said, “for we have seen where our city shall rise. But for now, let us go and rest.” It was this great vision that would one day be commemorated on the flag of modern Mexico. |
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Huitzilopochtli was indeed a great provider for his people, with a wealth of conquest tributes flowing to his source of power. Yet there was a god whose gifts, though less glamorous, were far more immediate and vital to man: The lord of rain.
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TLALOC, god of the waters, worked closely with the Hummingbird, whom he affectionately called, “My Son.” These two gods had their temples side by side on the tallest pyramid in the city, sun and rain united. They say that when Huitzilopochtli finally arrived with his people to the shores of the lake, old Tlaloc himself rose from the water to welcome him. While Huitzilopochtli led his powerful warriors to victory, Tlaloc comforted the poor peasants, leaning on their tools out in the fields.
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As the god of rain, Tlaloc sent down his much-desired showers to bless the farmer with healthy crops, causing the trees to leaf out, flowers to bloom, and corn to grow. He was popular with the common men, who depended on him so deeply for their daily needs. To them, rain was as precious as turquoise, jade, or emeralds. Tlaloc was the most powerful of the fertility gods, and all the corn in the world was his possession. The old moral of Mount Sustenance had not been lost: Although the sun, Nanahuatzin, could open the door to the wealth of agriculture, the gift itself came from the hands of the god of rain. |
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Tlaloc’s moods could be capricious, however, and he was as feared as he was loved. When angry, he could shroud the more reliable sun with his storm clouds, rolling out thunder and tossing lightning bolts before releasing a devastating flash flood. Such an unwanted bounty would ruin crops and spread mildew in the granaries. Or else he could simply take himself away, and as the sun scorched the earth, drought and famine followed. Fortunately, Tlaloc was a benevolent ruler, and normally fond of mortals. This god was known to say, “If anyone has caused me shame, it was only because he did not know me well.”
Tlaloc wore a sea-blue costume with a striking blue mask. He peered out through broad rings that circled his eyes as if they were goggles. Below this was a mouth full of tusks, like a panther. His upper lip curled down on either side in a shape of a handlebar mustache, like a catfish. His body was painted as black as a storm cloud, while his headdress was a white spray of heron feathers.
The mountain ranges of Mexico were in fact hollowed out, and Tlaloc, “Made of Earth,” dwelled within. These peaks were the origin of rain, from which Tlaloc poured out billowing grey clouds at the summit, letting them drift down the slopes. Through caves at the foothills he released the flowing rivers, gushing from huge, subterranean lakes. Pilgrims would climb great heigths to pray at his little stone shrines, which were hidden atop the misty mountain peaks.
To perform his office, Tlaloc was assisted by a number of minor mountain gods known as the Tlaloque (TLAH-lo-kay). These spirits looked just like dwarfish versions of their master, though they would still seem like giants to us. The Tlaloque lived in the rivers and the wells, overseeing their upkeep and direction. When Tlaloc called, they gathered at his palace atop a mountain peak. Here they split up into four different chambers, which opened onto a central patio lined along the compass points. In this patio were four enormous urns, in which Tlaloc kept the various types of rain he bestowed.
At his command, the Tlaloque would dip their jugs into one of the great urns, and fly off to release it to the earth. The first urn held what men prayed for: A fresh, sweet rain, that enriched the crops and mingled with the sunshine. The other three, however, were unwelcome. One brimmed with foul water, which would dissolve into thick clouds that blocked the sun and yet refused to rain, until cobwebs spread across the flour jars. The third urn produced snow and pounding hail, while the fourth released such an unwholesome and untimely drench that it caused fresh corn to rankle and decay.
Scooping up these fair or foul waters in their jugs, the flock of Tlaloque soared over the fields, grasping a staff with their free hand. With this staff, they struck the body of their jars, cracking them open with the rumble and boom of thunder, to let their contents rain down. Tlaloc himself flew amongst them, casting down the bright fire serpents that appeared as lightning. Though frightening, these magic creatures were a good omen of the fertile energy that was arriving. Remember, it was a fire serpent thrown by Tonatiuh that split open Mount Sustenance.
As the dry season of year drew to a close, people were tense in anticipation of the new rains of spring. Here are some words of prayer from a time when they did not arrive, and the land was choked by drought:
“Lord, what does your heart desire? Have you locked your servants away in a box? Who then can we appeal to? For every leaf and stalk is looking for you and crying out. I pray not for myself, but for the helpless. At least give something for the infants to eat, those crawling on the earth or tied to their board, for they are too innocent to have sinned. As for the men, at least let us die on the battlefield, where though our skulls shall be split, our bodies charred, our hair scatter and bones whiten, we should not die like this. Yet if we have somehow offended heaven by our foul corruption rising up, then perhaps this is the end after all. Darkness will come, leaving the city desolate, and wipe the people from the earth. If so you have ordained, what is the use of prayer? Yet come to us, quench the thirst of the earth and her animals, and give comfort to her people. Lord, make haste!”
We have seen how some people travel to the House of the Sun after they die. Tlaloc also ruled over his own kingdom of heaven, called Tlalocan (Tlaw-lo-KAHN). While those who went to be with the sun had died in combat or on the altar, those who entered Tlalocan had been selected by the god himself. To claim his subjects, Tlaloc ended their time on earth by striking them with a thunderbolt, pulling them down under the waters, or sending a disease of moisture (such as gout or palsy) to steal them away. It was said that those sad souls who took their own lives had been called to by the god as well.
While most Mexicans were cremated after death, those destined to be with Tlaloc, the “Earthen One,” were buried in the earth. Their family decorated them in a blue paper costume, with a headdress and a paper cape around their shoulders. An imitation paper lock of hair hung from their nape, and a staff was placed in each hand. Their faces were then painted with liquid rubber. Because of the thick clouds of smoke it produced, burned rubber was a favorite offering of Tlaloc. Finally, a dry, brown bough was placed upon their tomb, and it was sealed.
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The departed soul woke up to find himself at the entrance of a cave, at the top of a mountain so high that it seemed to stand no further from heaven than from earth. (Far away, on his tomb, the dry branch now magically became fresh and green.) Entering the cave, he found that the mountain was a hollow cavern, and inside was a watery paradise of eternal spring---Tlalocan! Waterfalls and tropical rain sparkled in the lush, warm garden. Here wandered all of Tlaloc’s chosen few, playing together in careless peace and happiness. Some wandered through the flower-filled woods, others swam among the friendly creatures of the sea. Often singing, the people made each other garlands of flowers, or chased butterflies. Some still held their funeral boughs, now in green health once more. It was said that after a time, these souls would be invited to join the ranks of the Tlaloque.
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To get to Tlalocan, however, one unfortunately had to die first. There was yet one more way to enter that paradise: As a sacrifice to the god. It is a sad fact that the offerings Tlaloc preferred above all others were little children.
Innocent children were seen as the purest intermediaries between man and the divine, and diminutive as the little Tlaloque. Children born under a specific astrological day-sign, or who had the tell-tale swirl of a cowlick in their hair, were doomed from infancy to be sacrificed. Some of these children could be bought from slave parents, yet others had to be of noble blood. People of all classes thus had to make sacrifices for the common good.
When Tlaloc’s festival arrived, the people offered him many songs and dances. His priests bathed in the lake over four days and played the role of water birds---flapping their arms, splashing up spray, and imitating the cries of herons. The hearts of captives were heaped in a canoe, which a priest then sunk to the bottom of the lake.
The climax of the festival arrived with the offering of that most precious gift of all. The children, now between three and seven, were paddled out on the lake to one of her many natural whirpools. There the priest told them, “Now it is time for you to weep like the falling rain, to show our lord what is required! I carry you now to the divine hearth, like festive, blood-stained bundles of corn.” Weep no doubt they did, and with that, the throats of the little ones were slit, and their bodies plunged into the swirling waters. Tlaloc himself was known to weep. To the parents, it may have come as cold comfort that their children would likely be sent back by Tlaloc after four years time, to live again in a new body.
Not all offerings to the rain god cost so dear. Such bounty from the sea as urchins, seashells, coral, and tortoises were perfectly fine tribute. Mother-of-pearl was carved to look like all the fishes of the sea, and beasts as large as swordfish and caimans were caught and killed for him. The teeth of sharks were presented, rare treasure indeed from a creature built so perfectly it was considered divine. Tlaloc’s two favorite animals were the conch snail, so rich in religious overtones, and the cougar---a strong swimmer who haunts the water’s edge. Cougars were sacrificed to the god with a large jade ball set in its jaws. Blue-green jade, the precious stone of Tlaloc, possessed aquatic powers so strong it could even attract moisture in a desert clime. Jade was tooled into little green fishes, and portraits of the god himself.
Fond as the god was of jadestones, there was one who held them yet more dear---King Huemac of Tollan.
Long before Tezcatlipoca came to wreak havoc in Topiltzin’s kingdom, gods and great men occasionally mingled still on earth. One diversion that both enjoyed was a sport called tlachtli (TLAWCH-tlee), played on a court with a rubber ball. The conduct of this game was held to be sacred.
One day, Tlaloc sent his servants down to Tollan to challenge King Huemac “Great Hands” to a game. All gentlemen enjoyed a good gamble on this sport, so the Tlaloque asked Huemac, “What shall our wager be?”
Huemac suggested, “I stake my treasure of jade and quetzal plumes.”
The Tlaloque returned, “Then you shall win none other than these. We offer our own jade and quetzal plumes.”
The game began, and the ball bounced back and forth across the center line. At the end of the match, Huemac---astonishingly---had defeated the spirits. The Tlaloque presented the king with his winnings: Ripe ears of corn, still wrapped in their husks. Emerald green they may have been, but hardly riches to anyone but a farmer. Huemac was incensed: “Do you mean this is what I’ve won? Was it not jade and quetzal plumes we wagered on? Take this stuff away!”
“Very well,” said the Tlaloque. “We will give you your kind of jade and plumes, and we will take away our own.” Presenting the king with his anticipated treasure, the spirits disappeared into the mist.
Months passed, without a drop of rain. The king could not help but notice that clouds gathered everywhere but over Tollan. Just as the fields of corn were nearing harvest, a heavy shower of hailstones fell, crushing all the stalks under a knee-deep frost. Then when spring came, the sun burned so fiercely that all trees, and then the cacti, dried up and died. The heat was so intense it even cracked the very rocks into puffs of dust.
Four years passed, without a hope of harvest. Then one humble Toltec man, having traveled to Chapultepec in desperation, passed by the lakeside there. Suddenly, a green ear of corn bobbed to the surface. The starved man gnawed fiercely at it, when from the water there arose a spirit. “Mortal,” it asked, “have you learned a lesson here?”
“Oh most certainly, god,” the man responded. “It has been a long time since we lost track of that lesson for ourselves.”
“Mortal, that is very good,” said the spirit. “Sit here while I speak to the lord.” Descending for but a brief moment into the water, the spirit came back up with an armload of ripe corn. “Mortal, you must deliver this to Huemac,” he announced. He also told him that Tlaloc had requested the sacrifice of a young woman for his honor.
When the Toltec subject returned to his king with the news, Huemac was overwhelmed with remorse. The girl was sacrificed, and Huemac wept and wept. Suddenly the clouds broke, and rain came pouring to disguise his tears. The rain lasted for four days and four nights.
During this brief moment of happiness, Tezacatlipoca was in heaven weaving the spider’s webs, and soon what happened, happened. Yet after Huemac met his untimely end, he and Tlaloc were reconciled. The rain god not only welcomed the him into his paradise, but appointed him as the honorary human king of Tlalocan. Huemac by now had learned what are the real riches of life.
Innocent children were seen as the purest intermediaries between man and the divine, and diminutive as the little Tlaloque. Children born under a specific astrological day-sign, or who had the tell-tale swirl of a cowlick in their hair, were doomed from infancy to be sacrificed. Some of these children could be bought from slave parents, yet others had to be of noble blood. People of all classes thus had to make sacrifices for the common good.
When Tlaloc’s festival arrived, the people offered him many songs and dances. His priests bathed in the lake over four days and played the role of water birds---flapping their arms, splashing up spray, and imitating the cries of herons. The hearts of captives were heaped in a canoe, which a priest then sunk to the bottom of the lake.
The climax of the festival arrived with the offering of that most precious gift of all. The children, now between three and seven, were paddled out on the lake to one of her many natural whirpools. There the priest told them, “Now it is time for you to weep like the falling rain, to show our lord what is required! I carry you now to the divine hearth, like festive, blood-stained bundles of corn.” Weep no doubt they did, and with that, the throats of the little ones were slit, and their bodies plunged into the swirling waters. Tlaloc himself was known to weep. To the parents, it may have come as cold comfort that their children would likely be sent back by Tlaloc after four years time, to live again in a new body.
Not all offerings to the rain god cost so dear. Such bounty from the sea as urchins, seashells, coral, and tortoises were perfectly fine tribute. Mother-of-pearl was carved to look like all the fishes of the sea, and beasts as large as swordfish and caimans were caught and killed for him. The teeth of sharks were presented, rare treasure indeed from a creature built so perfectly it was considered divine. Tlaloc’s two favorite animals were the conch snail, so rich in religious overtones, and the cougar---a strong swimmer who haunts the water’s edge. Cougars were sacrificed to the god with a large jade ball set in its jaws. Blue-green jade, the precious stone of Tlaloc, possessed aquatic powers so strong it could even attract moisture in a desert clime. Jade was tooled into little green fishes, and portraits of the god himself.
Fond as the god was of jadestones, there was one who held them yet more dear---King Huemac of Tollan.
Long before Tezcatlipoca came to wreak havoc in Topiltzin’s kingdom, gods and great men occasionally mingled still on earth. One diversion that both enjoyed was a sport called tlachtli (TLAWCH-tlee), played on a court with a rubber ball. The conduct of this game was held to be sacred.
One day, Tlaloc sent his servants down to Tollan to challenge King Huemac “Great Hands” to a game. All gentlemen enjoyed a good gamble on this sport, so the Tlaloque asked Huemac, “What shall our wager be?”
Huemac suggested, “I stake my treasure of jade and quetzal plumes.”
The Tlaloque returned, “Then you shall win none other than these. We offer our own jade and quetzal plumes.”
The game began, and the ball bounced back and forth across the center line. At the end of the match, Huemac---astonishingly---had defeated the spirits. The Tlaloque presented the king with his winnings: Ripe ears of corn, still wrapped in their husks. Emerald green they may have been, but hardly riches to anyone but a farmer. Huemac was incensed: “Do you mean this is what I’ve won? Was it not jade and quetzal plumes we wagered on? Take this stuff away!”
“Very well,” said the Tlaloque. “We will give you your kind of jade and plumes, and we will take away our own.” Presenting the king with his anticipated treasure, the spirits disappeared into the mist.
Months passed, without a drop of rain. The king could not help but notice that clouds gathered everywhere but over Tollan. Just as the fields of corn were nearing harvest, a heavy shower of hailstones fell, crushing all the stalks under a knee-deep frost. Then when spring came, the sun burned so fiercely that all trees, and then the cacti, dried up and died. The heat was so intense it even cracked the very rocks into puffs of dust.
Four years passed, without a hope of harvest. Then one humble Toltec man, having traveled to Chapultepec in desperation, passed by the lakeside there. Suddenly, a green ear of corn bobbed to the surface. The starved man gnawed fiercely at it, when from the water there arose a spirit. “Mortal,” it asked, “have you learned a lesson here?”
“Oh most certainly, god,” the man responded. “It has been a long time since we lost track of that lesson for ourselves.”
“Mortal, that is very good,” said the spirit. “Sit here while I speak to the lord.” Descending for but a brief moment into the water, the spirit came back up with an armload of ripe corn. “Mortal, you must deliver this to Huemac,” he announced. He also told him that Tlaloc had requested the sacrifice of a young woman for his honor.
When the Toltec subject returned to his king with the news, Huemac was overwhelmed with remorse. The girl was sacrificed, and Huemac wept and wept. Suddenly the clouds broke, and rain came pouring to disguise his tears. The rain lasted for four days and four nights.
During this brief moment of happiness, Tezacatlipoca was in heaven weaving the spider’s webs, and soon what happened, happened. Yet after Huemac met his untimely end, he and Tlaloc were reconciled. The rain god not only welcomed the him into his paradise, but appointed him as the honorary human king of Tlalocan. Huemac by now had learned what are the real riches of life.
TONANTZIN (Toh-NAHN-tseen) “Our Holy Mother,” was but one name for the powerful and multifaceted mother goddess. The earth and all of its fertility, the moon, the cycle of life and death, the creative and intuitive, and the lives of women were all within her powers. Both the nurturing and the destructive became one in the goddess---the giver and taker of life. While the male gods had strong separate identities, the goddesses were always one unified being, no matter how many different names and faces she put on.
One such manifestation was as a goddess named Teteo Innan, the “Mother of the Gods.” She was the goddess of women, and very sociable. She wore a leather skirt sewn with many little, white seashells called the “star skirt,” which rattled as she danced. Teteo Innan was the patroness of the female world, of all activities social, professional, and domestic. She guided the midwives and the healers---Professions respected almost as highly as the priesthood. She lent inspiration to the matchmakers and the diviners, as they peered into the future. She sat by the women while they spun and wove their cotton, and gave her blessing to the traders in the marketplace.
Teteo Innan appeared during her festival, called the “Sweeping,” with a broom to clear a way for the arrival of the gods of rain and corn. Her women danced all through the day, and there were play battles between the honorable healers and the off-color courtesans, who pelted each other with marigolds.
Under the name Toci (TOH-see), the goddess was the mature and fertile mother earth. She was named “Grandmother” as a title of respect, but Toci was no doting elder. It was she who was called the “War Woman,” the consort of Huitzilopochtli worshiped by young warriors.
Toci was the formidable guardian of the city. Once fall arrived and the harvest was safely in, the goddess began to turn her thoughts to the reaping of men’s lives. To inaugurate the season of war, Toci’s inpersonator appeared before the warriors with an escort of robust, nude men. As she called to them, the young warriors raced to a large trough at her feet. There they dug their hands into the chalk and feathers it held, flinging the powder up into the air until they were coated with the color of sacrificial death.
Toci then chased the warriors across the field, who were swept before her, shouting battle cries. Dressed all in white, Toci gripped a shield in one hand and wielded a broom in the other, which dripped with blood. With these she intimidated and bullied the young men to face their mature and glorious responsibilities of war, while women lamented the fates of their men.
As the goddess Ixcuina (Eesh-KWEE-nah), or “Lady Cotton,” Our Mother was the patroness of spinning and weaving. These womanly activities were wrapped up with childbirth: A spindle became “pregnant” with thread as it spun, and women who delivered a still birth were said to be sad spinners who had woven nothing. Ixcuina wore a crown of cotton, from which dangled little spindle whorls. Owing to the cost of cotton, Ixcuina was the wealthy lady’s friend.
The forms of the goddess were many more: She would descend to earth in a form named 13-Eagle---never seen by men, her presence was known only by the huge eagle tracks she left on the ground. As the snow-crowned peak named White Woman, the goddess was the queen of the mountains. And as the conniving spirit of the moon, she held the waters of the sky like a basin in her arms. Pregnant women would never look at the moon’s full face, for fear she would deform their unborn children. The incarnations of the Goddess were indeed legion.
One such manifestation was as a goddess named Teteo Innan, the “Mother of the Gods.” She was the goddess of women, and very sociable. She wore a leather skirt sewn with many little, white seashells called the “star skirt,” which rattled as she danced. Teteo Innan was the patroness of the female world, of all activities social, professional, and domestic. She guided the midwives and the healers---Professions respected almost as highly as the priesthood. She lent inspiration to the matchmakers and the diviners, as they peered into the future. She sat by the women while they spun and wove their cotton, and gave her blessing to the traders in the marketplace.
Teteo Innan appeared during her festival, called the “Sweeping,” with a broom to clear a way for the arrival of the gods of rain and corn. Her women danced all through the day, and there were play battles between the honorable healers and the off-color courtesans, who pelted each other with marigolds.
Under the name Toci (TOH-see), the goddess was the mature and fertile mother earth. She was named “Grandmother” as a title of respect, but Toci was no doting elder. It was she who was called the “War Woman,” the consort of Huitzilopochtli worshiped by young warriors.
Toci was the formidable guardian of the city. Once fall arrived and the harvest was safely in, the goddess began to turn her thoughts to the reaping of men’s lives. To inaugurate the season of war, Toci’s inpersonator appeared before the warriors with an escort of robust, nude men. As she called to them, the young warriors raced to a large trough at her feet. There they dug their hands into the chalk and feathers it held, flinging the powder up into the air until they were coated with the color of sacrificial death.
Toci then chased the warriors across the field, who were swept before her, shouting battle cries. Dressed all in white, Toci gripped a shield in one hand and wielded a broom in the other, which dripped with blood. With these she intimidated and bullied the young men to face their mature and glorious responsibilities of war, while women lamented the fates of their men.
As the goddess Ixcuina (Eesh-KWEE-nah), or “Lady Cotton,” Our Mother was the patroness of spinning and weaving. These womanly activities were wrapped up with childbirth: A spindle became “pregnant” with thread as it spun, and women who delivered a still birth were said to be sad spinners who had woven nothing. Ixcuina wore a crown of cotton, from which dangled little spindle whorls. Owing to the cost of cotton, Ixcuina was the wealthy lady’s friend.
The forms of the goddess were many more: She would descend to earth in a form named 13-Eagle---never seen by men, her presence was known only by the huge eagle tracks she left on the ground. As the snow-crowned peak named White Woman, the goddess was the queen of the mountains. And as the conniving spirit of the moon, she held the waters of the sky like a basin in her arms. Pregnant women would never look at the moon’s full face, for fear she would deform their unborn children. The incarnations of the Goddess were indeed legion.
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COATLICUE (Coh-aht-LEE-kwey) was the great goddess of the earth, the mother of the sun, the moon, and the stars. The earth is an endlessly fertile source of life, generously giving birth to the fruits of Tlaloc’s fertilizing rain.
Yet all the gifts that come from Coatlicue’s open-handed bounty must ultimately be returned to her. Eternal production requires eternal consumption to replenish her life force. To the Aztecs there is a beauty in a this: When we die (although our souls are released never to return) the crude matter of our flesh is swallowed by the earth, who absorbs our essence in order to give birth to new creations. Death is then a new beginning, and the cause of new life. The ancients believed that bones are like seeds, which will bloom in the moistened soil. To them, if we lay aside our ego we would realize that death––through Coatlicue’s power––is just a necessary link in the cycle of life. Even her own children, the sun, moon, and stars, are swallowed up by their mother’s mouth in the west to be born again from her womb in the east. |
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Coatlicue shared a temple with her beloved son Huitzilopochtli. On great celebrations captives were sacrificed to her by decapitation, a method believed to be appropriate for the goddess of earth. It was thought that as the red “precious water” drenched her meadows Coatlicue sent up grateful blooms. As the patroness of flower arrangement however, even simple offerings of bouquets were also appreciated by her.
Coatlicue’s name means “Serpent Skirt,” and snakes––who passed through their burrows into the underworld––were considered the most spiritual animal of the element of earth. As they were known to devour their prey whole, entering a cave felt almost like being swallowed by a snake in itself. If you recall, the old monster Tlaltecuhtli (who had been transformed into the earth) had gaping mouths that opened at all her joints. To the Aztecs, our own joints are most vulnerable to the earthly cold and damp, where the life force that gives us motion is concentrated. Coatlicue, to show her affinity as an earth god with Tlaltecuhtli, wore masks of these open mouths on her own elbows and knees. |
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This raises the question of what the goddess looked like. As the Hummingbird’s mother, she appeared as a young lady dressed in a skirt and scrupulously at work with her broom. There is a notorious sculpture, however, that reveals Coatlicue’s entire power. This sculpture, as tall as two men, still causes onlookers to shudder with horror: The goddess wears her namesake skirt of braided snakes, and above this her motherly breast is bare. She wears a necklace strung hith human hearts and hands, from which dangles a staring skull. Her hands and feet end in claws, and her head appears to have been cut off like a sacrificial victim to the earth. From the trunk spout two streams of blood that rise like snakes, their heads joining to form a gruesome parody of a face. Was Coatlicue then a monster? No––some forces of the spirit world are simply too ancient and primal to be visualized by mortals in the flesh. Frightening as the Serpent Skirt could be in her archaic power, there was a goddess more formidable yet. |
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CIHUACOATL (See-wah-COH-ahtl), the “Lady Serpent,” was the most feared and respected goddess of them all. She possessed the dark powers of the earth. She was the ruthless and holy sanction for war. She was the militant patroness of imperial might, and the collective divine hunger for human sacrifice. Cihuacoatl shared honors equal to Huitzilopochtli: She was honored during the reign of the Aztecs not only with the greatest number of stone idols, but with the largest amount of sacrificial offerings.
Cihuacoatl appeared as an ghastly woman dressed all in a ghostly luminous white. Her flesh was composed of dense and resinous tobacco, and it too was powdered a chalky white. Her hair was long and stringy and her hands ferocious claws, but her tell-tale feature was the bleached, bare jawbone that hungrily stretched open wide. Warlike goddess that she was, she often clutched a spear and shield. |
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Cihuacoatl could appear as a withered hag or a breathtaking young woman with equal preference. At times, she turned into a gorgeous succubus, who seduced young men and afterward destroyed them. At others, she transformed into a colossal serpent in the woods, taking her sacrificial victims by a more direct route.
For her part in aiding Quetzalcoatl to recreate the human race, it was said that the Plumed Serpent and Lady Serpent were partners. Her name, in fact, could also mean “Feminine Twin.” When Topiltzin’s mother died shortly after his birth, it was Cihuacoatl who became his foster mother. This goddess was at home in the underworld, and was a friend of Mictlantecuhtli, the Lord of the Dead. Cihuacoatl would appear as an oracle of oncoming doom, moaning portents of disaster from the vaults of the earth. The ancients believed they saw her wandering the moonlit streets as a ghostly weeping woman, the notorious “La Llorona” believed to haunt Mexico to this very day. |
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While the emperor of Mexico took Huitzilopochtli as his role model, his prime minister borrowed his title and renown from the goddess Cihuacoatl, and vested himself in the costume of her cool white robes. Through this spokesman, the goddess hounded her people to sweep across every kingdom, seizing the toppled patron gods to honor Cihuacoatl in a harvest of human hearts. Although Coatlicue was the mother of the Aztecs in their humble yet legendary roots, it was Cihuacoatl who spurred them on to their imperial future. To maintain the supremacy of the ruling order, the Lady Serpent enforced a strict separation of the classes. It was she who pressed the tools of farmhouse toil into the callused hands of the working man. Commoners could be forgiven for suspecting that she was actually opposed to the goals of their very nation itself. In reality, Cihuacoatl blocked the aspirations of the peasantry alone. |
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Known as the “Enemy Woman,” Cihuacoatl was feared but not loved. She wailed always with insatiable hunger––panting, pitiless, and deaf to all petitions. Every eight days in the city of Tenochtitlan a captive was offered in human sacrifice to her immoderate thirst. The priests traditionally returned one tattered thighbone to the victim's captor, explaining that such were the only leftovers. It was believed that she preferred even the innocent offering of corn cakes to be molded into the shape of faces, hands, and feet. Cihuacoatl’s temple was known as the “House of Darkness.” Instead of rising to the heavens this structure delved into the earth like a mountain cave. One small hole led into its pitch black interior, through a doorway so low it forced one to bow as he entered. In the middle of this cavern rose a statue of the goddess who never saw the light of day, which no kneeling priest dared lay a hand upon. Circling around her were stone models of the mountain ranges, considered her deferent children. |
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Also paying court to her in a forced submission were the captured idols of the Aztecs' conquered kingdoms. Locked in this prison––as much a stomach as a womb––these hostile gods became parasites of Cihuacoatl’s influence, little able to aid their own chosen peoples. The hopeless idols were released from this lightless sweatbath only when a special occasion required it. Carried hundreds of miles back to their home temple, they graced a festival with their brief presence before being incarcerated in Cihuacoatl’s cave once more. But then, the Lady Serpent had once been just such a captured deity herself, before turning her allegiance to the rising fortunes of Mexico.
Though feared and not loved, her power was respected. Women brought offerings to the door of Cihuacoatl’s shrine, begging for the welfare of their husbands and children. Even the emperor once fasted and drew blood in the House of Darkness for eight days, praying for the guidance of her oracular wisdom. |
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Yet so persistent was the Lady Serpent’s thirst for blood that even the sacrificial knife itself was called the “Son of Cihuacoatl.” She was so fearsome that in addition to being a worshipped goddess she had become the stuff that legendary fears are made of. The goddess was thought to stalk in the night with a blood-caked flint blade swaddled like a papoose upon her back. Among the Aztecs, rumor had it that if the flow of human offerings slowed to a trickle, one of Cihuacoatl's priests would bundle up a sacrificial knife and leave it in the streets of the marketplace at dawn. The concerned market women would rush to inspect what they thought was an abandoned baby, only to reveal a lethal blade, grinning with stone eyes and inlaid teeth as a signal of his mother’s hunger. According to this legend, the priests of Cihuacoatl would then rescue their "godson," carrying the flint blade to the ruler, who instantly ordered the sacrifice of prisoners or launched a "flowery war."
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Captives who were set aside for human sacrifice and destined to nourish the sun and earth were kept imprisoned until the holiday of the god they were to honor. On rare occasions there were not one but hundreds of victims. These were chained together by long cords tied through rings pierced through their noses, lines which stretched off into the distance.
Each of these captives had been seized during war, which means the warrior who captured them slept in the same city while they awaited sacrifice. Instead of mutual contempt however, there was believed to be a mystical bond between a warrior and his captive. When an Aztec seized his enemy in combat and brought him in bondage back to Tenochtitlan, the roles would shift. The victor would visit the man in his cell, comforting him as his “beloved son,” and make sacrifices on his behalf including quail, thought a fit honor for a warrior. And as befit a messenger who in sacrifice would be bridging the great distance from earth to heaven, this victim was neither babied nor tormented.
Alone, the captive walked to the foot of the pyramid, a terrace named the “dining table of god.” His body was painted in vertical red and white stripes, and he had been given intoxicants to calm his spirits. As he climbed the steep staircase, singing the praises of his homeland, Tezcatlipoca lent courage to his heart. Awaiting him at the summit were five priests. Four of them siezed the captive’s limbs and stretched his back over a low, stone block. The fifth priest raised a knife, and prepared to look into the face of Huitzilopochtli. Bringing down his blade, the priest broke through the rib cage and deftly scooped out the heart. This he held aloft, still beating, to be witnessed by the sun. The fresh blood was touched to the lips of the presiding idol, and the captive’s heart was burned like incense in a stone vase. His body was then pitched over the steep staircase, tumbling down to sprawl across a carving of Coyolxauhqui---another warrior fallen to her brother’s glory.
Human sacrifice was the ultimate act of reverence, a covenant with the gods to appease the violence they had suffered for our sakes during the ages of creation. We are born in this world not to original sin, but to original debt.
The captive’s body was now dismembered and dispersed. His head was skewered on one of the public skull racks---wooden frameworks which could display tens of thousands of these trophies. A portion of the flesh was then presented to the warrior for its inclusion in a commemorative meal.
That night, the young warrior and his friends were served a corn chowder, to which a small pinch of the victim’s flesh had been added. By partaking of this solemn communion, the warriors acknowledged their bond and common destiny with the fallen one, who had now surpassed them in glory by ascending into heaven as a companion of the sun. Only the captor refused the dish, asking, “Shall I eat of my own flesh?” This “beloved father” was soberly aware he too would one day become “the drinking cup of god.”
Spectacular and theatrical as the death of a war captive was, however, a far more common offering was made of one’s own blood. Through such “autosacrifice,” an individual hoped to receive good health or fertile crops, by offering the gods his or her own life force in exchange. The penitent pierced his flesh with a filed bone, or the spines of a maguey cactus or the stingray. Blood was commonly drawn from the shins, elbows, earlobes, and even the tongue. The part of the body bled might also symbolize the object of prayer. For example, a man praying for fertility (or a remorseful adulterer) might bleed his penis. The drops of blood were caught on leaves of paper, which were then burnt in a wide bowl. In the clouds of smoke that resulted, a penitent could hope to see the face of the god he had invoked. The used thorns were then tucked in a pincushion made of grass, and enshrined reverently beneath a bower of laurel leaves.
Such offerings could either be made in anticipation of supernatural aid, or to give thanks afterward. Some priests would even mortify their own flesh for another’s benefit, in exchange for payment.
Autosacrifice honored the original selflessness of Quetzalcoatl, who bled that we should live, and that god often held the cactus spine as a testament to this. Such a gesture was the mark of a brave and courageous adult. Only when a warrior died in battle---the ultimate autosacrifice---had his blood-debt to the gods been paid at last.
As we have seen so often, it is the spirit of duality that binds the universe, the gods are married to their own opposites, and the tomb of earth always doubles as the womb of rebirth. By such laws of duality, the lethal Cihuacoatl also served as the goddess of childbirth and the patroness of midwives.
Baby girls and boys both came as treasured gifts from Tezcatlipoca, and the midwives who delivered them were loved and honored by the community. The Lady Serpent came to help women in labor, and opened the doors of her curative steam baths for their use. After childbirth, the whole family rubbed their joints with a protective layer of ash, for the mere presence of Cihuacoatl was so almighty that she could unwittingly cripple mortals even while in a nurturing mood.
For women suffering difficulties in bringing forth, the midwives could prescribe a potent magical concoction: Among many herbs, the ingredients included the flesh of a wolf, the tail of an opossom, the wing of an eagle, the gall of a cock, and the bone of an ape. (The opossom in fact was Cihuacoatl’s favorite wet-nurse, for the tender way in which they carried their helpless young with them.) Should the struggling mother become dangerously weak, the midwife removed her to the steambath---forsaking the infant’s life if necessary to save the mother.
Regretably, the combined courage of these women was sometimes not enough, and as the fading mother left this world, her spirit was suffused with the power of the Lady Serpent.
Each of these captives had been seized during war, which means the warrior who captured them slept in the same city while they awaited sacrifice. Instead of mutual contempt however, there was believed to be a mystical bond between a warrior and his captive. When an Aztec seized his enemy in combat and brought him in bondage back to Tenochtitlan, the roles would shift. The victor would visit the man in his cell, comforting him as his “beloved son,” and make sacrifices on his behalf including quail, thought a fit honor for a warrior. And as befit a messenger who in sacrifice would be bridging the great distance from earth to heaven, this victim was neither babied nor tormented.
Alone, the captive walked to the foot of the pyramid, a terrace named the “dining table of god.” His body was painted in vertical red and white stripes, and he had been given intoxicants to calm his spirits. As he climbed the steep staircase, singing the praises of his homeland, Tezcatlipoca lent courage to his heart. Awaiting him at the summit were five priests. Four of them siezed the captive’s limbs and stretched his back over a low, stone block. The fifth priest raised a knife, and prepared to look into the face of Huitzilopochtli. Bringing down his blade, the priest broke through the rib cage and deftly scooped out the heart. This he held aloft, still beating, to be witnessed by the sun. The fresh blood was touched to the lips of the presiding idol, and the captive’s heart was burned like incense in a stone vase. His body was then pitched over the steep staircase, tumbling down to sprawl across a carving of Coyolxauhqui---another warrior fallen to her brother’s glory.
Human sacrifice was the ultimate act of reverence, a covenant with the gods to appease the violence they had suffered for our sakes during the ages of creation. We are born in this world not to original sin, but to original debt.
The captive’s body was now dismembered and dispersed. His head was skewered on one of the public skull racks---wooden frameworks which could display tens of thousands of these trophies. A portion of the flesh was then presented to the warrior for its inclusion in a commemorative meal.
That night, the young warrior and his friends were served a corn chowder, to which a small pinch of the victim’s flesh had been added. By partaking of this solemn communion, the warriors acknowledged their bond and common destiny with the fallen one, who had now surpassed them in glory by ascending into heaven as a companion of the sun. Only the captor refused the dish, asking, “Shall I eat of my own flesh?” This “beloved father” was soberly aware he too would one day become “the drinking cup of god.”
Spectacular and theatrical as the death of a war captive was, however, a far more common offering was made of one’s own blood. Through such “autosacrifice,” an individual hoped to receive good health or fertile crops, by offering the gods his or her own life force in exchange. The penitent pierced his flesh with a filed bone, or the spines of a maguey cactus or the stingray. Blood was commonly drawn from the shins, elbows, earlobes, and even the tongue. The part of the body bled might also symbolize the object of prayer. For example, a man praying for fertility (or a remorseful adulterer) might bleed his penis. The drops of blood were caught on leaves of paper, which were then burnt in a wide bowl. In the clouds of smoke that resulted, a penitent could hope to see the face of the god he had invoked. The used thorns were then tucked in a pincushion made of grass, and enshrined reverently beneath a bower of laurel leaves.
Such offerings could either be made in anticipation of supernatural aid, or to give thanks afterward. Some priests would even mortify their own flesh for another’s benefit, in exchange for payment.
Autosacrifice honored the original selflessness of Quetzalcoatl, who bled that we should live, and that god often held the cactus spine as a testament to this. Such a gesture was the mark of a brave and courageous adult. Only when a warrior died in battle---the ultimate autosacrifice---had his blood-debt to the gods been paid at last.
As we have seen so often, it is the spirit of duality that binds the universe, the gods are married to their own opposites, and the tomb of earth always doubles as the womb of rebirth. By such laws of duality, the lethal Cihuacoatl also served as the goddess of childbirth and the patroness of midwives.
Baby girls and boys both came as treasured gifts from Tezcatlipoca, and the midwives who delivered them were loved and honored by the community. The Lady Serpent came to help women in labor, and opened the doors of her curative steam baths for their use. After childbirth, the whole family rubbed their joints with a protective layer of ash, for the mere presence of Cihuacoatl was so almighty that she could unwittingly cripple mortals even while in a nurturing mood.
For women suffering difficulties in bringing forth, the midwives could prescribe a potent magical concoction: Among many herbs, the ingredients included the flesh of a wolf, the tail of an opossom, the wing of an eagle, the gall of a cock, and the bone of an ape. (The opossom in fact was Cihuacoatl’s favorite wet-nurse, for the tender way in which they carried their helpless young with them.) Should the struggling mother become dangerously weak, the midwife removed her to the steambath---forsaking the infant’s life if necessary to save the mother.
Regretably, the combined courage of these women was sometimes not enough, and as the fading mother left this world, her spirit was suffused with the power of the Lady Serpent.
THE CIHUATETEO (SEE-wah-TEH-teh-oh) were the spirits of those valiant women who died in the struggle of childbirth.
No one has had more respect for the pains of labor than the ancient Mexicans. Birth was seen as a battle of life and death between the mother and her child. The midwives called upon Cihuacoatl to make the woman as valiant as a warrior. If all went well, the victorious mother held the baby as her little captive. But if she died in the attempt, she had been slain in battle like a valiant soldier. Having died to produce new life, she was as highly honored as the warrior who died on the stone of sacrifice, and she too rose up to the highest heaven.
When the exhausted midwife finally admitted defeat, she prayed over the body of the young woman so recently in her charge, calling to her now as one of the Cihuateteo, the “Divine Women”:
“Oh, my little dove, my daughter! You bravely wielded the shield that Cihuacoatl placed in your hand and fought like a man, but let your labors now come to rest. Rise up, for it is dawn! Your sisters are waiting to take you to the house of your mother and father the sun. There you will know happiness forever, and you will amuse our lord by singing his praises. He has called you, mistress, for you have earned his glorious and loving death with your courage, and you must cast aside your parents to a miserable old age. You now behold our lord with human eyes, and may you remember us in your prayers!”
As the woman’s soul departed, her body was left charged with great supernatural powers, which could be harnessed for good or evil. Her remains were not to be carried through the front door, but instead were removed through a hole broken in the back wall of the house. They were then buried at sunset in the temple dedicated to these “Celestial Princesses.” Because of their magical aura, the remains were coveted by both honorable warriors and crooked sorcerers. A lock of hair and the middle finger of her left hand, attached to a warrior’s shield, would make him invincible. The left arm was used by warlocks to cast sleep and paralysis spells, in order to pillage houses by night. Bands of these body-snatchers would thus try to intercept the funeral procession and mutilate the corpse. To prevent this, the husband carried his wife’s body on his back, escorted by a howling band of elder midwives who clattered sword against shield, scuffling sometimes with the would-be thieves. The poor husband and his friends then kept watch beside her grave for four days, by which time the erratic magic dissipated.
While this sad scene played out below, the departed woman took her glorious position in the heaven of the sun. There she joined her sisters at the “House of Corn,” set in a beautiful western land of joy and delight. As the souls of the Eagle and Jaguar knights carried the sun in his course, these “Eagle Women” adorned themselves for him in their war costumes, shields strapped to their arms and back banners waving. As the sun reached his zenith, the Cihuateteo soared up to receive him on a litter of quetzal feathers. As they bore the rapidly weakening sun into the west, they shouted for joy, amusing him with playful duels and making much of him. At the horizon, they set him at the entrance to Mictlan, leaving him in the unwholesome hands of the spirits there.
With that, the Cihuateteo would either return to their happy home or else descend into the world of men. On earth, these spirits would pass the night working at the baskets and looms they had once known, sometimes even appearing to their husbands as a ghost.
After four years of this peaceful paradise, the spirits of the Cihuateteo were sent back to earth for good. Most of these women were transformed into moths, as nocturnal counterparts to the male butterflies. A few of them, however, turned into terrifying devil women. On five ill-omened nights of the year, warlocks and demons walked abroad, and these deviant Princesses haunted the crossroads---a dangerous place that opened into the underworld. Objects thought to be spiritually contaminated could be abandoned at the crossroads, purified by the symbolic brooms that women had left behind. In these straits, the wayward Cihuateteo lay in wait, their fine skirts and earrings belied by a bare, toothy skull with shocking eyes, and matted hair run wild. Their cruel claws would then snatch at stray children---as if coveting the baby they had been denied---mangling the child’s innocent limbs or striking them with seizures. Sensible mothers kept their children indoors on these nights, burning incense to these envious spirits.
These refractory rogues aside, the Celestial Princesses were as honored for their courage as they were feared for their strength. She who fell in nature’s mortal combat and rose to taste of paradise was proudly known as “One who has stood up like a woman.”
XIUHTECUHTLI (SHEE-oo-TEH-coot-lee) was the old, old god of fire.
This venerable deity had deep wrinkles and few teeth, yet a physical strength that defied his advancing years. His face was painted yellow, red, and black, the color of coals, and he wore a diamond-shaped eyemask. Xiuhtecuhtli’s breast plate was a flame-colored butterfly, and on his back he wore a model of the fire serpent. (The god’s other favored familiar was the flame-feathered macaw.) His earrings were large round discs, which symbolized the two stakes of wood twirled together to create fire.
On the fire god’s brow glittered a magnificent diadem made of turquoise. The emperor of Mexico modeled his own crown on this, threatening with death all others who wore the royal color of turquoise. An archetype of sovereignty, this god’s very name means the “Turquoise Lord,” and it was on his holiday that kings were crowned.
Xiuhtecuhtli would sit cross-legged upon his royal mat, bent over with extreme age, one hand clenched in a gesture of power, the other serenely resting palmupwards on his knee.
The Turquoise Lord was an ancient god, as eternal as the life-giving fire he brings to man. Some say he was even older then the first four sons of the Divine Couple. It was the power of his transforming fire that created the sun, whom he proudly claimed as his issue.
For our ancestors, fire meant life, known as the “inexpressable flower.” It warmed those who were cold, cooked the meals, and provided the only light when the fires of the sun had set. Fire brought salt from brine, provided charcoal, oil, and lime, mellowed honey, and filled the baths with steam. Fire kept predators at bay, and a ring of fire could even offer protection against magic. The gods themselves relied on fire for defense while passing through the underworld.
The hearth was the center of the household. There Xiuhtecuhtli overlooked the daily domestic rituals of sustenance and thanksgiving, and was looked up to as the father of the family. Newborns were baptized with not only water but fire, passed above the flames to introduce them to Xiuhtecuhtli. Even the dog was a friend of the fire god, crouching loyally by his hearth. The homefire was never allowed to go out. If it did, the homeowner would offer the god a small prayer of apology, for fear the lord would think his gifts were unwanted.
Fire was also associated with great, untamable power. Mexico is a land of volcanoes, as spectacular in their devastation as the hearth fires are nurturing. The legendary fire serpents obeyed this lord’s command--- they who carried the sun through the heavens, who struck Coyolxauhqui from the sky, and who scorched the earth from Tlaloc’s fingertips in a rumble of thunder.
Just as the hearth is the heart of a home, Xiuhtecuhtli’s rightful place was in the geographic center of all things.
Each of the four sons of the Divine Couple ruled over a compass point: The east was ruled by Xipe Totec. As the region of dawn, its color was red and brought fertility and life. Blue Huitzilopochtli ruled the south, a neutral direction, as well as the sun at high noon. Quetzalcoatl ruled the white west of sunset, a region of declining powers. Tezcatlipoca ruled the black north, that cold and barren entrance to the land of death, where the sun was entombed at midnight.
But to the Mexicans, the cardinal directions were not four but five, and in the central axis of it all sat Xiuhtecuhtli. There were three gods who had best inherited the natural gifts of great Ometeotl: Tezcatlipoca, his ubiquity and mastery over men’s lives; Quetzalcoatl, his wisdom and truth; and Xiuhtecuhtli, his position of centrality.
The fire god resided in the navel of the earth, beneath the shadow of the underworld, where he held the universe in balance. There---in a turquoise palace wrapped in mist---he dwelled, tending the central hearth of the cosmos and its sacred fires of creation. From this subterranean hall, he released his sheets of flame to erupt as magma from the angry peaks.
From this center he had been the architect of the four World Trees which hoisted up the sky. From this center, his stabilizing influence locked the vertical and horizontal planes, diving into the nine hells and soaring through the thirteen heavens to touch the North Star. He even governed this star, around which the universe revolves.
Xiuhtecuhtli’s personal symbol was much like a cross, but with the center highly emphasized. To show their respect for the order of the five directions, his worshipers would fire an arrow to each compass point. The city of Mexico itself was laid out like a cross---Living near the exact center of modern Mexico as they did, it is small wonder the Aztecs claimed they ruled from the center of the world.
Paragon of order that he was, Xiuhtecuhtli was the god not only of space but time as well. Putting the campfire to sleep each night and stirring the coals back to life in the morning trained one to think of cyclical renewal. It was comforting to know that space and time were not in chaos, but a flawless system in the hands of an orderly and reasonable deity. Having a sacred ritual calendar countered the arbitrary nature of the other gods.
It was our first parents Oxomoco and Cipactonal who devised this calendar as their great work, passed along by Quetzalcoatl to the Tollans. This almanac was used not only to mark religious holidays, but in astrology and soothsaying. It affected everything: There was a day to plant, a day to go to the healer, a day for merchants to begin their travels; the day would bring good luck to slaves or cause the wizard’s spell to fizzle. The sign of your birthday steered the rest of your life, blessing you with riches and charisma, or dooming you to the bottle and a prison cell. Even the gods were liable to the signs of their birth.
The gods took turn governing the different days and weeks, thus stamping the events of that period with their own personality. The calendar revolved around Xiuhtecuhtli. Under his rule, time was not some cold line stretching into infinity, but the warm and familiar rounds of large-hearted holidays.
Xiuhtecuhtli was probably the best-beloved of all the gods. Popular with king and commoner alike, there was an idol of him in every home. Small offerings of food and alcohol were offered to the fire god before the family sat down to eat, a ritual some Mexican Indians still observe. The wealthy would offer him the blood of quail, which spattered from the still-flapping wings of decapitated birds. Less prosperous could simply toss aromatic incense into the flames.
Thousands of logs were burnt each night in all the temples, and within the god’s own ever-burning brazier before Cihuacoatl’s House of Darkness. Individuals guilty of certain sins could find atonement by making a tour of the temples until dawn, with a small brazier of coals burning on top of their heads.
As the “Lord of the Year,” Xiuhtecuhtli was the patron of age. On New Year’s Day, parents would use the pivotal moment to introduce their youngest children to the fire god, dancing with the little ones as they held their hands. As they aged, people continued to acquire more life force up until the end. The elderly (closest to Xiuhtecuhtli) enjoyed what they called “cooling off at the oven”: With a full belly of tamales, they sat around the light in the fire god’s temple, singing and drinking till late at night, and filling a little cup of spirits for their host at his hearth.
Reserved for this god was the number three. He had three high priests, his holiday lasted three days, and he dwelled in the three realms of heaven, earth, and the underworld. Every hearth was enclosed with three stones, and each of these had its own name. Kicking or stepping on the stones was an insult to Xiuhtecuhtli, and he would make the perepetrator’s feet as heavy as lead when speed was needed most. (This forgiving god, however, would always accept an apology.)
It was ironic, therefore, that such a beloved god had the most gruesome of ceremonies in his name. For Xiuhtecuhtli’s human sacrifice, prisoners were bound hand and foot, and raised onto the back of the warriors who had captured them in combat. Around a great bonfire these warriors danced, and one by one they cast their victims into the coals. There the luckless offerings bubbled and blistered, but before death could take them, the bodies were hooked out of the flames. The smoking chest was then opened, and the heart offered up to Xiuhtecuhtli. Several drugs were used on the victims to try and minimize their suffering, for---horri-fying as all this was---the intention had not been to torture, but to consecrate the flesh to lord of fire.
Two different, complex calendars were used in Mexico, so interlocked that the same conjunction of days would occur only once every fifty-two years. At the close of one of these Aztec “centuries,” the people were devoted to making a fresh start in things. The dishware was shattered, and all the fires in the kingdom were put out. At midnight, priests gathered on the Hill of the Star outside the city to create new fire once more. In this moment, the sun was as vulnerable to destruction as during a solar eclipse, and the populace was held in breathless tension. Should this ceremony fail by the will of the gods, the earth would be locked forever in darkness, and doomsday instead of dawn would be prevail. Pregnant mothers were locked away lest they be transformed to devouring Cihuateteo, and children were kept awake for fear they should turn into mice.
As Tezcatlipoca guided the Pleiades across the zenith, signalling that the sun would continue his course, a captive king was sacrificed there in the darkness. Upon his vacant chest, a priest worked feverishly with the drilling stick and kindled a baby blaze. To give this growing fire strength it was fed the kingly heart, and the world could breathe freely once more. Swift runners soon carried their torches to every city in the empire, their distant flickering in the hills---like fireflies in the night---proclaimed that Xiuhtecuhtli had been reborn.
XIPE TOTEC (SHEE-peh TOH-tec) was a mighty god, and one of the first four sons of the Divine Couple---they who sculpted the universe with their own hands. He was the lord of spring and all its rich fertility. Ruling over the equinox, parting the dry season from the rains, Xipe Totec arrived each spring to offer mankind the bountiful first fruits of the earth. Sunlight, rain, and fresh green growth mingled and flourished in his presence.
Eager for his arrival, the people would pray to him, “Lord, why do make us beg so hard? Put on your golden attire and come to us!” Finally the god would descend, carrying on his back the “waters of jade,” and as he released the fresh spring showers, the people sighed, “My lord, your gem-like rains have fallen.” Because these first fertilizing rains always arrived after dark, Xipe Totec was called the “Drinker by Night.”
Xipe Totec ruled over the rosy-red east, the region of light and life. People prayed to him for all kinds of fruitfulness; so potent were his powers of rejuvenation that his mere arrival was a blessing to babies.
Human sacrifice was important to Xipe Totec. As ruler of the east, he was a friend not only to the rising sun but to the warriors who were its escort. Only the finest of war captives was therefore suitable for this god.
Two unique sacrifices were held in his honor. In the first of these, a captive was bound to a high wooden scaffolding. As archers struck the victim with arrows, his blood---like fertile rain---dripped onto the earth.
In the second sacrifice, an enemy champion was killed in gladiatorial combat. This captured warrior would be first counseled by a Mexican champion called the “Old Wolf,” who treated the prisoner like a son. On the day of sacrifice, the captive had his head shaven, then was powdered white with chalk and dressed in black feathers. The Old Wolf, with tears in his eyes, provided him a cup of drugged wine to lend courage. Now he was led to a round, stone platform carved to look like the sun, and was shackled to it before a large, royal audience. He was given four clubs, four wooden balls, and a [wooden sword]. Instead of the usual obsidian blades, however, this sword was lined with shining black feathers! Next, four Eagle and Jaguar knights appeared, and each one sparred with the captive in turn. Seizing the opportunity to display their virtuosity, the warriors striped the victim with flamboyant slashes. If the captive champion survived these four rounds, a fifth knight was sent in to dispatch him. This warrior was left-handed, rendering him both sinister and harder to defeat. By this gladiatorial sacrifice, the city could celebrate the swordsmanship of their young men against a worthy opponent.
After all the victims were sacrificed, their skins were then flayed from their bodies. These skins were then worn by the priests in imitation of Xipe Totec. Worn bloody side out, the skin was stretched across the face like a mask, the eyes and mouth of the priest peering through the holes which once served the victim for this purpose. From the wrist and ankle, the empty hands and feet dangled uselessly like gloves.
As impersonators of the god, some of Xipe Totec’s spiritual presence now surrounded these priests---not in their bodies, but in the masks, masks which almost became the god. This macabre costume symbolized the fresh vegetation pushing up from under the earth’s dead covering. The fingers of the living priest thus broke through the skin like young shoots bursting through the dry crust of winter. For twenty days the priests wore this costume, begging for their meals as they travelled door to door. As they began to stink like dying dogs, these normally well-washed Mexicans were yielding themselves over to the spirit world. Finally, the dry and golden-yellow skins, crinkling like the shed skin of a snake, were removed and buried in a secret vault. This whole ritual was so important to Xipe Totec that the god takes his name from it, which means, “The Flayed Lord.”
Xipe Totec was the patron of goldworkers, and many sculptures of him were cast in gold. This metal, considered a dropping of the sun, came second in value to Tlaloc’s jade.
While the Flayed Lord was a kind god, if angered he would strike mortals with diseases of the eye and skin. Such a victim could make amends with the god by wearing a skin during his festival.
Xipe Totec was called the “Red Mirror,” as befits the lord of the east. In fact, funeral offerings and human bones were even scattered with red pigment, to align them with the rebirth of the sun. The god’s skin was painted bright red, as were his clothing and his ornaments, he wielded a red shield with a golden rim, and red spoonbill feathers made up his headdress. In his right hand he held a staff with a rattle on the end, which magically bestowed the powers of fertility. Around his body, the god always wore the yellow skin of a victim, hanging like bark pulled from a tree. Xipe’s face was painted in stripes of red and gold. His symbol was a tied, golden bow, which dangled from his nosering, ears, and arms.
As Xipe Totec brought renewal in the spring, regenerating the earth after a long, dry winter, several deities of abundance followed him throughout the year. The best-loved of these were the gods of corn.
XILONEN (Shee-LOW-nen) was the little goddess of young corn.
Once Xipe Totec ushered in the spring rains, corn---that most important of all crops---began to sprout. If the gods were generous, the people could have an early harvest. Soon the slender cobs appeared, with their milky kernels and long, silky tassles, almost ripe but yet still green. These first fruits were what little Xilonen had to offer.
Sweet Xilonen was innocent and filled with joy. The stern severity of the other gods could never touch her. She appeared as a beautiful young girl of about thirteen. Her face was painted yellow, her cheeks touched with rouge, and her hair was cropped to reach her shoulders, loose and flowing like cornsilk. Her pretty red clothes were delicately embroidered. Xilonen wore a tiara made from stiff red paper, and danced upon red sandals. Her earrings and necklace were made of gold, and cast to look like little ears of corn. In one hand she held a magic fertility rattle, like Xipe Totec. In the other, she held a corn cob made of gold and yellow plumage. This was a double cob however, shaped like a “V,” to symbolize those rare crops that were so fruitful the plants would grow with two ears to a stalk. Behind her tiara, a single green feather was tied with red ribbon, rising up in the air like a little ear of rareripe corn. Xilonen loved to dance, leaping and circling with her arms spread wide.
Corn was the very highest source of food. Every day, people showed their respect for corn by handling it tenderly. Women even felt guilty about dropping the kernels into the cookpot, breathing soft, warm air on them to lend them courage for the fire. If corn was spilt, it was quickly picked up. “If we should not gather our sustenance up,” the women said, “it would lie weeping and crying to the gods, ‘Lord, this peasant let me lie scattered across the ground.’ And we should be punished with starvation.”
Every eight years, mothers taught their daughters to rest the poor corn by cooking it without seasoning for a time: “We bring it so much torment with our chili, salt, and lime, that it is tired to death,” they told them. “Resting it will give it new youth.”
Xilonen had her own festival in early summer. By this time, the stalks of corn were showing two or three tender young ears. All but one of these would be harvested, and made into little corn cakes for the celebration. The night before this big day, the people stayed awake till dawn, and the women sang songs to honor Xilonen. At daybreak the dancing began, the priestesses playing on their horns and gongs. Girls leaped and sang, wearing garlands strung from popcorn and holding stalks of corn in their hands.
Like many gods, Xilonen had her own impersonator---a pretty, young slave girl. Adored as the little goddess herself, all the ladies danced and sang to her at the temple of corn. Once the priestesses led her into Xilonen’s shrine, the girl’s head was struck off with a gold-handled knife--harvested like a young ear of corn.
Once the dainty, milky cob of corn began to harden and swell, it was guided into maturity by Xilonen’s older brother.
CINTEOTL (Seen-TAY-ohtle), for all his youthful appearance, was the god of mature corn. He was healthy, handsome, and valiant. With his body painted a golden yellow, Cinteotl wore a headdress in which ripe corn cobs were arranged. As an ironic touch however, this god was also known to sometimes wear the cap belonging to Itztlacoliuhqui, the god of cold. The backward sweep of this dark headgear was jagged with sharp points, in a reminder of the power of deadly frost upon healthy crops. It is as if Cinteotl were reminding us not to take his gifts for granted.
Cinteotl dwelled just beneath the earth, and his body was like a wondrous, living cornucopia. His hair blossomed into cotton plants, wild seeds poured from his ears, sage sprouted from his nose, sweet potatoes from his hands, and the many-colored corn kernels sprang from his nails. All the produce of the earth took root in his body.
Cinteotl had no enemies; all of the gods loved him. They called him their “Beloved Prince.” He was under Tlaloc’s protection, and a friend to all the other gods of fertility. Cinteotl was said to be the son of Huitzilopochtli and the goddess Toci. Thus, sunlight was married with the spirit of earth to create this “Lord of Corn.”
As a result of such lineage, Cinteotl was also a man of war. The green husks of corn, much like feathers, could be made into the headdress of a warrior. Because corn died each winter, it needed the help of man to struggle into resurrection. Thus, during the god’s festival, the young men would offer him blood drawn their ears and their shins. Stalks of corn were brought into the home, decorated and worshiped.
The most solemn of rituals was the consumption of human flesh. As we have seen, a pinch of flesh was served to the warriors on top of a bowl of corn chowder. Our bodies were considered to be made of corn, and after we die we will return to corn once more. Our body is corn, just like ice is water: One substance at two different points of a cycle. On the rare occasion of such a communion, the warrior’s family was reminded that after our brief sojourn here on earth, we will return to become the staff of life once more.
CHICOMECOATL (CHEE-coh-meh-COH-ahtl) was not only the lady of mature corn, but the goddess of all agriculture and the harvest. It was she who first taught humans how to cook their food, turning the act of eating from a basic need into a source of joy.
Chicomecoatl appeared as a mature woman, happy and always smiling. She wore a tall, paper headdress. In her right hand she carried the rattle staff of fertile magic, and in her left she held a few ears of corn.
Chicomecoatl was the older sister of the Tlaloque, and she dwelled with them in the paradise of Tlalocan. All the produce locked away in the mountains was hers to bestow, yet she could only act with the approval of that eternal father figure, Tlaloc. If he refused to allow his rainfall, and locked the earth in drought, even she would suffer---lying withered among the rows of corn, covered with dust and spider webs. When Chicomecoatl was thus helpless to present her harvest, desperate worshipers would ask the Tlaloque why they had kidnapped and locked her away, begging them for her return.
Chicomecoatl was indeed a very popular goddess; there was a little clay idol of her in every home. During her festival (which she shared with the charismatic Cinteotl), teenage girls carried ears of corn to her many chapels. There they placed flowers and food---the first fruits of the harvest---and offered her songs and dance, to animate her energies. She was called the flesh and bones of man, their only staff and support; she alone gave strength and fortitude, and she was man’s entire recompense for such a hard and bitter world.
Chicomecoatl’s name means “Seven Serpent,” the snake being an animal of the earth. Long ago, in the year 1272, a traveller named [Cuahuitzatzin] once beheld a vision of the goddess. Investigating a trickle of smoke in the distance, he found that rainbow-colored clouds were rising from a field of reeds. As he came closer, he discovered an enormous serpent, her sides glowing with the rainbow’s seven colors. A town was later built on this site, where Seven Serpent had been seen, and they named it “Chicomecoatl’s Place.”
As the celebrated sixteenth-century friar Durán once said of the Mexicans, “There are no people on earth capable of eating more and better at the expense of their neighbors; yet there are no people who manage to survive with less food, when it is at their own expense.” For as much as they loved their feasts, however, fasting (even by the emperor) was just as frequent.
During the prayers before dinner, the people would offer a little morsel to the household idols of the gods, who sat before the fire. Indeed, these idols were sometimes made from food themselves: A dough made from the seeds of the amaranth plant, and moistened with human blood, was molded into an icon. After being worshiped for a time, it would be broken into pieces and eaten as an act of communion.
Food was surrounded by reverence, even superstition: Women refused to eat a tamale that stuck to the cookpot, believing their next baby would fasten to the womb due to such adhesive food.
Exactly what gifts did this princess of sustenance provide? Corn, beans, greens, and chiles were the staple foods, and if you were a peasant this was more or less what you ate. The protein-rich grain called amaranth was also popular, but because its seeds had religious uses, the Spanish later forbade it from the cookpot.
Those with a bit more means dined on meat as well, sweetened with honey or spiced with hot sauce: Turkey, pheasant, squab, venison and rabbit from the hunter’s post, with duck and fresh fish from the great lake. Little dogs (the breed has now almost disappeared) were fattened with corn and eaten on holidays. More unusual fare were armadillo, opossums, iguanas, snakes (food for the rustic), and tender mice. These were dressed with squash, tomatoes, jicama, sweet potatoes, mushrooms, fruits, and the avocado, which was believed to cure impotency. Cactus fruit was popular; one type was later used by Spaniards as a practical joke on newcomers, horrifying them by the bright red urine it produced. The favored produce of the lake was spirulina, the dark green lake scum that has made a comeback in health drinks. All of these ingredients would be wrapped in soft corn tortillas, or cooked in tamales and corn casseroles.
At a princely table, fine delicacies of the lake appeared: Shrimp, frog legs, tadpoles, and salamanders, even mosquito caviar. Locusts and water boatmen were ground and served in corn husks, and the cactus worms now bottled with mezcal were also served. The emperor was presented thirty dishes to consider each night, although he was no Roman---The portions he chose were quite abstemious. Royal meals were rounded off with a form of hot cocoa more like spiced coffee, and an after-dinner smoke from the passed pipe.
Fortunately, this happy goddess did not work alone---She had her powerful sister in Tlalocan to help her.
CHALCHIUHTLICUE (CHAWL-chee-oot-LEE-kway) was the goddess of water, and she worked closely with her partner Tlaloc. All the water stored in the mountains of Tlalocan was released by this goddess in fresh springs, flowing down through rivers, lakes, and creeks. As Tlaloc poured his fertilizing rains on the earth, this goddess collected them into her lakes and pools. She then replenished the mountain reservoirs by rivers flowing underground from the sea, and she held the Gulf of Mexico within her arms. Having served as the fourth sun, this goddess had tasted high glory.
Chalchiuhtlicue’s name means “Jade Skirt.” Both her skin and her garments were colored with blue-green and white, a pair of black lines striping down her face. She wore a blue and white headband, with long tassles dangling onto her cheeks. Above this was a headdress spread with white, pleated paper fans.
Of the four elements, it was water that was valued most, for water was the one that could be taken away. The priests used to say that we were born in water, lived in water, and died in water. The meaning of this riddle is that water baptizes us as infants, irrigates our crops, and purifies the deceased.
When a baby was born, the midwife let him taste a little water, saying, “Now you have come to your mother Chalchiuhtlicue. It is she who will help you grow and develop on the earth.” Bathing him in a basin, like the watery womb he had departed, the midwife announced, “Now the baby lives, and he becomes clean and pure. Our mother Chalchiuhtlicue casts him as if from a precious metal.”
Water cleansed not only the body, but was spiritually purifying as well. Bathing was used in a ceremony to wash the soul of its sins. Water was also used in magical conjuring, in telling the future and diagnosing illness, and in the therapeutic public steam baths.
The city of Mexico floated around an island in the middle of a vast lake, like a lovely American Venice. A man poling his boat down one of her canals could chat with a friend walking along the sidewalk. Famers beside the island’s edge grew crops on man-made islands. Some of these were even said to be remarkable floating gardens: Wicker-work rafts covered with soil, that could be towed from one part of the lake to another. Out on the lake, the fishers and fowlers were also at work with net and trident.
In the waters of the lake, there dwelled a mythical creature called the Ahuitzotl (Ah-WEET-sowtle). Looking like a small wolf with the hands of a man, this monster hunted humans. Once it had killed it prey, however, it ate only the eyes and nails of its victims.
Chalchiuhtlicue was always present in the shining lake and her many whirlpools. As much as the Jade Skirt was loved for her happy contributions, however, she was feared and respected for her devastating powers. It was her hand that stayed the watery mountains from completely dissolving and drowning the whole world. If she were angered, her rivers would foam into rapids and the lakes would flood, causing havoc while the goddess Cihuacoatl looked approvingly on.
The recipe for a magic concoction still exists, designed for safely crossing Jade Skirt’s wild waters: You must crush up [tagetes erecta or tagetes lucida and porophyllum] with water and smear it in your chest. In your left hand carry a beryl, a sardonyx, and a shelled oyster, then---with the eyes of a large fish shut tight in your mouth---the goddess will thus see you across.
Long ago, a Mexican emperor decided to build an aqueduct to his island, from across the surface of the lake. When a neighboring sorcerer-king warned him that the waters were too dangerous to control, the emperor simply had this nuisance killed, and built a great dyke anyway. Anxious for Chalchiuhtlicue’s approval, he presented her offerings of fishes, frogs, leeches, and water snakes, and musicians played hymns to her honor. As the waters began to pour through the new aqueduct, the blood of children was sprinkled into the stream.
But Chalchiuhtlicue was angry. She soon caused the waters of the lake to boil and seethe, and the surge rose up into a flood which swept through the city. Dams were hastily built to try to tame her fury, which she easily swamped. The city was in ruins. Divers quickly altered the new constructions to provide a more natural flow, which would not force the goddess’s hand. These blue-dyed divers also swam to the bottom of the lake, depositing jewels there carved to look like fishes and frogs in order to placate the goddess.
HUIXTOCIHUATL (WEESH-toe-SEE-wahtle) completed the trio of gracious and benevolent sisters to the rain gods. Her name tells all, for she was the “Salt Lady.”
In this age of refrigeration, it is as easy to forget the importance of salt to our ancestors as it is fire. For all the generosity of the Salt Lady’s sisters, food was of little use if it spoiled before it could be eaten. It was the preservational powers of this goddess that kept those hard-won meals from corruption and disease.
Huixtocihuatl infused lakes and oceans with her creation. The Mexicans were no sailors, and to them the sea was a wonder: Foul-smelling and frightening, yet irresistible, famous for the man-eating animals who lived beneath its restless surges---yet it was these tart waters in which the goddess dwelled.
Huixtocihuatl was patroness of the salter’s guild. Down to the saline lakes her people went, extracting salt from the brine in their boiling vats to be sold in cakes the size of a loaf of bread. Salt was used in curatives, and was in fact so coveted that cutting off one’s enemy from their supply of salt was considered a form of siege.
Huixtocihuatl had her own festival, in which her impersonator was sacrificed before the shrine of Tlaloc by a swordfish blade at her throat.
Fresh, cool water, the fruits of the earth---Yes, many gods wanted the best for mankind, and none more so than the prince and princess of pleasure.
XOCHIQUETZAL (SHOW-chee-KET-sahl) was the goddess of love and happiness, of flowers, music, and dance. She appeared as a gorgeous young woman, glittering with golden jewelry. Her name means “Flower Feather.” True to her name, her blue tunic was covered in blooms, and two long plumes of the emerald-green quetzal bird trailed from her floral headband.
Xochiquetzal loved to dance, and was always surrounded by the courtly entertainers of a princess. In quieter moments, she liked to sit with her nymphly attendants at the loom, spinning and weaving the patterns of the cosmos into garments of unearthly beauty. Xochiquetzal was the goddess of artists. Always a suspect livelihood, it was the embroiderers in particular who were seen to run the risk of developing loose morals, even turning tricks. If this career change occurred, however, Xochiquetzal happened to be the patroness of prostitutes as well.
This sensuous and feminine goddess had been a sexual partner to several male gods over the ages, yet she still held all the purity of a perpetual virgin as well. So many myths have been lost to time and fire; there is, however, a rumor that Xochiquetzal was once the wife of old Tlaloc, until the enchanting Tezcatlipoca seduced her away.
Lovely Flower Feather was indeed a goddess of sexual delight. While women were expected to be virgins until marriage (at about twenty), sex between a husband and wife was considered an oasis of healthy delight in a cold and alienating world. The woman’s sex was called the “place of joy,” and joy for both partners. Xochiquetzal guided women not only through their first experiences, but supported them through pregnancy right up to the birth. She understood: It was said she had been the first female to die in childbirth. Only if one commited a sexual sin, such as the capital crime of adultery, would she send down the punishment of venereal disease. Adulterers carried with them a reek of transgression that could stun small animals. Equally offensive to the gods was the man who declared he would observe an upcoming fast by practicing celibacy--- only to cave in due to the weakness of flesh.
Such a man was Yappan, a priest who decided to leave this worldy existence and devote his life to the gods. He retreated to the wilderness, taking residence atop a towering rock called “Stone Drum.” There he would live a hermit’s life of penitence and prayer, under the eye of Tezcatlipoca, who looked after him.
Hoping to win the favor of the gods, Yappan swore to them a vow of chastity. Knowing this oath would be easy to keep in such seclusion, Tezcatlipoca wanted to test his sponsored worshiper’s resolve. Many beautiful women were sent by the god to this retreat, but Yappan was not moved by them. One day, however, Xochiquetzal decided to try her seductive arts on him.
From the foot of Stone Drum, the goddess called up, “Yappan, my brother, I have come to give you my greetings.”
A startled Yappan blurted, “O Xochiquetzal, you have come!”
“I have come,” she laughed, “but where will I climb up?”
The voluptuous goddess was irresistible, and Yappan called down, “Wait a moment. I am coming for you now.”
Yappan scrambled down from his mount, helping Flower Feather to climb up the peak and join him. There Yappan was seduced by her, and (as they say) he “picked the blossom.” Xochiquetzal, having proven herself, abandoned him to his disgrace.
A wrathful Tezcatlipoca soon appeared. “Are you not ashamed, priest, for having ruined things?” he demanded. “As long as you live on earth, you will be of no use to anyone. The commoners will call you ‘scorpion,’ as now I so name you.” Tezcatlipoca struck Yappan’s head from his shoulders and threw it upon the man’s back, transforming him into scorpion. Never again would Yappan, the “head carrier,” bask atop the rocks, but always hide himself beneath them.
This myth was remembered in the cure for a scorpion sting: Caressing the victim, the healer would whisper to the venom in his veins as if she were Xochiquetzal herself, “Scorpion, are you not ashamed to be making fun of people so? Do you not remember when you slept with me upon Stone Drum? I have come to greet you again. Just step away from my friend for a moment, and I will wrap you up in my blouse and embrace you.” Swiftly moving in, she tied her garment around the limb as a tourniquet, announcing, “I have to intercept you. Your power ends here. You will not pass.”
Xochiquetzal’s powers of fertility came from the earth itself. It was she, the goddess of flowers, who covered the world in blossoms each year. Few people in the world love flowers as much as the Mexicans. Bouquets were carried everywhere, by men and women, the scent of which brought joy to a tedious journey. Warriors were as fond of flowers as were the butterflies and hummingbirds they would become after death. Even their very blood, spilled in the fields of battle, would rise again as florid blooms. The word for poetry itself was “flower and song.” The ancients believed that although an enlightened man may be poor in the things of this world, by losing himself in a simple bouquet, he may for that moment be as happy as any man on earth.
Flowers had potent, even supernatural powers. It was said that the scent of blooms alone could sustain one through starvation. This perfume properly belonged to the gods---only the very edge of a bouquet could be enjoyed without offense, for the sweet, intoxicating center was Tezcatlipoca’s alone. Flowers were thus a popular offering for both the divine and the deceased. Ironically, it is in fact to the land of the dead that we owe the flowers’ sweet smell.
Ages ago, when field and forest covered the earth in a blanket of limitless green, the gods had been planning a new creation---Flowers, which would be as great a pleasure to the gods as to men.
Around this time, Quetzalcoatl was taking a bath, and he decided to release some sexual tension by pleasuring himself. As he climaxed, his semen dropped onto a boulder. Such was the endless creative power of this god, it seems, that from his seed alone there sprang a bat.
This little bat flew his meandering way to where the other gods were gathered, and it seems they recognized at once his divine paternity. They gave the bat a special assignment: Off in her own house, the young earth goddess Xochiquetzal was fast asleep. He was to slip inside without waking her, and bite off a piece of her vagina.
The little bat did as he was ordered, causing the ususpecting goddess to bleed from the painful injury. Returning, the gods took the collop of her sex from him, and sprinkled it with a little water. From this baptism, bright and colorful flowers rose up in bloom. Unfortunately, for all their beauty, these were found to have no scent. The bat was commissioned once more to carry the flowers all the way down into the underworld. When he arrived, Mictlantecuhtli received the bouquet and bathed it in the waters flowing through the land of death. From this unusual ceremony, the sweet fragrance of the flowers was born.
To this day, many Mexican women still compare their monthly cycle to a flower, asking each other when their time rolls around, “Sister, has the bat bitten you?”
Xochiquetzal’s holiday was the Feast of the Flowers, a time when all were as happy as could be. The frosts were soon coming, and so before the flowers withered, people were desperate to stuff themselves with the fragrance of blooms, as if---like camels---the enjoyment could be hoarded inside them until spring. In this festival, teenagers were allowed to flirt, and were introduced to alcohol by wary chaperones. The only jewelry worn on this day were blossom chains.
At her feast, an impersonator of the goddess was seated on a throne, beneath an arbor of roses. Hand-made trees, bursting with blooms, held up this house of flowers in the temple courtyard. The people of the city danced around her, wearing crowns and collars woven into leis. In the branches, boys disguised as birds and butterflies pretended to sip nectar from the trees. Then the priests appeared, dressed as all of the gods, who shot at these little make-believe birds, like fowlers with their harmless blowguns.
XOCHIPILLI (SHOW-chee-PEEL-lee), “Prince of Flowers,” was the youthful god of pleasure, music, dance, and games. He was like a brother to the pert Xochiquetzal. This handsome god wore a helmet shaped like a bird---through whose open beak he peeped---as he was carried on parade in a royal litter. The Prince of Flowers loved to sing from his throne, accompanying himself on the maracas. He could transform himself into a songbird of unearthly beauty. When he travelled the earth, this god hefted a tree in full bloom for his walking staff.
Xochipilli was attended by the frisky and shameless monkeys. These capering servants wore a copy of Quetzalcoatl’s Wind Jewel in a huge pendant on their breast, a reminder of their creation during the Sun of the Wind.
The music so beloved by Xochipilli was an important part of worship. Rattle and drum were the people’s simple instruments, and the showpiece of song was the human voice. A singer could only give a moving performance by channeling voices of the spirit world into his own throat.
War songs were sung to fill the hearts of men with courage. A genre called the “flower songs” symbolized human emotion in the world of nature: Love, the beauty of flowers, and delights of poetry, faded into the wintry tones of melancholy and decay. The “songs of privation” pondered the nature of god and the inevitability of death. And in the naughty “turtledove songs,” the pleasure girls sang erotic lyrics of their own amusements and their woes. Taunting the men to victory in both the battlefield and the bedroom, these courtesans danced the provocative “tickle dance.”
Dance was a gift brought to the world by Quetzalcoatl. The people would dance before the temples of the gods to honor them, asking Xochipilli for his blessing before each performance. Even the drum that struck up the beat was filled with the spirit of the god. There were religious spectacles such as the rain dance and the victory dance, as well as playful celebrations: Girls circling with colored ribbons round a maypole; great events where three thousand people danced in circling rings; comic dances of hunchbacks, and acrobats on stilts. These professional buffoons sometimes weaved in and out of the dancing crowds, refreshing them with comic relief.
Acrobats were favorite performers, capering with other men upon their shoulders, or juggling logs upon their toes. Contortionists would wrap their legs over their heads, covered with painted snakes to illustrate their sinuous miracles.
One diversion laced with religious import was the volador ceremony. A pole was erected, tall as a ship’s mast, with a rotating platform at the top. On this, dancer played the pipe and drum, and four men dressed as birds were tied to the corners of the frame with long ropes. They all leaped off at a signal, and as the platform slowly rotated the ropes unwound, flying the costumed birds around the pole. Symbolizing the movement of the planets, these players made a total of fifty-two revolutions before touching the ground---the number of years in the Mexican century.
The most peculiar of the paid entertainers was the illusionist. Among his deceptions were puppetry without strings; swinging a water-filled vessel from a cord, without spilling a drop; toasting corn on his cape; and surrounding someone’s house with phantasmic flames.
Men and women who slept together when they were supposed to be fasting were punished by Xochipilli with venereal disease. In fact, many forms of pleasure---such as drinking, gambling, and sex--- when overindulged in could be the causes of disaster and disease. There was a circle of five gods who administered the hazards and punishments of excessive vice, called the Ahuiateteo (Ah-wee-ah-TEH-teh-oh). These southern spirits were named Five-Lizard, Five-Vulture, Five-Rabbit, Five-Grass, and the most popular of all, Five-Flower. The number five symbolized a loss of control, and it was common knowledge that a fifth drink would make you drunk.
“Five-Flower,” or Macuilxochitl (MAH-kweel-SHOW-cheetle), was a transformation of Xochipilli himself. As the Prince of Flowers could become a bird, Five-Flower turned himself into a turtle, whose shell was often used as a drum. Five-Flower was the god of dicing and gambling, and a friend to the palace folk. Gamblers burned incense to him while they shook the five beans that served as dice, clapping and calling loudly as they threw. Five-Flower’s favorite game, patolli, was a board game in which the players moved their pieces based on a roll of the dice, resembling parchisi. The wagers on this game were so high, however, that desperate players even sold themselves into slavery for their stakes.
With five gods concerned with debauchery, it was fortunate that Xochipilli had at least one brother who shared his good health and well-being.
IXTLILTON (Eesh-TLEEL-tohn) was the god of health and medicine.
He was the patron of healers, most of whom were highly respected elder women. To these followers he taught the science of herbal remedies, many of which are still used in Mexico today. Yet the art of the curer was a blend of both botanical medicine and magic.
Disease infested the patient like a worm, which was extracted by the healer from the eyes and teeth. Illness could be caused by deficiencies both dietary and moral, or by excesses of the cup and the flesh. It could be sent by capricious witchcraft, or by the stern justice of the gods. The healer’s first step was to employ divination to discover the source of the illness. If the cause was found to be a moral transgression, a purifying cleanse in a cold stream or the sweat baths followed by a confession would often be the cure. More advanced disease was treated with the knowledge of herbs, but surgery was rare.
As the brother of Xochipilli, Ixtlilton knew that laughter, feasting, and the warmth of the sun could work as well as any medicine. The fragrance of flowers helped as a preventative treatment, and dance was used as part of many cures.
Ixtlilton’s name means “Little Black Face,” and he was indeed a dwarfish, swarthy god, with a green wreath worn around his brow. Above all, Ixtlilton was concerned for the health of children. When the little ones fell ill they were escorted to his temple, which was as full of potions as an apothocary. There, a kindly healer selected the appropriate remedy from her many jars, and the child was cured by drinking of its inky water.
The most formidable task of the healer was reuniting a patient with a wandering soul. Man was believed to have three souls:
The first and most important of these was called the yolia. This resided in the heart where it remained until death.
The second soul was called the tonalli. This gave one his individual character and linked him to his destiny. Residing in the head, the tonalli would venture out of the body each night to communicate with the spirit world in dreams. It also rose out during sexual intercourse, and could be shocked out by a sudden scare. One whose tonalli was set adrift would only survive for a few days.
The third soul was the ihiyotl, which was held in the liver like a gas. This was the animating inner fire which gave physical energy to the individual, working alongside the tonalli. The vitality of this life force could be harnessed to radiate healthful benefits to those around one---or noxious emmissions from the wicked at heart.
YACATECUHTLI (YAH-cah-TEH-coot-lee) was the god of the far-travelling merchants, and the father of commerce.
Traditionally, the only way for a peasant to rise in social status was to succeed in warfare. Some commoners, however, discovered a means to bypass government positions and yet amass great wealth. Forming a guild of merchants, these long-distance traders soon monopolized the importation of cotton to the city, and a new social class was born.
Merchants kept to themselves: They had their own barrios and married only into other merchant families, passing their profession down from father to son. Empowered with their own courts and entry to the finest schools, the merchant guild was determined to keep a low profile to prevent offending the emperor and his warriors. They wore the plainest of capes, and if stopped on the road with their wares would pretend to be merely transporting the goods for someone else. Merchants both embarked and slipped back into the city under cover of darkness, to disguise their riches.
As they steered their canoes swiftly through the night, the departing merchant warned his son, “The wasteland we are entering is ferocious and filled with evil men. Your brow will burn with the sun and wind, your weary face will be deathly white with dust. It may be that you will never return, yet know in your heart that you go reinforced by the compassion of your father and mother.”
As these trading missions could last for months---even years---the caravan was equipped like a party of bandits to force trade on unwilling customers if necessary. Disguised in local costume and speaking the native tongues, merchants often dealt in espionage as well. If the foreign tribe abused these spies in any way, the emperor was quick to declare war. If they did not, the merchants could always provoke them to it. As the warriors then followed in the traders’ footsteps, the luxuries began to flow in only one direction.
Once, a large party of traders was cut off six hundred miles from home and surrounded by hostile warriors. The merchants incredibly survived a four-year siege, during which time they became so battle-hardened that they routed their attackers. By the time the emperor finally sent a relief party, the merchants had conquered the countryside, and the gains of trade became the plunder of war. Returning to the feet of their delighted emperor, they laid down their captured battle standards.
For this conquest, the merchants declared they were allies of Huitzilopochtli, and they too should rise at death into the Heaven of the Sun---a boast that rankled the imperial army.
The moral compass of these firebrand tradesmen, the deity who trailblazed in the vanguard of their fortunes and their hopes, was Yacatecuhtli, the “Lord Who Has Gone Before.” This god wore his hair in the style of a warrior, cooling himself with a regal fan, and bolstered with a bamboo walking staff.
It was the traveler’s staff itself that Yacatecuhtli magically inhabited. Eschewing fancy idols, the company simply bound their staves together and adorned the framework with a swathe of sacred paper. With that---whether gritting their teeth with hunger in the badlands or surrounded by a garrison of pugnacious natives---they knew their god was always with them.
While the other gods demanded so much in sacrifice, the rootless Yacatecuhtli required only gratitude, cinching his belt along with his brothers-in-arms. And when the weary enterprisers were safely home, the happy remains from that night’s turkey dinner were offered as the men sat drinking cocoa by the hearth, paying thanks to the fire god as well as their patron, “The Wanderer.”
MIXCOATL (Meesh-COH-ahtl), the “Cloud Serpent,” was a stellar god who dwelled within the Milky Way, and the leader of the high-minded stars.
Among mortals, Mixcoatl was the god of the hunt. His very symbol was the arrow, and he traveled equipped with a hunter’s gear: A bow with a bristling quiver, and a netted sack for slaughtered game. He was the exemplar of a chieftain---an epic wanderer, a sage ancestor, and a virile warrior. His mastery in combat was backed by a knowledge of lawful spellcraft.
Mixcoatl wore a black mask over his eyes, and two feathers dangled from his hair. His body was painted in the red and white stripes of the sacrificial victim. As the souls of these fallen warriors rose in the night sky to become stars, Cloud Serpent welcomed them from the snaking Milky Way.
Mixcoatl was the patron of the barbarian tribes who lived beyond the northern frontier, called the Chichimecs. Wrapped in animal hides, and dwelling in the harsh desert caves, these wild nomads killed their ill and elderly once they outlived their usefulness. As they were ignorant of crops, Mixcoatl sustained these people with the spoils of the hunt, and passed down the secrets of herbal lore. His sacred animal---the deer---embodied his virile agility and inner fire, a beast the Chichimecs ate raw. Mixcoatl demanded no idols from his crude and mobile worshipers: An upright arrow nested in the desert grass marked his divinity by its fluttering, white banner.
To commemorate their past as wandering barbarians just such as these, the Mexicans worshiped Mixcoatl in a temple covered with red rocks and his beloved cacti, to recreate the harsh steppes of their origin.
There is good reason why Mixcoatl was patron of the fallen warriors, for he was brought unto this world to usher in war and sacrifice:
Not long after the sun had been created and sent into his course, the goddess Chalchiuhtlicue was in labor. She lay under the nurturing eyes of Coatlicue, in the streams of Seven Caves, on the isle of Aztlan. There she gave birth to a countless litter of sons, named the Cloud Serpents.
These young titans were soon visited by the resplendent Tonatiuh, who presented them with handsome thorn-tipped spears and shields. “Here are the gifts with which you will quench my thirst,” he told them. “You will serve me at table, and feed your mother, Tlaltecuhtli.” With this, the Cloud Serpents were released into the world.
Dwelling in caves, they became wandering gods of the wind-whipped badlands, traveling with coyotes and wolves. They were spirits of the mountains and trees, cacti and rocks; they caused the earth to quake and springs to flow. But the plumed costume of war does not a warrior make. These arrogant ogres squandered their arrows on birds. They became sloppily drunk and chased mortal women, crippling the men with dark-hearted magic. When the Cloud Serpents actually trapped a jaguar, they kept him for sport instead of offering him as sacrifice.
This thankless blasphemy had become intolerable, beginning to threaten even the gods. Yet Chalchiutlicue was pregnant once again, and she was determined that these children would confound their swinish kinsmen, and avenge their father the sun. There were five of these late-born babes: Eagle’s Twin, a dryad of the mesquite forests; Hawk Mountain, god of a landmark peak; Lord of the River, who irrigated the crops; Wolf Woman, patroness of the ball games; and the white Cloud Serpent, Mixcoatl. For four days the children quickly grew in the springs of Seven Caves, nourished by Tlaltecuhtli.
Tonatiuh now summoned the five to meet with him. They climbed into the top branches of a mesquite tree, as the sun descended to them. “Listen carefully now, my sons,” he instructed them. “These countless Cloud Serpents are a desecration, and offer nothing to their Father and Mother. You must destroy them.” He provided these children with the deadliest weapons in his arsenal, and drilled them in the arts of combat.
Meanwhile, their gruff brothers had spotted them. “Who are these newcomers who look so much like us?” they wondered. Seizing their spears, the Cloud Serpents closed in to investigate, faces smeared black with the ashes of former victims. The Five scattered---Mixcoatl hid himself under the earth, Eagle’s Twin dove into the mesquite, Hawk Mountain took refuge in his hill, Lord of the River in the streams, and Wolf Woman crouched within a ball court to watch the coming spectacle. Brandishing their spears, the Cloud Serpents charged the mesquite tree, and the battle began.
Eagle’s Twin split the trunk open, which came crashing down on his foes. As Mixcoatl shook the earth, Hawk Mountain erupted from his peak with a rain of stones. From the waters came a great boiling and churning, as the Lord of the Rivers rose up. These four unleashed their powers on the numberless brothers, Mixcoatl releasing his arrows to every compass point.
The Cloud Serpents begged for mercy, and a handful of survivors were spared, only to serve as sacrifices. The Five then led an example for mankind by waiting on Tonatiuh at table, offering him this inimitable food and precious drink.
Legend has it that Mixcoatl was the husband of Coatlicue, dwelling with her in Serpent Mountain, and he was the father of the Countless Stars. If this were true, then Mixcoatl and his stepson Huitzilopochtli were never to be reconciled, as the solar power of the Hummingbird overwhelmed the grandeur of the constellations.
Mixcoatl could manifest himself as a god named Camaxtli (Cah-MOSH-tlee). Huitzilopochtli and this powerful patron could not have been more opposed to each other, for Camaxtli’s chosen people were the archnemeses of the Mexicans---the Tlaxcalans (Tlosh-CALL-ans). Although the Tlaxcalans were feared and hated by the people of Mexico City, they were also thought of as the ideal worthy opponent.
In fact, one of the finest models of chivalry had been a Tlaxcalan warrior named Tlahuicole. After a meteoric military career, he had been captured at last by Mexico. Curious to meet the audacious living legend, the emperor called Tlahuicole before him. Amazingly, the Tlaxcalan was not only spared but offered the command of a Mexican army. After leading his was-once foes to victory, Tlahuicole returned heaped with honors, awaiting his rightful sacrifice so that he might join the sun. But the emperor much preferred that he serve out his days as a Mexican captain. To return home now would mean a shameful execution for cowardice, yet to remain would betray Camaxtli and his people. Tlahuicole therefore demanded his right to a death with dignity, and the emperor reluctantly sent him to the gladiatorial stone of Xipe Totec. Armed only with his feather-trimmed club, the old warrior worked miracles once more before finally succumbing to the inevitable. As Camaxtli looked approvingly on, a new star was born in the twinkling sky.
Camaxtli’s temple was stocked like an armory with weapons of war, for should his idol be captured by Mexico, the fight would be over forever. Time and again, the Mexicans tried in vain to capture Camaxtli’s statue to lock in Cihuacoatl’s House of Darkness. But, like Mexico, Tlaxcala had been promised by their god that they would one day rule the world. Little did either side know, that dubious honor would soon be claimed for the jealous patron of an alien people yet more warlike still.
ITZPAPALOTL (Eets-paw-PAW-lowtle) was a fearsome and belligerent barbarian goddess, mistress of death and war. Her name means “Knife Butterfly,” and she soared into night sky like an obsidian moth. Wings and tail tipped in twinkling knives, spreading out from a wiry woman’s body, the goddess cackled through her jaguar’s teeth, set in a face stripped of flesh. As she swooped bat-like down to earth, she snatched her quarry with the sharp talons of an owl.
Itzpapalotl was the female companion of the lord of darkness, Tezcatlipoca, and siphoned her power from the moon. By day she sent forth the ill-omened and unwanted rainbows, to parch the cactus fields and evict the rains. The seven colors of this inauspicious arc were dyed in the parti-colored skirt she wore. Itzpapalotl’s rainbow was a symbol of drought and death as surely as Mixcoatl’s Milky Way was a covenant of good living.
A mythical creature called the Black Serpent was her animal familiar, who haunted subterranean wells. There it lured people with its mesmerising breath, killing them by shooting its forked tongue into nostrils or rectum, and injecting a venom like the rainbow.
When the Cihuateteo were released after their four years service, and transformed to moths, the few deviants who returned to earth as devil women were led by Itzpapalotl, the darkest moth of all. Like Cihuacoatl, she could appear to powerful men as a voluptuous temptress to lure them into the downfall of adultery, and she also had the ability to change her sex. Though she was violent and merciless, Knife Butterfly was not frivolously wicked---The Mexicans worshiped her as “Our Mother the Warrior.” During their pilgrimage to the islands of the great lake, Itzpapalotl stood beside Huitzilopochtli to lend strength to her worshipers. And, like Mixcoatl and the Mexicans, the goddess had travelled south from the rugged steppes of the Chichimecs.
A tale is told of how the heroic Mixcoatl and the foreboding Itzpapalotl formed a partnership:
Mixcoatl had just defeated his beastly brothers, and there were but two Cloud Serpents left who had been spared the sacrificial block. These blameless brothers were named Xiuhnel (Shee-oo-nell) and Mimich (Mee-meech), and they were hunters in a holy northern desert.
One day, Itzpapalotl sent down a pair of does from the fires of heaven. These miraculous deer each had two heads growing from their shoulders. Captivated, the two brothers pursued the anomolous game for a night and a day, leaving a trail of arrows behind for miles. At sundown, the exhausted hunters decided to pitch their tents side by side and build a fire. When this was done, out in the darkness the monstrous does trans-formed into women. Creeping to the edge of camp, they called out, “Xiuhnel, Mimich! Where are you? Come here. Come eat and drink with us.”
Mimich asked his brother, “Well, why don’t you answer?”
“Come here, sisters,” Xiuhnel called to them. Joining the men, one of the maidens passed along a jug, cooing, “Drink this, Xiuhnel.”
Little did the bewitched hunter notice or care that he was downing a draught of intoxicating blood. He dropped the cup, leading the girl into his tent to lay down with her. Suddenly she threw him to the ground and leaped upon him, tearing open his chest to sink her teeth into his heart.
Outside, the other woman was calling, “Mimich, lover, come and eat,” but he would not hear her. Investigating the commotion, he opened the tent and cried out, “Has she actually eaten my older brother?” Mimich turned around and dove desperately into the bonfire, followed by the uncanny were-deer.
It was as if the two spirits had passed through a gateway into the spirit world, dropping through time and space. Mimich now beheld his huntress in her true form: It was, of course, Itzpapalotl. All through the night the Cloud Serpent was pursued, and on till noon of the following day. Spotting a great barrel cactus, Mimich dropped into it. When Itzpapalotl chased him into the plant he ambushed her, hitting her with so many arrows that she was incapacitated.
The spent Mimich tied back his hair and painted his face in mourning. Striking up a blaze from his fire sticks, he poured out his heart in grief for his brother. These laments were overheard by Xiuhtecuhtli, and the old god sent out his spirits from the fire. With this unlooked-for supernatural aid, Mimich was able to overpower the pinioned Itzpapalotl, and drag her toward the flames. As soon as she touched the fire, the goddess exploded like a fast-blooming flower, bursting into a pile of bright flints.
The god Mixcoatl soon joined his abused brother, and sifting through the multi-colored remains he detected the goddess’ heart beating in a large white flint. Taking this prize, he wrapped it up into a sacred war bundle, and carried her upon his back as a lucky talisman. Having passed through such a transformation, Itzpapalotl now held the power of fire, which could be struck from her flint. The joint powers of this unlikely pair made Mixcoatl utterly invincible in battle.
Itzpapalotl would guide and caution her worshipers, using the flint blade as her oracle. During a human sacrifice, the goddess would strike her spirit into the priestly knife. Thus, at the critical moment, the very instrument of worship itself was divine.
At twilight, the constellations rush up from beneath the earth, and Itzpapalotl soars with them into the obsidian mirror of night, the knife-tips of her wings twinkling like wandering stars.
TLACATZINACANTLI (Tlah-cawt-seen-ah-CAWNT-lee) was the bloodthirsty spirit of the bat. He had the body of a man, the head of a huge vampire bat, and his dragon-like wings were tipped in the blades of human sacrifice. Where hands and feet should be, there grasped giant claws, and a hungry tongue lolled down from a pair of fangs. The spirit wore only a loincloth, and from around his neck rang a collar of three bells, with human bones for the clappers.
This nocturnal spirit led the vampire bats, flying straight up to earth from the underworld at dusk. These creatures were as hungry for blood as were the gods, sinking their fangs into their prey and lapping up the flow as it ran down. While Tlacatzinacantli swooped awkwardly from branch to branch, owls fluttered behind him, dealing silent, unexpected death. Spiders dropped down on their silken strands wherever he happened to rest, and centipedes scuttled beneath his toes. He hunted brutally through the woods at night, swooping down upon his leathery wings to tear the head from a man’s shoulders, as though he were snatching a piece of fruit from a branch.
While most of the gods---no matter how sinister some may seem at first---had creative or protective sides to them, there were some spirits in this world that were creatures of pure doom and destruction.
THE TZITZIMIME (TSEE-tsee-MEE-meh) were female demons of twilight. Cold and conspiring, they despised the sun and plotted his overthrow each night as they hid among the stars. Named the “Devil Women,” the Tzitzimime were denied human sacrifice, and they yearned for the moment they could swoop to earth and gulp down humans whole. Their personal symbol captured this well: A spider descending on her silk.
The Tzitzimime had a bare skull for a face, from which they glared with fiery eyes. Their canines had grown into long, metal bars, and their eager molars were like sacrificial stones. Where hands and feet should be were the long, grasping talons of a bird of prey, and small mouths gnashed from their knees. The belt that fastened their dress was a living snake. Their hair was flung in mad disarray, from which hung earrings made of human hands. The final, hideous touch in this demonic decoupage was a queenly crown, topped with an arrangement of human hands and hearts.
Beautiful though the stars may be---as the nocturnal souls of fallen warriors---the Tztitzimime who dwelled among them into the blackness were chill, malicious, and a threat to both mankind and the sun. As the spent sun dropped into the underworld at dusk, the Tzitzimime poured in after him throughout the night. Once below, the shriveling sun found no rest, but continued in his flight to the east with full speed and a feeble light. There he stumbled blindly through a gloomy and hostile atmosphere, thick with the fluttering stings of these pesty yet neverending adversaries. Twinkling with a crisp complicity, the Tzitzimime were waiting above for him in the east, to suffocate the rising sun in a shroud of darkness. With the aid of sacrifice from his devoted worshipers, however, the vital essence of the sun was replenished; he confronts the evil moon, rebuffs a few chilling shots from the Morning Star, and then banishes these foes from the sky in a sweep of royal blue.
On very rare occasions, the sun would in fact buckle underneath such battery, and he would be smothered in a solar eclipse. In this moment of calamity, the fate of the earth hung by a thread. The Tzitzimime had won in battle, and if the sun should not pull back from the brink, these monsters of night would be unleashed on the earth. As darkness spread, the celestial demonesses dropped from the sky, seizing and devouring those mortals whose flesh had so long been denied them. The people shrieked, blasting on horns and beating on drums in an attempt to frighten them away, and rally the sun with their battle cries. Everyone---even the little ones---drew blood from their ears to revive him, and prisoners with the palest skin and the lightest hair (the very qualities needed in the sky) were sacrificed, while everyone waited and hoped.
For this was precisely how our world was destined to end: At doomsday, in the year named 4-Motion, earthquakes will rip the earth apart. The doorway to the spirit world will be torn through, and the Tzitzimime will fulfill their purpose at last---swarming in from the west to gorge themselves as the world is locked in famine. It is said that on this day, even the sun himself will be transformed into one of their number.
MAYAHUEL was the young goddess of the maguey cactus, and the sweet, alcoholic drink that it produced.
The maguey cactus was almost as important to our ancestors as corn: Called the “life of the land,” cloth and rope were woven from her fibers, and embroidery needles were made from her thorns. Her leaves were used in cooking, for making paper, and for tiling roofs. The juice from the cactus also had its use in medicine, but once this juice was fermented, its real powers of regeneration were brought out. The resulting liquor, called pulque (POOL-kay), was not only a source of pleasure, but a gateway to connect with deeper levels of reality. This “spirit” was in itself divine, and therefore an offering fit for the gods.
It was the gods themselves who first caused this fantastic plant to be. It happened in the early days of creation, when Tezcatlipoca had recently brought music to the world. The gods soon noticed, however, that there was little on earth that inspired the people to joyful song. This troubled them. “Man should enjoy living on the earth, yet he seems to be quite sad,” they said to one another. “They need something more than the promise of food and water to cause them to rejoice, and to praise us in their songs and dances.”
Quetzalcoatl overheard this discussion, and thought long and hard about a solution. He decided that if the people had an intoxicating liquor to drink, it would bring pleasure to their lives, and make them want to celebrate. Suddenly he remembered a lovely young goddess who would likely be able to help him in this creation: Mayahuel.
The pretty virgin lived in one of the heavens with her grandmother, but this guardian, however, was no less than one of the fearsome Tzitzimime. Quetzalcoatl proceeded very carefully to their dwelling, and found them both fast asleep. Cautiously, he woke little Mayahuel and whispered to her, “I have come to escort you into the world.” The astonished goddess agreed at once to go with him. Being the gentleman he was, Quetzalcoatl offered to carry her on his shoulders, and he flew down through the clouds with her, lighting on the surface of the earth. (Having stolen bones from the underworld, corn from the mountains, and now Mayahuel from heaven, Quetzalcoatl began to sometimes answer the prayers of thieves.)
When Mayahuel’s grandmother woke, she was furious to find the girl had run away. This ancient star demon called for her sisters, the Tzitzimime, to help scour the earth and find the little truant. The outraged spirits dove from heaven, pouring into the sky like spiders on their threads. Quetzalcoatl, the god of air, sensed this disturbance and disguised himself and Mayahuel with a transformation. Clinging together like lovers, they became a tall tree, each god forming one of its forking branches.
The eagle-eyed grandmother recognized her own kin when she saw it, however, and with her flock of sisters she swooped. The tree shuddered and split in half at their descent, both limbs crashing to the ground. The branch of Quetzalcoatl was ignored; Mayahuel, however, was torn to pieces by her unforgiving guardian. The savage grandmother then passed the broken fragments of the luckless little goddess to the other Tzitzimime, who devoured her flesh in retribution, and took wing into the heavens once more.
Quetzalcoatl returned to human form and shook his head sadly over Mayahuel’s remains. Nothing but a few gnawed bones were left of the little virgin. Gathering up what he could, the god gave them a simple burial in the earth.
Mayahuel was a god, however, and death only brings to immortals new life. From her grave there rose the first maguey cactus, and mankind would indeed come to rejoice in the blessings of her inebriating drink.
Mayahuel appeared as a beautiful young woman, nesting in the leaves and flowers of her maguey plant. She wore a conical cap, and a nose ring shaped like the crescent moon. Often she held the cups of pulque she produced. Mayahuel had grown from a virgin goddess to the ultimate in female reproductivity. The maguey leaves were so numerous and inexhaustable that it was as if Mayahuel had a countless number of breasts, with the cactus spines at the tip, her many nipples. Pulque---a cloudy white spirit, rich in vitamins---was compared to mother’s milk, and Mayahuel was often shown nursing. Her name, in fact, means “Powerful Flow.”
No one forgot that Mayahuel sacrificed herself for our benefit. In order to extract the sweet “honey water” from her plants, people felt as if they were decapitating the maguey, cutting the beating heart out of her leaves. When approaching the cactus with a machete, the farmer held a brazier of incense in the other. “Forgive me, eternal maguey,” he would say, “for I am about to cut open your breast. It is not my wish to see you suffer, so please---mistress of itchings---do not inflict illness on me. Before I wound you, I pray to you and make my offerings.” This fruitful goddess was a generous mother.
Mayahuel later found a husband, named Patecatl (Pah-TEH-cawtle), the “Medicine-Lander.” He was the root to her leaves, steeped in her fermenting drink to lend it his strength and richness.
Mayahuel had her own holiday, with a bizarre custom. After all the dances and parades, several vessels of pulque were lined up before the celebrants. Next to these were set two hundred and sixty straws, yet only one of these had been drilled all the way through. The merry-makers were let loose to hunt frantically through the pile, tossing aside the sealed tubes. When someone finally found the lucky straw, the losers had to sit back and watch while he happily drained all the pulque by himself.
Such selfish indulgence, however, had less fourtunate results.
THE COUNTLESS RABBITS were the happy companions of Mayahuel.
There were many minor little gods in the Mexican world, so many they were impossible to count. Among them was a gang of gods of plenty, who took the form of rabbits. An individual Rabbit chose a particular village to be his home, and he named himself after it. It was thereafter his pleasure to protect the local villagers, looking over their harvests and lending aid from the spirit world to help their crops be plentiful. The Countless Rabbits were attendants upon great Mother Earth just as the Tlaloque were to Tlaloc.
It is said the Rabbits, as fertility gods, chose the form of the little mammal because of his powers of procreation. It was a source of pride to them that the rabbit could be seen in the shadowy face of the moon. They wore a symbol of the crescent moon for a nose ring, and painted across the shields they clutched in their paws.
The Rabbits were rustic gods and they held their own country festival when the harvest had been gathered in. At these feasts pulque invariably flowed freely and inhibitions dropped. As a result, the interest of the Rabbits was taken up with the wild joys of drunkeness as a reward for their hard work in the fields. Drinking cups were often shaped like the rabbits, and when a reveler lost control in a burst of shouting, fists, or tears, he was said to be “acting like his Rabbit.”
Once Quetzalcoatl had introduced Mayahuel to the world, pulque began to flow freely. Distinguished chieftains from all over the land were soon invited to a feast, to sample this new blessing. It was a hit. All of the leaders sampled a third cup, then a fourth, as happy as the gods could have wished. The chieftain of the Chichimecs, however, demanded a fifth round. Once this cup was drained, he lost control of himself and behaved disgracefully. For his grand finale, the chief stood before his colleagues and threw off his loincloth. The other chieftains sent him back in shame to the hot, humid clime whence he came, and the casual nudity of the Chichimecs would shock and intrigue the Mexicans ever after. It became common wisdom that while four drinks would make you merry, a fifth was the sign of a true alcoholic.
The dangers of alcohol were greatly feared by the law-and-order emperors of Mexico. People of retirement age were invited to enjoy spirits, to warm their blood and help them sleep. Among younger adults, however, alcohol was required to be private, social, and discreet. If a peasant got so drunk that he lost control in public, the officials tore his house down, telling him if he wanted to behave like an animal he could go live in the fields like an animal. If he relapsed a second time, the drunkard would be executed. Noblemen, who were supposed to lead a good example, were put to death for the first offense.
It was said that Tezcatlipoca himself shared the dread of liquor. Before Mayahuel was transformed, the other gods wanted liquor to be a blessing that would gladden the hearts of men. Tezcatlipoca, however, was prepared to order the death of anyone who took a single draught. At length the god of kings was brought around to compromise, but he insisted that if all the others were to live, someone must die as a proxy sacrifice. It was the most famous of the little fertility gods who volunteered “Two Rabbit” Ometochtli (Oh-meh-TOECH-tlee). By agreeing to be killed, Ometochtli spared the lives of men. Being divine, of course, his death came like the sleep of the inebriated, from which he awoke refreshed.
At the feast of Ometochtli was offered a sacred ceremonial drink so potent it was known as “fivefold pulque.” He was a friend of Macuilxochitl, and he loved dicers. Gamblers would even set out a little cup of pulque as an offering for him when they sat down to play. He had a knack for making the roll come up snake-eyes, and as they shook the beans they used for dice gamblers would call out, “Two Rabbit, give me your luck!” The celebrated Spanish friar Durán once asked an old Mexican why this was so. The old man answered, “Why do you invoke your wine when you toast?” Friar Durán decided to drop the subject for fear of having to explain Spanish drinking games, stating, “They drink enough as it is without our teaching them how.”
Of all the rabbits, only one, Tepoztecatl (Teh-pose-TEH-cawtle), still has a temple standing. To reach it one must pass through a cleft in the hill, from which protrudes a huge, phallic rock.
Not all of the Rabbits were so jolly. Some---such as “the Drowner” and “the Strangler”---used only the demonic powers of alcohol, tipping their besotted followers over a cliff and into the drink.
COATL XOXOUHQUI (COH-ahtl Show-show-UH-kee), or “Green Serpent” was the spirit of the morning glory, one of four hallucinogenic plants held sacred by the Mexicans. Narcotics stretched the five senses, opening a power of inner sight previously unknown. They might be taken to communicate with the gods in waking dreams, or for divination, for personal visions, for supernatural curing, or sometimes just for pleasure. If the priests had their calendar to use in divination, the shamans had their narcotics.
The morning glory was a green vine with a woody trunk and long, white flowers. It was believed to sprout from the body of a spirit named Green Serpent, who appeared dripping with dew and seeds, the tendrils of the plant twining all around her. The people took care not to offend her, offering her food and incense and even sweeping around the roots of her vines. Her seeds were treated with religious awe, cared for by diviners in little baskets they passed down through generations.
These seeds were eaten to produce a delirium during which the goddess would appear in a chromatic vision. During this, she might reveal the source of an illness, expose a thief, or discover a missing person. In order to consult the oracle, a skilled diviner would bring the patient to a quiet retreat after dark. As the patient swallowed the seeds, the diviner would pray, “Come hither, cold spirit, and soothe your servant’s fevered mind.” Green Serpent would then appear, sometimes as two little girls dressed in white. Based on what the patient murmured during this séance, the diviner would make his or her diagnosis.
Morning glory was said to grow even in Tlalocan, and her creepers wreathed around Xochipilli’s throne.
Tobacco was likewise a gift from the gods, and it composed the flesh of the goddess Cihuacoatl. Shamans used a species of tobacco four times more potent than ours to induce a trance state during their chants. This transported their spirits out of time and space, where they beseeched the gods to restore health and stability to their patients. Drunk as a syrupy liquid, tobacco removed fatigue and pain, and its smoke could shield one from evil influences. This smoke also was a form of nourishment for the gods, and was frequently burnt in offering.
The third sacred hallucinogen was peyote, a small, spineless cactus which provides colored visions, sent by the little black spirit who inhabits it. Peyote hunters would travel hundreds of miles on pilgrimage, singing, fasting, and staying awake all night through emotional initiations. In addition to curing fever, peyote inspired warriors with unshakeable courage, protected them from injury, and could sustain them with no food or water.
Last of all were hallucinogenic mushrooms, known as the “flesh of the gods,” and a gift from Quetzalcoatl. Mushrooms dipped in honey were served amongst both the gods in heaven and at the coronation of kings. To gather them, priests would go out into the hills and remain praying until the breeze at dawn began to blow.
Modern Mexican Indians consider the unusual saint named El Niño to be the patron of the mushroom. Virgin girls collect these during a new moon and place them reverently on his altar.
Hallucinogenic mushrooms were served at the banquets of wealthy merchants. Once eaten, spirits would enter the men with a kaleidoscope of visions, in which each beheld his own fate: One man sees himself captured in war, another eaten by wildcats, one sees himself rich and happy, another executed for adultery, yet another laid low in a rooftop fall. When the intoxication passed, the men---whether laughing or washing their eyes with tears---discussed what they had seen.
TLAZOLTEOTL (Tlah-sohl-TEH-ohtle), was the goddess of transgression, of the consequences that come from excess, gluttony, and lust. It was Tlazolteotl, the “Filth God,” who tempted humanity with lecherous desires, and it was Tlazolteotl who forgave these sins and granted absolution.
Theis goddess went with breasts bared, holding a coral snake that was the image of lust. Her skirt, half red and half black, was overlaid with the crescent moons of the Countless Rabbits. Tawny yellow feathers jutted down from her headdress, weaving across her neck like dried palm fronds. As a nose ring, the goddess wore the decapitated quail offered in so many sacrifices. Most notable, however, was the black region painted around her mouth---Tlazolteotl cleaned us of our sins by swallowing them. She was known as the “Excrement Eater,” for a sinner languishing in the consquences of his own debauchery was like a dog eating its own defilement.
While Xochiquetzal celebrated the beauty of sex, Tlazolteotl ruled the dark side of forbidden love and perversion. Prostitutes were her women. Besides the often drug-addicted market hookers, there was a class of girls maintained in the state-run “Houses of Joy.” These “pleasure girls” were taken as virgins from their community and brought to the military barracks. There they were devoted by Huitzilopochtli to attracting new souls to his worship, and making men of his warriors. After years of these licentious “festivals,” the retired girls were sometimes sacrificed.
Adultery corrupted not only the soul but the body with its filth. Such forbidden love clouded one with a miasma called the “lust-death,” a curse sent down by Tlazolteotl. These noxious fumes of sin could strike one’s children with consumption and knock baby animals out cold.
Improbably, Tlazolteotl---“Goddess of the Rump”---was a close sister of Ixcuina, the pure Lady of Cotton. Those who revealed their sins in confession were compared to skeins that have been spun anew.
If the sinner was merely concerned with minor transgressions, they could be wiped away through the ritual purifications of water, fire, incense, or the sweat bath. Prostitutes and cheating women could sneak to the crossroads at midnight and pray to Tlazolteotl. By dropping their robes, the moral stains slipped from them, and they returned home naked and redeemed. Serious misconduct would require sexual abstention, fasting, and bloodletting, but a lifetime of delinquincies required a full confession.
This formal confession allowed the penitent to live the rest of his life with a clear conscience, for it not only cleansed his soul of all wrongdoings, but cleared his legal record with the state. Because Tlazolteotl granted absolution only once in a lifetime, many people put confession off until late in life.
A penitent man would approach a priest with his desire to confess, who then consulted his almanacs for a favorable date. Visiting the priest on the day they had chosen, the two would sit on newly-made mats by the fireside. The eye of Tlazolteotl watched over them joined by Tezcatlipoca, who alone could look into men’s hearts and minds. Tossing incense onto the coals, the priest called to the gods while fragrant clouds infused the room:
“O mother and father of the gods, O lord of fire, behold a poor man who comes anxiously weeping. It seems that he has sinned, that by deluding himself he has lived unchastely. Lord Tezcatlipoca, you who are near and far, ease his troubled heart.”
The sinner now touched the earth with his fingers and kissed them, then added incense to the flames. Having now sworn by heaven and earth to tell the full truth, he confessed all of his unclean deeds, beginning with childhood and sparing nothing from shame. The priest was then sworn to secrecy, for what he had been told was meant not for his ears but for the gods. He called now upon the presiding deities:
“You have heard this terrified man, who has placed his rotten stench before you. He strays from your presence and steps blindly into the snare. His crimes corrupt the very marrow of his body, and it tears his heart out to think what he has done. Though he has offended you, may he not find redemption? Lord, wash him in your bottomless waters and guide him to a better course.”
Turning to the penitent, the confessor gravely admonished him:
“You hide on the edge of a cliff from which there is no escape, and throw yourself from the crag into the torrents. By choking down and suppressing such filth, your rottenness has seeped out into the world, blackening the land of death and stinking in the nostrils of heaven. Tezcatlipoca is quick to take offense, and no later than tomorrow may cast you down in disgust to where our father Mictlantecuhtli waits, panting and thirsting for you in our common home. There, clinging to your ugly deeds, you will get what you deserve.
“You were flawless when your father Quetzalcoatl made you. You were as pure as jade or turquoise. But of your own volition you have jumped into excrement in which you roll and play, wallowing in filth. Now that you have revealed it to this goddess, the bather of men, our lord has caused dawn to break. You are once more like a freshly hatched parrot. “Go softly now in peace and quiet. Try your feet out. Behave humbly, modestly, even sadly. Our lord of near and far listens within you and knows when you offend him. Be not as you have been. May you never falter again. Sweep, clean, and get your life in order. Yet dance and sing, for now Tezcatlipoca will be seeking you for a friend.
“You have commited adultery and used words to hurt your neighbor. Your penance shall be to fast, burn incense, and draw blood, because you found pleasure in vice. You shall go about wearing only a paper loincloth, and you must pass thorns through your earlobe and tongue once a day for one year. From now on, when you see someone going hungry, all skin and bone, offer him your food. Give clothing to him who needs it, for your body is also his---especially the sick man, for he is the image of Tezcatlipoca. Be careful. Pay close attention. May the lord of the near and nigh recreate you. This is all.”
XOLOTL (SHOW-lowtle) was the god of freaks and clowns, of misshapen men, and sexual aberrations. His very name means “Monster.”
One of the biggest forms of freaks were twin children. As the twin brother of Quetzalcoatl, Xolotl was their guardian. The name Quetzalcoatl, in fact, can mean “Precious Twin” as well as “Plumed Serpent.” Xolotl often wore earrings shaped like his brother’s Wind Jewel. Quetzalcoatl was born in the east as the Morning Star each day, retreating as the sun chased him away. Xolotl then appeared at dusk as the Evening Star, and as he set he pursued the sun to the horizon, passing away and following him into the underworld.
Xolotl watched over the birth of twins and other freaks. Twins were powerful and frightening to the Mexicans, abnormal omens of strange intrusion from the spirit world. It was said that twins were doubly charged with the powers of the earth, and involuntarily channeled the forces from the age of creation. This window sometimes opened onto the mathematical order of the cosmos, at other times onto conflict and chaos. Because of this risk, parents of twins were privately advised to pick one baby at random and destroy it. Few however seemed to follow this advice.
To neutralize their own involuntary powers, twins were put upon to assist in all sorts of little rituals: Since their presence would draw heat from a fire, a sweatbath would sit cold all day unless the twins tended to the heated rocks themselves. To keep food from going cold even as it boiled, a twin might offer to lower the tamale into the pot.
Because of the god’s excessive powers of birth however, women who had trouble getting pregnant might pray to Xolotl for children. Xolotl sometimes liked to appear in two identical forms simultaneously, becoming his own twin.
A trickster himself, Xolotl was also the guardian of dwarfs and hunchbacks. These abnormal and intimidating people were coveted by rulers for courtly entertainers, and granted the rare privilege of giving unihibited and biting criticism. Like twins, they were endowed with powers of the spirit world, and could conduct the forces of chaos and inversion. Laughed with respectfully, dwarfs and hunchbacks were invited by the emperor to lend him advice on the serious matters of religion and national policy.
Xolotl was hideous, but happy. He was a shape-shifter, sometimes taking the form of a salamander, but his most natural form was a dog with big teeth and a broad tongue. Open sores ran on his tattered ears and deep furrows crossed his face. Dogs were loved by humans, but were also filthy and without morals. In human shape, Xolotl was completely deformed: His eyes dropped from their sockets and hung from his cheeks, his skin painted black, finger-like toes on backward-turned feet, twisted wrists---And yet this god was so often laughing and cavorting.
Xolotl was the patron of a courtly sport called tlachtli (TLAWCH-tlee), which in its finest was a solemn and sacred ritual.
This sport was played in the paved alley of a sunken ball court, formed by the walls of two elevated bleachers filled with spectators. At the center line stood a well, and two stone rings jutted from each side wall. The court, having been rededicated in a midnight ceremony, would be washed with blood before an important match. Teams of one to three would face off, and the rubber latex ball would be thrown into service. From then on, the use of hands or feet was illegal, players striking the ball with only the elbows, knees, or even the hips to send it bouncing into the end zones. The teams wore padded uniforms to protect them from injury or death. Spectators wagered their garments on the game, sometimes literally losing the shirt off their backs. On the very rare occasion that the ball passed through one of the narrow rings, the match was immediately won and the player was entitled to all of the mantles worn among the crowd, with inevitably sparked a stampede for the gates.
Tlachtli was overshadowed with religious significance. The cosmic ball court was hung in the night sky as the constellation we call Gemini. The ball itself was seen as the sun battling his nocturnal enemies of the underworld. The contest between players was thus much like the heroic escape of the sun from subterannean skies into the world above.
The captain of the losing team was beheaded, and his blood poured down the mid-court well into the bowels of the earth. His skull was then either spiked onto the ball court racks, or embedded inside one of the balls (thus giving it a hollow center) to be used in tomorrow’s game.
It was the link between the ball game and Mictlan that interested this god, for Xolotl was the emissary of the underworld. As a go-between from the land of death, Xolotl appeared as a walking skeleton draped in princely robes.
When a man passed away, he was said to have been wed to Tlaltecuhtli. His body was dressed in a suit of paper and a small bowl of water was placed beside him, as precious in Mictlan as it is on earth. A jade stone was placed in his mouth to symbolize the soul named the yolia, released from his heart to begin its wandering. A dog with red or yellow coloration which had been raised in the household was now killed and cremated with its master on the funeral pyre.
As we have seen, the destination of the soul depended not on one’s moral worth, but on the method of one’s death. Yet what happened to the soul not singled out for the House of the Sun, or tapped for Tlalocan? It was but a dismal future, for he was shortly whisked into the cold north and dropped into the jaws of hell. At the cremation services, the officiating priest would warn the passing soul, “You are arriving at the mysterious land of the unfleshed, a place whence you shall never return. No more shall you recall your time on earth, or the life and death of the orphans you leave behind.”
Peering through the gloomy shadows, the first thing that the soul beheld was a wide, swift river coursing through the abyss---a saline spring composed of mourner’s tears. On the far bank, he could now see the dog that had been offered at his funeral. This clever dog, recognizing his master, splashed into the water in order to ferry him across it. Clinging to the back of his little animal, the departed shade navigated the black and briny watercourse. It was Xolotl the Dog Monster that presided over this gateway from which no man returned, as they entered the “Home without a Chimney.” Yet it was here the god bade the passing soul farewell, for this was but the first of many trials in the underworld.
MICTLANTECUHTLI (MEEK-tlawn-TEH-coot-lee) was the god of death and lord of the underworld. He was the “Head-Down-Dropper,” for his latest vassals tumbled sprawling and kicking from their graves into Mictlan such a dark and misty realm of discontent a place of endless torment, both dreary and fearsome. Insects scuttled over the bones that scattered from these cavern walls, moist with mold and excrement. Through these lightless corridors scuttled flocks of quail, having been decapitated in the blood sacrifices of men. From the cobwebs and the cold stone corners glowed the molten yellow eyes of owls. These birds rose to earth in ponderous dignity, appearing as ill omens of death. (“Owl” in fact became a term of endearment for a loved one who had passed away.) Into this sink of putrefaction the dead shades made their lonesome way.
Once safely across the river of tears, the soul continued alone on foot. Now began a four-year odyssey through a dismal landscape, where painful obstacles were laid at every step. Descending gradually into this subterannean world, the departed soul discovered that his path continued through a gorge, set between two cliff faces high as mountains. To his amazement, the rock walls slowly rumbled apart from each other, sliding along the ground. Then, with no warning, the cliff faces crashed together with the booming of an earthquake. The soul had to time his sprint through this gauntlet with care, or be battered painfully between the clattering rocks. Souls, of course, cannot be destroyed by such physical means; these obstacles of river and rocks prevented the suffering ghosts from coming back from the dead to harm the living.
As he wandered, the spirit found that Mictlan was a helix of spiraling levels: After circling the realm, what was once the floor had risen to become the ceiling. Dropping further into hell, the soul passed through eight hills and eight deserts before reaching Knife Mountain. This black volcano was composed entirely from razor-sharp obsidian, over which the soul made gingerly progress. Here a great green dragon called the “Flowery Destiny” was said to dwell. Was this mysterious creature somehow linked to the ill-starred fate that brought the soul to this destination?
Dropping into the fourth plane below the earth, the soul entered a region of torment---The Obsidian Wind. A pereptual hurricane whipped across the bleak landscape, the icy winds biting flesh like so many whistling obsidian knives. To prepare for this, one had been cremated with the materials needed to cobble together a small shelter. Men leaned sword against shield and draped these with a cape, while women rigged up several stalks of cane, their baskets and fabrics sealing them in. Huddling beneath these rickety lean-tos, the weary found rest during their long months of pilgrimage.
Further below, the soul reached a place we know little about, only that the banners which symbolized a human sacrifice were flourished here. Somewhere through all of this, the nighttime sun made his dim and shriveled way through the netherworld skies. Having dropped into Mictlan at sunset, the tired sun was now escorted by the spirits of the underworld. These shades had but the worst of intentions for the sun, and he spent the night in battle with them, straining to reach the east and the world of life.
Once the beleaguered soul reached the seventh level of the underworld he was continually fired at by the spirits of death, who brandished their bows and arrows. These flinty spirits were rapacious as starving dogs or birds of carrion.
Coursing ever downwards, the path became rockier, until the spirit had to clamber over a narrow trail. These thorny crossings were haunted by the spirits of savage beasts, who kept a tooth whetted on human hearts.
At last, after four years of trials, the departed soul arrived before the throne room of the Lord and Lady of Mictlan. Stripped of all clothing, his journey was at an end: In the awesome presence of these masters the soul at last found eternal rest, dissolving into the misty void forever. Upon the earth, his loved ones now ceased to burn offerings for him---for there was nothing left.
1 The surface of the earth
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2 The Water Crossing
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3 Where Mountains Clash
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4 Knife Mountain
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5 Obsidian Wind
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6 Where Banners Are Flourished
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7 Where One Is Shot with Arrows
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8 Where Hearts Are Eaten
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9 The Place of the Dead
Mictlantecuhtli was terrifying: His skin was a sickly dark grey, and his long, black hair hung in dreadlocks. He wore a suit made of blood-speckled bones. Behind the giant skull he wore as a mask his eyes burned like cold stars, allowing him to see in the blackness. His collar was strung with eyeballs for beads, with the dangling talisman of a human heart. The god’s sweeping cape was of coarse paper, as was his conical headdress, from which an enormous white plume spiraled. Long earrings and a spray of owl feathers completed the morose wardrobe.
The Lady of Mictlan was his hideous consort. The mouth of her bare skull was frequently turned up, as if waiting for her deserts to drop. She would dance on the open jaws of the earth, as the shrouded cadavers began to tumble in.
Like many gods, these two needed physical nourishment. Instead of the coveted human heart, however, they were content with the putrid refuse others cast away: Fruit pits, spines, and briery thistles. Hands, feet, and the eyes torn from sinners were also added to their beetle stews, and infused with passed gas. All of this was washed down with a quaff of pus, drunk from the brain-pan of a skull.
The Mexicans were not afraid to die, perhaps because the thought of dying was so often on their minds. Even kings wore the skull and crossbones on their coronation robes. This worldly existence held no more reality to them than a shimmering dream.
We have seen so often how for one thing to eat and live, another must die. Yet though the precious essence of our blood will be transformed by the earth into so many new creations, our souls will find no such rebirth. A soul is a flimsy, insubstantial thing, dissolving under the gaze of Tezcatlipoca like dew and mist before the dawn. We were not modeled after the nature of gods, and they had no interest in redeeming us, for there is nothing special about the individual that could not be replaced by nature. As we were not worth preserving, so were we not worth punishing. Bleak as it was, Mictlan was merely the common home of beggars and kings.
This unglamorous destiny of the rulers was belied, however, in the grandeur of their funerals. After the death of an emperor the royal body continued to sit in state, attended by visiting kings who offered him gifts for use in his posthumous existence. Over four days he was costumed in turn as the first sons of the Divine Couple. Scores of jesters and concubines were sacrificed over a large drum, to serve their master during his journey in the next life. Contradicting all scripture, some rulers even insisted that they, like King Huemac, would simply retreat to a mountain cave after death, only to usher in a future golden age for their people one day. We can only wonder did the ruler honestly believe his princely status on earth could be carried into the afterlife?
The mists of Mictlan shroud so many mysteries: Why did the people confess their sins to Tlazolteotl if they were not to be punished for them? Did the priesthood really expect to find no finer reward for a lifetime of piety than the trials of Mictlan for themselves? Some Mexican philosophers argued that if we are ignorant of our destiny, why not make a heaven of this earthly life for as long as it lasts? To others, the world itself was hell, and happiness could only exist in the beyond. If not, all our suffering would have been in vain.
Will Mictlan be a place of endless sadness, the poets wondered, or shall we be joyfully reunited with the Giver of Life once more? Do flowers fall into the underworld when they die? And if our mother and father have gone before us, will we not see their faces again? Most enticingly, if the soul continues after death, is it not a new form of living after all? To this last question, the poets had a clear but painful answer: “Your heart knows the truth---We come to live upon this earth but once.”
The truth is that notwithstanding the darkest ponderings of poets or the brightest hopes of emperors Mictlan was the “Place of No Exits,” and none have ever returned to solve our mysteries.
THERE is a story told from long ago, back in the days when Motecuhzoma the Elder ruled as king of Mexico.
Hundreds of years had passed since the Mexicans had left their island home of Aztlan, and by now they were a very rich and successful kingdom. Now the ruler began to wonder about what had happened to those who had stayed behind, and if the goddess Coatlicue could still be found there. The king decided to find her, if he could, and send her presents. He called for his second-in-command, named Tlacaelel. This wise man warned the king that only sorcerers would be able to reach the long-lost island, for it was said to be shrouded in thorny rock roses, tangled vines, and lagoons thick with reed beds. Plus, although the people of Aztlan were their ancestors, Tlacaelel reminded the king that they could be as vicous as they could be delightful.
So Motecuhzoma summoned a party of sixty loyal sorcerers and loaded their packs with rich gifts that would befit a goddess: Precious jewels, the finest women’s clothing, chocolate and vanilla, and the largest, finest feathers he could find. Off they went to the north, a long, long way, until at last they reached the place where Aztlan was supposed to be, at a wall of woods too tangled for humans to pass. (One would have to pass through a realm of the spirit.)
The sorcerers now prepared to transform into animals which could navigate this thicket. They concocted the ointment for this magic spell, grinding up loathsome animals in their pots: vipers, spiders, scorpions and centipedes, even burnt flesh of the gila monster. Then they dropped in tobacco, hallucinogenic seeds, and lastly, black worms with poisonous hairs. They drew a circle in the dirt around themselves, and smeared this black paste all over their bodies. Now they were ready. Calling upon the gods, the sorcerers were suddenly transformed into birds and wildcats. Passing through the wood (and spirit world), they landed on the banks of Aztlan and were restored to human form.
What they saw was an island in the middle of a lake, at whose center rose a high hill. The first people the sorcerers met were a group of fishermen in their canoes. To their delight, they found they spoke the same language.
“How did you come to be in our land?” the fishers asked.
“Sir,” replied a sorcerer, “We come from the City of Mexico, sent by our lords in search of our ancestors.”
“Whom do you worship?”
“We worship the great Huitzilopochtli,” was the reassuring answer. “Our king has sent us with gifts to bring to Coatlicue.”
Pleased with this, the fishermen escorted the sorcerers by canoe to the hill where the goddess dwelled. At the foot of this, they found a little old man, who was the servant of Coatlicue. The fishermen politely told him about the sorcerers’ errand, and he replied, “It is good they have come.”
Stepping forward, one magician bowed before this man and said, “Revered elder, we are at your service, and will obey your every word.”
The old man then said, “Welcome, my children. But who has sent you here?”
“King Motecuhzoma, and his prime minister Tlacaelel,” was the answer.
The old man seemed confused. “Who are these men?” he asked. “No one by those names has ever lived in Aztlan.” He then went on to list the names of the leaders who had departed, way back when Huitzilopochtli led the great migration.
“But sir,” a wizard protested, “that was hundreds of years ago. We only know those names from the history books, but they have long since passed away.”
Now the old man was truly astonished. “My lord! What could have killed them? Everyone I know was here in Aztlan when those men left, and we are all still in perfect health. In that case, who are you who are living?”
The sorcerers explained that they were just the descendants of these historical figures. (It seemed that time did not pass in this land of the spirit the same as it did in the outside world.)
“Have you spoken with Huitzilopochtli himself?” the old man asked.
They admitted they hadn’t, and the old man was disappointed by this. “We want to know when Huitzilopochtli will return,” he explained. “When he left, he told his mother he would do so, and now poor Coatlicue spends each day in sorrow and loneliness, waiting for him.”
“Well, we have presents to bring her from the wealth her son enjoys, and his greetings.”
“In that case,” said the old man, “follow me.” And off he went up the mountain with such a quick, nimble step that the magicians could hardly keep up.
Halfway up the hill, the breathless sorcerers finally sank into the sand, first to their knees and then up to their waists, and could not move. The old man skipped back down to them and shook his head. “What have you been doing, Mexicans?” he asked. “How have you made yourselves so heavy? What is it you eat in your country?”
“We eat the palace food,” they admitted, “and drink cocoa.”
“These foods have made you heavy. They keep you from visiting the place of your fathers, and will drag you down to death.” Worldly nourishment cannot provide the strength or energy of the world of the spirit. “Now give me your baggage, and I will see if the lady of the house will see you now.” He scooped their heavy bags up onto his shoulder as if they were light as a feather, and with that, trotted on up the mountain.
The magicians were just struggling over the crest of the hill when suddenly Coatlicue appeared before them. The ancient goddess was dark and dusty, with a face that was terrifying to look on. Yet when she spoke, her voice was sweet and comforting. With a tear in her eye, she told the sorcerers, “It is good you have come, my children.”
Trembling with fear, one wizard spoke, “Great and powerful lady, our king sends kisses for your hands.” He went on to reassure Coatlicue that her son was “brave and strong, with a good head and a good heart.” He told her of the rise of the Mexicans from a poor tribe into a rich and powerful kingdom, of their gold and silver, their feathers and gems, and saying this, spread before her all the luxurious presents from the king and his lord, Huitzilopochtli. As Coatlicue looked at all the twinkling treasure at her feet, her response was quite a surprise.
“Is the clothing my son wears,” she asked, “the same as these fancy, feathered capes?”
“Oh yes, madam,” they assured her. “He wears the most exquisite of all garments, for he is the lord of us all!”
The goddess smiled sadly. “On one hand,” she began, “I am very happy for him. But he is a different son than when he left. As you have seen, my people are poor and simple folk. These riches you have brought, we do not use them here. Huitzilopochtli, as he left to lead you south, asked me for no more fineries than two pairs of humble sandals---one for the trip there, and one to come home in. Do not take these rich clothes back with you. Such fripperies, and the rich food you eat corrupts and rots you, ruins you, makes you old.” The world of the spirit values another sort of wealth.
Coatlicue sighed sadly as she thought of her son, and told the astonished sorcerers, “It is so difficult to be without him. I am like a penitent who is fasting for your cause. When Huitzilopochtli left, he told me: ‘My dear mother, I will be gone only as long as it takes to set my people in the throne that I have promised them. We will wage war against every village, city, and state, until they are all placed within my service. ‘However,’ he went on, ‘I prophesy that, one day, those I have subjected with my sword and shield will rise against me, turn me on my head and strike my weapons to the ground. I will my cities to strangers in the same order that I won them, and I will be expelled from this earth. Then, mother, I will return to your lap. Do not be sad.’
‘Congratulations,’ I told him. ‘But do not linger.’ I know he must have found happiness, for he has forgotten a lonely old mother. So tell him the years assigned him are drawing to a close, and it will be time for him to come home. To remind him of his origins, please give him this mantle and loincloth, of the sort he used to prefer.” With that, she handed the sorcerers the coarse and common clothing, made of maguey fibers.
Coatlicue escorted the wizards back to her elderly servant, who began to lead the way down the mountain. “Wait a minute,” called the goddess to the Mexicans, “and see how in this land no one grows old. Watch my servant!” The sorcerers turned to look, and it appeared that as the little man climbed lower and lower, the younger and younger he became, rejuventaing himself. “This is how we live here, my children,” boomed Coatlicue. “And this is how your ancestors lived.”
The power and splendor of the Aztec state are but one point on the cyclical journey that it must undergo. It will eventually crumble and return to its origins in the only way that return can be made---through death. But that power and splendor are ultimately insignificant. Only a material people could be nourished by material things. For a people whose nature is spiritual, such nourishment is destructive. In the place of myth, beings go on forever. In the human world they are contaminated with death.
The sorcerers were treated to a healthy, simple meal by the old man, and then transformed into the same animals as before, to take their leave. Touching down on the other side of the wood, the wizards were dismayed to find that only forty of their number had reappeared as human beings. Sorcery was a dangerous business, and whether the lost ones had been absorbed completely by their animal forms, or were simply eaten by other beasts, no one knows.
The sorcerers returned to the palace and told Motecuhzoma and Tlacaelel all that had happened and what Coatlicue told them. When they heard this, the two great lords wept---not for the future doom of Mexico, but because they wished so badly to see this mystical land of their ancestors.
THE ROSTER OF THE GODS
Ometeotl:
“God of Duality” Of whom all other gods are manifestations.
Ometecuhtli and Omecihuatl:
“Lord and Lady of Duality.” The creator couple who decide people’s fates.
Tezcatlipoca:
“Smoking Mirror.” Also called Titlacahuan- “We Are His Slaves.” God of destiny, the night sky, and transgression. Patron of kings, slaves, sorcerers.
-Tezcatlanextia:
“Mirror Which Illumines”: Tezcatlipoca’s other half of a duality, the clear day to his obscure night.
-Tepeyollotl:
“Heart of the Hill.” His alter ego as a jaguar, associated with the interior of the earth, rain, and fire.
-Piltzintecuhtli:
“Venerable Lord Prince.” The god of youth; the young sun as progenitor. Associated with corn.
-Itztli:
The deified flint knife, a calendar god.
-Huehuecoyotl:
“Old Coyote.” A clever trickster figure of pleasure, lust, and dance, unpredictable and mischievous. A patron of featherworkers, and a shaman. He had the body of a human and the head of a coyote.
-Chalchiuhtecolotl:
“Precious Owl.” God of night and blackness.
-Chalchiuhtotolin:
“Precious Turkey.” God of night and mystery.
-Ixquimilli:
“The Blindfolded One.” Blindfolded to express his impartiality. His blind star in the heavens moved backwards, and was an omen of war when it appeared. A god of punishment. A different form of Itzlacoliuhqui. (See below.)
-Tlamatzincatl: A young virginal god, living chastely in the woods, clad in deerskins and eating wild fruit and insects.
-Omacatl:
A sprit of revelry. The patron of invitations to feasts.
Quetzalcoatl:
“Plumed Serpent.” Culture, writing, the arts, priesthood.
-Ehecatl:
God of wind, and the breath of life.
-Topiltzin:
“Our Prince.” His human embodiment on earth amongst the Toltecs.
-Tlahuizcalpantecuhtli:
“Lord of the House of Dawn.” God of the morning star.
-Itztlacoliuhqui:
“Curved Obsidian.” God of frost, stone, coldness, and castigation. Related to Ixquimilli. (Thus, Tezcatlipoca and Quetzalcoatl seem to come full circle through their manifestations.)
Tlaloc:
“The One upon the Earth.” God of rain.
-Epcohua:
“Serpent of the Mother-of-Pearl.”
-The Tlaloque:
Minor rain spirits.
-Opochtli:
“Lefty.” Patron of the fishers and fowlers. He invented the fishing net, the atlatl, the trident, oars, ropes, and bird snares.
-Nappatecuhtli:
Patron of mat-making.
-Yauhqueme, Tomiauhtecuhtli:
Other important Tlaloque.
Huitzilopochtli:
“Southern Hummingbird.” The national god of the Aztecs. God of war and of the sun.
-Tlacahuepan:
“Man-Post,” sometimes called “Blue Sky.” His demonic younger brother, wearing a skull mask on the back of his head.
-Paynal:
“He who Hastens.” The messenger of Huitzilopochtli, representing his amazing speed.
-Tetzauhteotl:
“The Omen.” The guiding voice.
Coyolxauhqui:
“Bells on Her Cheeks.” Daughter of Coatlicue, killed by her brother Huitzilopochtli.
The Huitznahua:
“The four hundred Southerners.” Sons of Coatlicue, routed by their brother Huitzilopochtli.
Cuauhuitlicac:
A turncoat Huitznahua who defected to Huitzilopochtli’s side.
Huehueteotl:
“The Old Old God.” God of fire, time, centrality, and of age.
-Tlalxictentican:
“He Who Is at the Navel of the Earth.” God of centrality.
-Xiuhtecuhtli:
“Turquoise Lord.” God of fire, and of the year.
-Tozpan and Ihuitl:
Attendants on Xiuhtecuhtli.
-Cuezalin:
God of fire whilst working in the underworld.
The Xiuhcoatls:
Fire snakes, which appear as thunderbolts or sun rays.
Xipe Totec:
“Our Lord the Flayed One.” Fertility god of early spring. Patron of gold workers.
-Itztapaltotec:
“Our Lord the Flat Stone.” Xipe’s deified sacrificial stone.
Mictlantecuhtli:
“Lord of the Underworld.” God of death.
-Acolnahuacatl, Acolmiztli, Chalmecatl and Chalmecaci- huatl (f):
Deities of the underworld.
Mictlancihuatl:
“Lady of the Underworld.” Goddess of death.
Xolotl:
God of twins and freaks, patron of the ball game, and the dog who guided the souls of the dead on their journey to the underworld.
Tlaltecuhtli:
The earth monster/earth mother.
-Cipactli:
Aspect of earth monster seen as a colossal crocodile.
Tonantzin:
“Our Mother.” The great goddess.
-Toci:
“Our Grandmother.”
-Yaocihuatl:
“War Woman.” Patroness of discord and hostility.
-Yohualticitl:
“Midwife of the Night.” Goddess of childbirth.
-Teteo Innan:
“Mother of the Gods.”
-Tlazolteotl:
“Filth Goddess.” Goddess of sin, and of the consequences of lust and excess.
-Tlaelquani:
“Excrement Eater.” Patroness of the military prostitutes.
-Ixcuina:
Goddess of cotton. The spinner of the thread and weaver of the fabric of life. The patroness of adulterers.
-Coatlicue:
“Serpent Skirt”: Mother of Huitzilopochtli.
-Chimalma:
“Shield Hand.” A naked cave goddess of war and stars.
-Cihuacoatl:
“Serpent Woman.”
-Ilamatecuhtli:
“Leading Old Woman.” Earth goddess of the old, dried- up corn ear. Wore a two-faced mask, one on either side.
-Itzpapalotl:
“Knife Butterfly.”
-Malinalxochitl:
Huitzilopochtli’s sister. Goddess of witchcraft.
-Quilaztli:
“The Sprouter.” The towering protectress of the Chalmeca who maintains the precious maize erect in its mythic holy field. She appeared as an eagle or a woman
warrior. Patroness of the sweat bath.
Chantico-Cuaxolotl:
“Snake Monster.” Two-headed, to show the good and evil potentials of fire. Fire goddess. The goddess who lit the fire at theresurrection of the world. She wore a head scarf. Patroness of Xochimilco,metalworkers,goldsmiths, the hearth, and related to Mictlantecuhtli..
-Atlatonan:
An earth and water goddess.
-Mecitli:
“Grandma Maguey.” Born cradled in an agave leaf, and linked to water and the moon. An accomplice of Mixcoatl.
-Iztaccihuatl:
“White Woman.” Spirit of the snowy mountain east of the City, which presided as queen over all other mountains.
The Cihuateteo:
“The Divine Women.” Spirits of women who died in childbirth.
Apantecuhtli, Huictlolinqui, Tepanquizqui, Tlallamanac, Papaztac, and Tzontemoc:
“1-Lord on the Water,” “3-Who Comes Over in Place of Others,” Creator gods who consulted during the first creations.
Yappalliicue, Nochpalliicue, Tiacapan, Teico, Tlacoehua, and Xocoyotl:
“Black Skirt, Red Skirt, First Born, Younger Sister, Middle Child, Younger Daughter.” Creator goddesses who consulted during the first creations.
Oxomoco and Cipactonal:
Patron and patroness of divination. She was patroness of weaving. These two were the deified first human couple.
Nanahuatzin:
“Lord Venereal Disease.” God of skin disease. Son of Quetzalcoatl.
-Tonatiuh:
The sun.
-Yohualtecuhtli:
“Lord of the Night.” The sun while in the underworld, as a wrinkled and ominous being. Darkness, midnight, and cyclic completion. Would appear as a tzitzimime on doomsday.
-Tlalchitonatiuh:
A calendar deity hybrid of Tlaloc and Quetzalcoatl with the solar disk.
-Xiuhpilli:
An avatar of the sun much like Xochipilli.
Tecuciztecatl:
“Lord of the Conch.” A wealthy god who became the moon. Son of Tlaloc.
Mixcoatl:
Patron of the Chichimecs.
-Camaxtli:
Patron of techniques and tools for hunting. Sometimes seen as the lord of the east instead of Xipe Totec.
Cuauhtli’icohuauh, Cuetlachcihuatl, Tlotepetl, and Apantecuhtli:
“Eagle Serpent,” “Cuetlachtli Woman,” “Mountain Falcon,” and “Lord on the Water.” Friendly brothers and sister of Mixcoatl.
Mimixcoa:
The hostile countless brothers of Mixcoatl.
Chalchiuhtlicue:
“Jade Skirt.” Goddess of springs and fresh water. Consort of Tlaloc.
-Acuecueyotl:
“Waves.” Her aspect as imperious, [destructive] motion.
Matlalcueitl:
Goddess of rain. Said to be second wife of Tlaloc after Tezcatlipoca abducted Xochiquetzal.
Huixtocihuatl:
Goddess of salt and salt water.
The Cicinteteo:
All the gods of corn.
Xilonen:
Goddess of the youngest corn.
Cinteotl:
“Lord Maize.” God of maturing corn.
Chicomecoatl:
“Seven Serpent.” Goddess of sustenance and mature corn. Sister of Tlaloc.
-Chalchiuhcihuatl:
A goddess of the harvest.
Mayahuel:
“Powerful Flow.” Fertility goddess of maguey.
Patecatl:
God of maguey. He cured its fermenting juice to create pulque.
The Countless Rabbits:
Minor local gods of farming and drink.
-Ometochtli:
“Two Rabbit.” The most famous of the Rabbits.
-Tezcatzontecatl:
A pulque god.
Tepoztecatl:
God of alcoholic excess. Patron of Tepozotlan, a town known for its drinkers.
The Tzitzimime:
Female monsters of twilight.
Tlacatzinacantli:
The bat god, a spirit associated with night, blood sacrifice, and death.
Coatl Xoxouhqui:
Goddess of morning glory.
Xochiquetzal:
“Flower Feather.” Young, fertile, beautiful goddess of song, dance, artistry, weaving, sexual pleasure, and delight. Also, procreation, pregnancy, and childbirth.
Tezcacoac Ayopechtli:
Her aspect as a goddess of birth.
Chicomexochitl:
The male counterpart in duality to the goddess.
Xochipilli:
“Prince of Flowers.” A pleasure god, of youth, flowers, dancing, music, and games.
-The Ahuiateteo:
Five southern gods of the dangers of gambling, drink, and sex.
-Macuilxochitl:
“Five Flower.” God of gambling, feasting, and patolli.
-Macuilcuetzpalin:
“Five Lizard.”
-Macuilcozcacuauhtli:
“Five Vulture.”
-Macuiltochtli:
“Five Rabbit.”
-Macuilmalinalli:
“Five Grass.”
Ixtlilton:
“Little Black Face.” God of health and medical curing.
Yacatecuhtli:
“Lord of the Vanguard.” Patron of Merchants.
Coyotlinahual:
Patroness of feather-workers. They had an effigy beautifully adorned with gold and plumes. She ruled over a group of these gods.
Xiuhtlati:
A patroness of feather-workers.
Atlahua:
“The Spear Thrower.” Patron of fowlers on the lake.
Izquitecatl:
Patron of pulque makers. Discovered the process.
Tzapotlatenan:
Patroness of uxitl makers, an esteemed medicinal ointment. She cured ulcers or eruptions on the scalp.
Chiconahui Itzcuintli:
Patroness of the lapidaries. She wore a pair of red sandals with obsidian serpents on them.
Coltzin:
Patron of the Matlatzincas, in the province of Tuluca.
Coltic: The same god?
The twisted Tepanec god of war.
Haztacoatl:
“Crane Serpent.” Patron of Tzanaquatla in the province of Tlatlauhquitepec.
Matlalcuhetl:
“Blue Skirt.” Patron of Capulapa in the province of Tlatlauhquitepec.
Chalchiuhtotolin:
“Jade Turkey.”
Iztapaltotec:
The representative of the dead warriors who accompany the sun and who, converted into stars, descend each year to fertilize it. Thus related to the Morning Star.
The Calpulteteo:
Every barrio in Mexico City had its own little god, called a Calpulteotl.
No one has had more respect for the pains of labor than the ancient Mexicans. Birth was seen as a battle of life and death between the mother and her child. The midwives called upon Cihuacoatl to make the woman as valiant as a warrior. If all went well, the victorious mother held the baby as her little captive. But if she died in the attempt, she had been slain in battle like a valiant soldier. Having died to produce new life, she was as highly honored as the warrior who died on the stone of sacrifice, and she too rose up to the highest heaven.
When the exhausted midwife finally admitted defeat, she prayed over the body of the young woman so recently in her charge, calling to her now as one of the Cihuateteo, the “Divine Women”:
“Oh, my little dove, my daughter! You bravely wielded the shield that Cihuacoatl placed in your hand and fought like a man, but let your labors now come to rest. Rise up, for it is dawn! Your sisters are waiting to take you to the house of your mother and father the sun. There you will know happiness forever, and you will amuse our lord by singing his praises. He has called you, mistress, for you have earned his glorious and loving death with your courage, and you must cast aside your parents to a miserable old age. You now behold our lord with human eyes, and may you remember us in your prayers!”
As the woman’s soul departed, her body was left charged with great supernatural powers, which could be harnessed for good or evil. Her remains were not to be carried through the front door, but instead were removed through a hole broken in the back wall of the house. They were then buried at sunset in the temple dedicated to these “Celestial Princesses.” Because of their magical aura, the remains were coveted by both honorable warriors and crooked sorcerers. A lock of hair and the middle finger of her left hand, attached to a warrior’s shield, would make him invincible. The left arm was used by warlocks to cast sleep and paralysis spells, in order to pillage houses by night. Bands of these body-snatchers would thus try to intercept the funeral procession and mutilate the corpse. To prevent this, the husband carried his wife’s body on his back, escorted by a howling band of elder midwives who clattered sword against shield, scuffling sometimes with the would-be thieves. The poor husband and his friends then kept watch beside her grave for four days, by which time the erratic magic dissipated.
While this sad scene played out below, the departed woman took her glorious position in the heaven of the sun. There she joined her sisters at the “House of Corn,” set in a beautiful western land of joy and delight. As the souls of the Eagle and Jaguar knights carried the sun in his course, these “Eagle Women” adorned themselves for him in their war costumes, shields strapped to their arms and back banners waving. As the sun reached his zenith, the Cihuateteo soared up to receive him on a litter of quetzal feathers. As they bore the rapidly weakening sun into the west, they shouted for joy, amusing him with playful duels and making much of him. At the horizon, they set him at the entrance to Mictlan, leaving him in the unwholesome hands of the spirits there.
With that, the Cihuateteo would either return to their happy home or else descend into the world of men. On earth, these spirits would pass the night working at the baskets and looms they had once known, sometimes even appearing to their husbands as a ghost.
After four years of this peaceful paradise, the spirits of the Cihuateteo were sent back to earth for good. Most of these women were transformed into moths, as nocturnal counterparts to the male butterflies. A few of them, however, turned into terrifying devil women. On five ill-omened nights of the year, warlocks and demons walked abroad, and these deviant Princesses haunted the crossroads---a dangerous place that opened into the underworld. Objects thought to be spiritually contaminated could be abandoned at the crossroads, purified by the symbolic brooms that women had left behind. In these straits, the wayward Cihuateteo lay in wait, their fine skirts and earrings belied by a bare, toothy skull with shocking eyes, and matted hair run wild. Their cruel claws would then snatch at stray children---as if coveting the baby they had been denied---mangling the child’s innocent limbs or striking them with seizures. Sensible mothers kept their children indoors on these nights, burning incense to these envious spirits.
These refractory rogues aside, the Celestial Princesses were as honored for their courage as they were feared for their strength. She who fell in nature’s mortal combat and rose to taste of paradise was proudly known as “One who has stood up like a woman.”
XIUHTECUHTLI (SHEE-oo-TEH-coot-lee) was the old, old god of fire.
This venerable deity had deep wrinkles and few teeth, yet a physical strength that defied his advancing years. His face was painted yellow, red, and black, the color of coals, and he wore a diamond-shaped eyemask. Xiuhtecuhtli’s breast plate was a flame-colored butterfly, and on his back he wore a model of the fire serpent. (The god’s other favored familiar was the flame-feathered macaw.) His earrings were large round discs, which symbolized the two stakes of wood twirled together to create fire.
On the fire god’s brow glittered a magnificent diadem made of turquoise. The emperor of Mexico modeled his own crown on this, threatening with death all others who wore the royal color of turquoise. An archetype of sovereignty, this god’s very name means the “Turquoise Lord,” and it was on his holiday that kings were crowned.
Xiuhtecuhtli would sit cross-legged upon his royal mat, bent over with extreme age, one hand clenched in a gesture of power, the other serenely resting palmupwards on his knee.
The Turquoise Lord was an ancient god, as eternal as the life-giving fire he brings to man. Some say he was even older then the first four sons of the Divine Couple. It was the power of his transforming fire that created the sun, whom he proudly claimed as his issue.
For our ancestors, fire meant life, known as the “inexpressable flower.” It warmed those who were cold, cooked the meals, and provided the only light when the fires of the sun had set. Fire brought salt from brine, provided charcoal, oil, and lime, mellowed honey, and filled the baths with steam. Fire kept predators at bay, and a ring of fire could even offer protection against magic. The gods themselves relied on fire for defense while passing through the underworld.
The hearth was the center of the household. There Xiuhtecuhtli overlooked the daily domestic rituals of sustenance and thanksgiving, and was looked up to as the father of the family. Newborns were baptized with not only water but fire, passed above the flames to introduce them to Xiuhtecuhtli. Even the dog was a friend of the fire god, crouching loyally by his hearth. The homefire was never allowed to go out. If it did, the homeowner would offer the god a small prayer of apology, for fear the lord would think his gifts were unwanted.
Fire was also associated with great, untamable power. Mexico is a land of volcanoes, as spectacular in their devastation as the hearth fires are nurturing. The legendary fire serpents obeyed this lord’s command--- they who carried the sun through the heavens, who struck Coyolxauhqui from the sky, and who scorched the earth from Tlaloc’s fingertips in a rumble of thunder.
Just as the hearth is the heart of a home, Xiuhtecuhtli’s rightful place was in the geographic center of all things.
Each of the four sons of the Divine Couple ruled over a compass point: The east was ruled by Xipe Totec. As the region of dawn, its color was red and brought fertility and life. Blue Huitzilopochtli ruled the south, a neutral direction, as well as the sun at high noon. Quetzalcoatl ruled the white west of sunset, a region of declining powers. Tezcatlipoca ruled the black north, that cold and barren entrance to the land of death, where the sun was entombed at midnight.
But to the Mexicans, the cardinal directions were not four but five, and in the central axis of it all sat Xiuhtecuhtli. There were three gods who had best inherited the natural gifts of great Ometeotl: Tezcatlipoca, his ubiquity and mastery over men’s lives; Quetzalcoatl, his wisdom and truth; and Xiuhtecuhtli, his position of centrality.
The fire god resided in the navel of the earth, beneath the shadow of the underworld, where he held the universe in balance. There---in a turquoise palace wrapped in mist---he dwelled, tending the central hearth of the cosmos and its sacred fires of creation. From this subterranean hall, he released his sheets of flame to erupt as magma from the angry peaks.
From this center he had been the architect of the four World Trees which hoisted up the sky. From this center, his stabilizing influence locked the vertical and horizontal planes, diving into the nine hells and soaring through the thirteen heavens to touch the North Star. He even governed this star, around which the universe revolves.
Xiuhtecuhtli’s personal symbol was much like a cross, but with the center highly emphasized. To show their respect for the order of the five directions, his worshipers would fire an arrow to each compass point. The city of Mexico itself was laid out like a cross---Living near the exact center of modern Mexico as they did, it is small wonder the Aztecs claimed they ruled from the center of the world.
Paragon of order that he was, Xiuhtecuhtli was the god not only of space but time as well. Putting the campfire to sleep each night and stirring the coals back to life in the morning trained one to think of cyclical renewal. It was comforting to know that space and time were not in chaos, but a flawless system in the hands of an orderly and reasonable deity. Having a sacred ritual calendar countered the arbitrary nature of the other gods.
It was our first parents Oxomoco and Cipactonal who devised this calendar as their great work, passed along by Quetzalcoatl to the Tollans. This almanac was used not only to mark religious holidays, but in astrology and soothsaying. It affected everything: There was a day to plant, a day to go to the healer, a day for merchants to begin their travels; the day would bring good luck to slaves or cause the wizard’s spell to fizzle. The sign of your birthday steered the rest of your life, blessing you with riches and charisma, or dooming you to the bottle and a prison cell. Even the gods were liable to the signs of their birth.
The gods took turn governing the different days and weeks, thus stamping the events of that period with their own personality. The calendar revolved around Xiuhtecuhtli. Under his rule, time was not some cold line stretching into infinity, but the warm and familiar rounds of large-hearted holidays.
Xiuhtecuhtli was probably the best-beloved of all the gods. Popular with king and commoner alike, there was an idol of him in every home. Small offerings of food and alcohol were offered to the fire god before the family sat down to eat, a ritual some Mexican Indians still observe. The wealthy would offer him the blood of quail, which spattered from the still-flapping wings of decapitated birds. Less prosperous could simply toss aromatic incense into the flames.
Thousands of logs were burnt each night in all the temples, and within the god’s own ever-burning brazier before Cihuacoatl’s House of Darkness. Individuals guilty of certain sins could find atonement by making a tour of the temples until dawn, with a small brazier of coals burning on top of their heads.
As the “Lord of the Year,” Xiuhtecuhtli was the patron of age. On New Year’s Day, parents would use the pivotal moment to introduce their youngest children to the fire god, dancing with the little ones as they held their hands. As they aged, people continued to acquire more life force up until the end. The elderly (closest to Xiuhtecuhtli) enjoyed what they called “cooling off at the oven”: With a full belly of tamales, they sat around the light in the fire god’s temple, singing and drinking till late at night, and filling a little cup of spirits for their host at his hearth.
Reserved for this god was the number three. He had three high priests, his holiday lasted three days, and he dwelled in the three realms of heaven, earth, and the underworld. Every hearth was enclosed with three stones, and each of these had its own name. Kicking or stepping on the stones was an insult to Xiuhtecuhtli, and he would make the perepetrator’s feet as heavy as lead when speed was needed most. (This forgiving god, however, would always accept an apology.)
It was ironic, therefore, that such a beloved god had the most gruesome of ceremonies in his name. For Xiuhtecuhtli’s human sacrifice, prisoners were bound hand and foot, and raised onto the back of the warriors who had captured them in combat. Around a great bonfire these warriors danced, and one by one they cast their victims into the coals. There the luckless offerings bubbled and blistered, but before death could take them, the bodies were hooked out of the flames. The smoking chest was then opened, and the heart offered up to Xiuhtecuhtli. Several drugs were used on the victims to try and minimize their suffering, for---horri-fying as all this was---the intention had not been to torture, but to consecrate the flesh to lord of fire.
Two different, complex calendars were used in Mexico, so interlocked that the same conjunction of days would occur only once every fifty-two years. At the close of one of these Aztec “centuries,” the people were devoted to making a fresh start in things. The dishware was shattered, and all the fires in the kingdom were put out. At midnight, priests gathered on the Hill of the Star outside the city to create new fire once more. In this moment, the sun was as vulnerable to destruction as during a solar eclipse, and the populace was held in breathless tension. Should this ceremony fail by the will of the gods, the earth would be locked forever in darkness, and doomsday instead of dawn would be prevail. Pregnant mothers were locked away lest they be transformed to devouring Cihuateteo, and children were kept awake for fear they should turn into mice.
As Tezcatlipoca guided the Pleiades across the zenith, signalling that the sun would continue his course, a captive king was sacrificed there in the darkness. Upon his vacant chest, a priest worked feverishly with the drilling stick and kindled a baby blaze. To give this growing fire strength it was fed the kingly heart, and the world could breathe freely once more. Swift runners soon carried their torches to every city in the empire, their distant flickering in the hills---like fireflies in the night---proclaimed that Xiuhtecuhtli had been reborn.
XIPE TOTEC (SHEE-peh TOH-tec) was a mighty god, and one of the first four sons of the Divine Couple---they who sculpted the universe with their own hands. He was the lord of spring and all its rich fertility. Ruling over the equinox, parting the dry season from the rains, Xipe Totec arrived each spring to offer mankind the bountiful first fruits of the earth. Sunlight, rain, and fresh green growth mingled and flourished in his presence.
Eager for his arrival, the people would pray to him, “Lord, why do make us beg so hard? Put on your golden attire and come to us!” Finally the god would descend, carrying on his back the “waters of jade,” and as he released the fresh spring showers, the people sighed, “My lord, your gem-like rains have fallen.” Because these first fertilizing rains always arrived after dark, Xipe Totec was called the “Drinker by Night.”
Xipe Totec ruled over the rosy-red east, the region of light and life. People prayed to him for all kinds of fruitfulness; so potent were his powers of rejuvenation that his mere arrival was a blessing to babies.
Human sacrifice was important to Xipe Totec. As ruler of the east, he was a friend not only to the rising sun but to the warriors who were its escort. Only the finest of war captives was therefore suitable for this god.
Two unique sacrifices were held in his honor. In the first of these, a captive was bound to a high wooden scaffolding. As archers struck the victim with arrows, his blood---like fertile rain---dripped onto the earth.
In the second sacrifice, an enemy champion was killed in gladiatorial combat. This captured warrior would be first counseled by a Mexican champion called the “Old Wolf,” who treated the prisoner like a son. On the day of sacrifice, the captive had his head shaven, then was powdered white with chalk and dressed in black feathers. The Old Wolf, with tears in his eyes, provided him a cup of drugged wine to lend courage. Now he was led to a round, stone platform carved to look like the sun, and was shackled to it before a large, royal audience. He was given four clubs, four wooden balls, and a [wooden sword]. Instead of the usual obsidian blades, however, this sword was lined with shining black feathers! Next, four Eagle and Jaguar knights appeared, and each one sparred with the captive in turn. Seizing the opportunity to display their virtuosity, the warriors striped the victim with flamboyant slashes. If the captive champion survived these four rounds, a fifth knight was sent in to dispatch him. This warrior was left-handed, rendering him both sinister and harder to defeat. By this gladiatorial sacrifice, the city could celebrate the swordsmanship of their young men against a worthy opponent.
After all the victims were sacrificed, their skins were then flayed from their bodies. These skins were then worn by the priests in imitation of Xipe Totec. Worn bloody side out, the skin was stretched across the face like a mask, the eyes and mouth of the priest peering through the holes which once served the victim for this purpose. From the wrist and ankle, the empty hands and feet dangled uselessly like gloves.
As impersonators of the god, some of Xipe Totec’s spiritual presence now surrounded these priests---not in their bodies, but in the masks, masks which almost became the god. This macabre costume symbolized the fresh vegetation pushing up from under the earth’s dead covering. The fingers of the living priest thus broke through the skin like young shoots bursting through the dry crust of winter. For twenty days the priests wore this costume, begging for their meals as they travelled door to door. As they began to stink like dying dogs, these normally well-washed Mexicans were yielding themselves over to the spirit world. Finally, the dry and golden-yellow skins, crinkling like the shed skin of a snake, were removed and buried in a secret vault. This whole ritual was so important to Xipe Totec that the god takes his name from it, which means, “The Flayed Lord.”
Xipe Totec was the patron of goldworkers, and many sculptures of him were cast in gold. This metal, considered a dropping of the sun, came second in value to Tlaloc’s jade.
While the Flayed Lord was a kind god, if angered he would strike mortals with diseases of the eye and skin. Such a victim could make amends with the god by wearing a skin during his festival.
Xipe Totec was called the “Red Mirror,” as befits the lord of the east. In fact, funeral offerings and human bones were even scattered with red pigment, to align them with the rebirth of the sun. The god’s skin was painted bright red, as were his clothing and his ornaments, he wielded a red shield with a golden rim, and red spoonbill feathers made up his headdress. In his right hand he held a staff with a rattle on the end, which magically bestowed the powers of fertility. Around his body, the god always wore the yellow skin of a victim, hanging like bark pulled from a tree. Xipe’s face was painted in stripes of red and gold. His symbol was a tied, golden bow, which dangled from his nosering, ears, and arms.
As Xipe Totec brought renewal in the spring, regenerating the earth after a long, dry winter, several deities of abundance followed him throughout the year. The best-loved of these were the gods of corn.
XILONEN (Shee-LOW-nen) was the little goddess of young corn.
Once Xipe Totec ushered in the spring rains, corn---that most important of all crops---began to sprout. If the gods were generous, the people could have an early harvest. Soon the slender cobs appeared, with their milky kernels and long, silky tassles, almost ripe but yet still green. These first fruits were what little Xilonen had to offer.
Sweet Xilonen was innocent and filled with joy. The stern severity of the other gods could never touch her. She appeared as a beautiful young girl of about thirteen. Her face was painted yellow, her cheeks touched with rouge, and her hair was cropped to reach her shoulders, loose and flowing like cornsilk. Her pretty red clothes were delicately embroidered. Xilonen wore a tiara made from stiff red paper, and danced upon red sandals. Her earrings and necklace were made of gold, and cast to look like little ears of corn. In one hand she held a magic fertility rattle, like Xipe Totec. In the other, she held a corn cob made of gold and yellow plumage. This was a double cob however, shaped like a “V,” to symbolize those rare crops that were so fruitful the plants would grow with two ears to a stalk. Behind her tiara, a single green feather was tied with red ribbon, rising up in the air like a little ear of rareripe corn. Xilonen loved to dance, leaping and circling with her arms spread wide.
Corn was the very highest source of food. Every day, people showed their respect for corn by handling it tenderly. Women even felt guilty about dropping the kernels into the cookpot, breathing soft, warm air on them to lend them courage for the fire. If corn was spilt, it was quickly picked up. “If we should not gather our sustenance up,” the women said, “it would lie weeping and crying to the gods, ‘Lord, this peasant let me lie scattered across the ground.’ And we should be punished with starvation.”
Every eight years, mothers taught their daughters to rest the poor corn by cooking it without seasoning for a time: “We bring it so much torment with our chili, salt, and lime, that it is tired to death,” they told them. “Resting it will give it new youth.”
Xilonen had her own festival in early summer. By this time, the stalks of corn were showing two or three tender young ears. All but one of these would be harvested, and made into little corn cakes for the celebration. The night before this big day, the people stayed awake till dawn, and the women sang songs to honor Xilonen. At daybreak the dancing began, the priestesses playing on their horns and gongs. Girls leaped and sang, wearing garlands strung from popcorn and holding stalks of corn in their hands.
Like many gods, Xilonen had her own impersonator---a pretty, young slave girl. Adored as the little goddess herself, all the ladies danced and sang to her at the temple of corn. Once the priestesses led her into Xilonen’s shrine, the girl’s head was struck off with a gold-handled knife--harvested like a young ear of corn.
Once the dainty, milky cob of corn began to harden and swell, it was guided into maturity by Xilonen’s older brother.
CINTEOTL (Seen-TAY-ohtle), for all his youthful appearance, was the god of mature corn. He was healthy, handsome, and valiant. With his body painted a golden yellow, Cinteotl wore a headdress in which ripe corn cobs were arranged. As an ironic touch however, this god was also known to sometimes wear the cap belonging to Itztlacoliuhqui, the god of cold. The backward sweep of this dark headgear was jagged with sharp points, in a reminder of the power of deadly frost upon healthy crops. It is as if Cinteotl were reminding us not to take his gifts for granted.
Cinteotl dwelled just beneath the earth, and his body was like a wondrous, living cornucopia. His hair blossomed into cotton plants, wild seeds poured from his ears, sage sprouted from his nose, sweet potatoes from his hands, and the many-colored corn kernels sprang from his nails. All the produce of the earth took root in his body.
Cinteotl had no enemies; all of the gods loved him. They called him their “Beloved Prince.” He was under Tlaloc’s protection, and a friend to all the other gods of fertility. Cinteotl was said to be the son of Huitzilopochtli and the goddess Toci. Thus, sunlight was married with the spirit of earth to create this “Lord of Corn.”
As a result of such lineage, Cinteotl was also a man of war. The green husks of corn, much like feathers, could be made into the headdress of a warrior. Because corn died each winter, it needed the help of man to struggle into resurrection. Thus, during the god’s festival, the young men would offer him blood drawn their ears and their shins. Stalks of corn were brought into the home, decorated and worshiped.
The most solemn of rituals was the consumption of human flesh. As we have seen, a pinch of flesh was served to the warriors on top of a bowl of corn chowder. Our bodies were considered to be made of corn, and after we die we will return to corn once more. Our body is corn, just like ice is water: One substance at two different points of a cycle. On the rare occasion of such a communion, the warrior’s family was reminded that after our brief sojourn here on earth, we will return to become the staff of life once more.
CHICOMECOATL (CHEE-coh-meh-COH-ahtl) was not only the lady of mature corn, but the goddess of all agriculture and the harvest. It was she who first taught humans how to cook their food, turning the act of eating from a basic need into a source of joy.
Chicomecoatl appeared as a mature woman, happy and always smiling. She wore a tall, paper headdress. In her right hand she carried the rattle staff of fertile magic, and in her left she held a few ears of corn.
Chicomecoatl was the older sister of the Tlaloque, and she dwelled with them in the paradise of Tlalocan. All the produce locked away in the mountains was hers to bestow, yet she could only act with the approval of that eternal father figure, Tlaloc. If he refused to allow his rainfall, and locked the earth in drought, even she would suffer---lying withered among the rows of corn, covered with dust and spider webs. When Chicomecoatl was thus helpless to present her harvest, desperate worshipers would ask the Tlaloque why they had kidnapped and locked her away, begging them for her return.
Chicomecoatl was indeed a very popular goddess; there was a little clay idol of her in every home. During her festival (which she shared with the charismatic Cinteotl), teenage girls carried ears of corn to her many chapels. There they placed flowers and food---the first fruits of the harvest---and offered her songs and dance, to animate her energies. She was called the flesh and bones of man, their only staff and support; she alone gave strength and fortitude, and she was man’s entire recompense for such a hard and bitter world.
Chicomecoatl’s name means “Seven Serpent,” the snake being an animal of the earth. Long ago, in the year 1272, a traveller named [Cuahuitzatzin] once beheld a vision of the goddess. Investigating a trickle of smoke in the distance, he found that rainbow-colored clouds were rising from a field of reeds. As he came closer, he discovered an enormous serpent, her sides glowing with the rainbow’s seven colors. A town was later built on this site, where Seven Serpent had been seen, and they named it “Chicomecoatl’s Place.”
As the celebrated sixteenth-century friar Durán once said of the Mexicans, “There are no people on earth capable of eating more and better at the expense of their neighbors; yet there are no people who manage to survive with less food, when it is at their own expense.” For as much as they loved their feasts, however, fasting (even by the emperor) was just as frequent.
During the prayers before dinner, the people would offer a little morsel to the household idols of the gods, who sat before the fire. Indeed, these idols were sometimes made from food themselves: A dough made from the seeds of the amaranth plant, and moistened with human blood, was molded into an icon. After being worshiped for a time, it would be broken into pieces and eaten as an act of communion.
Food was surrounded by reverence, even superstition: Women refused to eat a tamale that stuck to the cookpot, believing their next baby would fasten to the womb due to such adhesive food.
Exactly what gifts did this princess of sustenance provide? Corn, beans, greens, and chiles were the staple foods, and if you were a peasant this was more or less what you ate. The protein-rich grain called amaranth was also popular, but because its seeds had religious uses, the Spanish later forbade it from the cookpot.
Those with a bit more means dined on meat as well, sweetened with honey or spiced with hot sauce: Turkey, pheasant, squab, venison and rabbit from the hunter’s post, with duck and fresh fish from the great lake. Little dogs (the breed has now almost disappeared) were fattened with corn and eaten on holidays. More unusual fare were armadillo, opossums, iguanas, snakes (food for the rustic), and tender mice. These were dressed with squash, tomatoes, jicama, sweet potatoes, mushrooms, fruits, and the avocado, which was believed to cure impotency. Cactus fruit was popular; one type was later used by Spaniards as a practical joke on newcomers, horrifying them by the bright red urine it produced. The favored produce of the lake was spirulina, the dark green lake scum that has made a comeback in health drinks. All of these ingredients would be wrapped in soft corn tortillas, or cooked in tamales and corn casseroles.
At a princely table, fine delicacies of the lake appeared: Shrimp, frog legs, tadpoles, and salamanders, even mosquito caviar. Locusts and water boatmen were ground and served in corn husks, and the cactus worms now bottled with mezcal were also served. The emperor was presented thirty dishes to consider each night, although he was no Roman---The portions he chose were quite abstemious. Royal meals were rounded off with a form of hot cocoa more like spiced coffee, and an after-dinner smoke from the passed pipe.
Fortunately, this happy goddess did not work alone---She had her powerful sister in Tlalocan to help her.
CHALCHIUHTLICUE (CHAWL-chee-oot-LEE-kway) was the goddess of water, and she worked closely with her partner Tlaloc. All the water stored in the mountains of Tlalocan was released by this goddess in fresh springs, flowing down through rivers, lakes, and creeks. As Tlaloc poured his fertilizing rains on the earth, this goddess collected them into her lakes and pools. She then replenished the mountain reservoirs by rivers flowing underground from the sea, and she held the Gulf of Mexico within her arms. Having served as the fourth sun, this goddess had tasted high glory.
Chalchiuhtlicue’s name means “Jade Skirt.” Both her skin and her garments were colored with blue-green and white, a pair of black lines striping down her face. She wore a blue and white headband, with long tassles dangling onto her cheeks. Above this was a headdress spread with white, pleated paper fans.
Of the four elements, it was water that was valued most, for water was the one that could be taken away. The priests used to say that we were born in water, lived in water, and died in water. The meaning of this riddle is that water baptizes us as infants, irrigates our crops, and purifies the deceased.
When a baby was born, the midwife let him taste a little water, saying, “Now you have come to your mother Chalchiuhtlicue. It is she who will help you grow and develop on the earth.” Bathing him in a basin, like the watery womb he had departed, the midwife announced, “Now the baby lives, and he becomes clean and pure. Our mother Chalchiuhtlicue casts him as if from a precious metal.”
Water cleansed not only the body, but was spiritually purifying as well. Bathing was used in a ceremony to wash the soul of its sins. Water was also used in magical conjuring, in telling the future and diagnosing illness, and in the therapeutic public steam baths.
The city of Mexico floated around an island in the middle of a vast lake, like a lovely American Venice. A man poling his boat down one of her canals could chat with a friend walking along the sidewalk. Famers beside the island’s edge grew crops on man-made islands. Some of these were even said to be remarkable floating gardens: Wicker-work rafts covered with soil, that could be towed from one part of the lake to another. Out on the lake, the fishers and fowlers were also at work with net and trident.
In the waters of the lake, there dwelled a mythical creature called the Ahuitzotl (Ah-WEET-sowtle). Looking like a small wolf with the hands of a man, this monster hunted humans. Once it had killed it prey, however, it ate only the eyes and nails of its victims.
Chalchiuhtlicue was always present in the shining lake and her many whirlpools. As much as the Jade Skirt was loved for her happy contributions, however, she was feared and respected for her devastating powers. It was her hand that stayed the watery mountains from completely dissolving and drowning the whole world. If she were angered, her rivers would foam into rapids and the lakes would flood, causing havoc while the goddess Cihuacoatl looked approvingly on.
The recipe for a magic concoction still exists, designed for safely crossing Jade Skirt’s wild waters: You must crush up [tagetes erecta or tagetes lucida and porophyllum] with water and smear it in your chest. In your left hand carry a beryl, a sardonyx, and a shelled oyster, then---with the eyes of a large fish shut tight in your mouth---the goddess will thus see you across.
Long ago, a Mexican emperor decided to build an aqueduct to his island, from across the surface of the lake. When a neighboring sorcerer-king warned him that the waters were too dangerous to control, the emperor simply had this nuisance killed, and built a great dyke anyway. Anxious for Chalchiuhtlicue’s approval, he presented her offerings of fishes, frogs, leeches, and water snakes, and musicians played hymns to her honor. As the waters began to pour through the new aqueduct, the blood of children was sprinkled into the stream.
But Chalchiuhtlicue was angry. She soon caused the waters of the lake to boil and seethe, and the surge rose up into a flood which swept through the city. Dams were hastily built to try to tame her fury, which she easily swamped. The city was in ruins. Divers quickly altered the new constructions to provide a more natural flow, which would not force the goddess’s hand. These blue-dyed divers also swam to the bottom of the lake, depositing jewels there carved to look like fishes and frogs in order to placate the goddess.
HUIXTOCIHUATL (WEESH-toe-SEE-wahtle) completed the trio of gracious and benevolent sisters to the rain gods. Her name tells all, for she was the “Salt Lady.”
In this age of refrigeration, it is as easy to forget the importance of salt to our ancestors as it is fire. For all the generosity of the Salt Lady’s sisters, food was of little use if it spoiled before it could be eaten. It was the preservational powers of this goddess that kept those hard-won meals from corruption and disease.
Huixtocihuatl infused lakes and oceans with her creation. The Mexicans were no sailors, and to them the sea was a wonder: Foul-smelling and frightening, yet irresistible, famous for the man-eating animals who lived beneath its restless surges---yet it was these tart waters in which the goddess dwelled.
Huixtocihuatl was patroness of the salter’s guild. Down to the saline lakes her people went, extracting salt from the brine in their boiling vats to be sold in cakes the size of a loaf of bread. Salt was used in curatives, and was in fact so coveted that cutting off one’s enemy from their supply of salt was considered a form of siege.
Huixtocihuatl had her own festival, in which her impersonator was sacrificed before the shrine of Tlaloc by a swordfish blade at her throat.
Fresh, cool water, the fruits of the earth---Yes, many gods wanted the best for mankind, and none more so than the prince and princess of pleasure.
XOCHIQUETZAL (SHOW-chee-KET-sahl) was the goddess of love and happiness, of flowers, music, and dance. She appeared as a gorgeous young woman, glittering with golden jewelry. Her name means “Flower Feather.” True to her name, her blue tunic was covered in blooms, and two long plumes of the emerald-green quetzal bird trailed from her floral headband.
Xochiquetzal loved to dance, and was always surrounded by the courtly entertainers of a princess. In quieter moments, she liked to sit with her nymphly attendants at the loom, spinning and weaving the patterns of the cosmos into garments of unearthly beauty. Xochiquetzal was the goddess of artists. Always a suspect livelihood, it was the embroiderers in particular who were seen to run the risk of developing loose morals, even turning tricks. If this career change occurred, however, Xochiquetzal happened to be the patroness of prostitutes as well.
This sensuous and feminine goddess had been a sexual partner to several male gods over the ages, yet she still held all the purity of a perpetual virgin as well. So many myths have been lost to time and fire; there is, however, a rumor that Xochiquetzal was once the wife of old Tlaloc, until the enchanting Tezcatlipoca seduced her away.
Lovely Flower Feather was indeed a goddess of sexual delight. While women were expected to be virgins until marriage (at about twenty), sex between a husband and wife was considered an oasis of healthy delight in a cold and alienating world. The woman’s sex was called the “place of joy,” and joy for both partners. Xochiquetzal guided women not only through their first experiences, but supported them through pregnancy right up to the birth. She understood: It was said she had been the first female to die in childbirth. Only if one commited a sexual sin, such as the capital crime of adultery, would she send down the punishment of venereal disease. Adulterers carried with them a reek of transgression that could stun small animals. Equally offensive to the gods was the man who declared he would observe an upcoming fast by practicing celibacy--- only to cave in due to the weakness of flesh.
Such a man was Yappan, a priest who decided to leave this worldy existence and devote his life to the gods. He retreated to the wilderness, taking residence atop a towering rock called “Stone Drum.” There he would live a hermit’s life of penitence and prayer, under the eye of Tezcatlipoca, who looked after him.
Hoping to win the favor of the gods, Yappan swore to them a vow of chastity. Knowing this oath would be easy to keep in such seclusion, Tezcatlipoca wanted to test his sponsored worshiper’s resolve. Many beautiful women were sent by the god to this retreat, but Yappan was not moved by them. One day, however, Xochiquetzal decided to try her seductive arts on him.
From the foot of Stone Drum, the goddess called up, “Yappan, my brother, I have come to give you my greetings.”
A startled Yappan blurted, “O Xochiquetzal, you have come!”
“I have come,” she laughed, “but where will I climb up?”
The voluptuous goddess was irresistible, and Yappan called down, “Wait a moment. I am coming for you now.”
Yappan scrambled down from his mount, helping Flower Feather to climb up the peak and join him. There Yappan was seduced by her, and (as they say) he “picked the blossom.” Xochiquetzal, having proven herself, abandoned him to his disgrace.
A wrathful Tezcatlipoca soon appeared. “Are you not ashamed, priest, for having ruined things?” he demanded. “As long as you live on earth, you will be of no use to anyone. The commoners will call you ‘scorpion,’ as now I so name you.” Tezcatlipoca struck Yappan’s head from his shoulders and threw it upon the man’s back, transforming him into scorpion. Never again would Yappan, the “head carrier,” bask atop the rocks, but always hide himself beneath them.
This myth was remembered in the cure for a scorpion sting: Caressing the victim, the healer would whisper to the venom in his veins as if she were Xochiquetzal herself, “Scorpion, are you not ashamed to be making fun of people so? Do you not remember when you slept with me upon Stone Drum? I have come to greet you again. Just step away from my friend for a moment, and I will wrap you up in my blouse and embrace you.” Swiftly moving in, she tied her garment around the limb as a tourniquet, announcing, “I have to intercept you. Your power ends here. You will not pass.”
Xochiquetzal’s powers of fertility came from the earth itself. It was she, the goddess of flowers, who covered the world in blossoms each year. Few people in the world love flowers as much as the Mexicans. Bouquets were carried everywhere, by men and women, the scent of which brought joy to a tedious journey. Warriors were as fond of flowers as were the butterflies and hummingbirds they would become after death. Even their very blood, spilled in the fields of battle, would rise again as florid blooms. The word for poetry itself was “flower and song.” The ancients believed that although an enlightened man may be poor in the things of this world, by losing himself in a simple bouquet, he may for that moment be as happy as any man on earth.
Flowers had potent, even supernatural powers. It was said that the scent of blooms alone could sustain one through starvation. This perfume properly belonged to the gods---only the very edge of a bouquet could be enjoyed without offense, for the sweet, intoxicating center was Tezcatlipoca’s alone. Flowers were thus a popular offering for both the divine and the deceased. Ironically, it is in fact to the land of the dead that we owe the flowers’ sweet smell.
Ages ago, when field and forest covered the earth in a blanket of limitless green, the gods had been planning a new creation---Flowers, which would be as great a pleasure to the gods as to men.
Around this time, Quetzalcoatl was taking a bath, and he decided to release some sexual tension by pleasuring himself. As he climaxed, his semen dropped onto a boulder. Such was the endless creative power of this god, it seems, that from his seed alone there sprang a bat.
This little bat flew his meandering way to where the other gods were gathered, and it seems they recognized at once his divine paternity. They gave the bat a special assignment: Off in her own house, the young earth goddess Xochiquetzal was fast asleep. He was to slip inside without waking her, and bite off a piece of her vagina.
The little bat did as he was ordered, causing the ususpecting goddess to bleed from the painful injury. Returning, the gods took the collop of her sex from him, and sprinkled it with a little water. From this baptism, bright and colorful flowers rose up in bloom. Unfortunately, for all their beauty, these were found to have no scent. The bat was commissioned once more to carry the flowers all the way down into the underworld. When he arrived, Mictlantecuhtli received the bouquet and bathed it in the waters flowing through the land of death. From this unusual ceremony, the sweet fragrance of the flowers was born.
To this day, many Mexican women still compare their monthly cycle to a flower, asking each other when their time rolls around, “Sister, has the bat bitten you?”
Xochiquetzal’s holiday was the Feast of the Flowers, a time when all were as happy as could be. The frosts were soon coming, and so before the flowers withered, people were desperate to stuff themselves with the fragrance of blooms, as if---like camels---the enjoyment could be hoarded inside them until spring. In this festival, teenagers were allowed to flirt, and were introduced to alcohol by wary chaperones. The only jewelry worn on this day were blossom chains.
At her feast, an impersonator of the goddess was seated on a throne, beneath an arbor of roses. Hand-made trees, bursting with blooms, held up this house of flowers in the temple courtyard. The people of the city danced around her, wearing crowns and collars woven into leis. In the branches, boys disguised as birds and butterflies pretended to sip nectar from the trees. Then the priests appeared, dressed as all of the gods, who shot at these little make-believe birds, like fowlers with their harmless blowguns.
XOCHIPILLI (SHOW-chee-PEEL-lee), “Prince of Flowers,” was the youthful god of pleasure, music, dance, and games. He was like a brother to the pert Xochiquetzal. This handsome god wore a helmet shaped like a bird---through whose open beak he peeped---as he was carried on parade in a royal litter. The Prince of Flowers loved to sing from his throne, accompanying himself on the maracas. He could transform himself into a songbird of unearthly beauty. When he travelled the earth, this god hefted a tree in full bloom for his walking staff.
Xochipilli was attended by the frisky and shameless monkeys. These capering servants wore a copy of Quetzalcoatl’s Wind Jewel in a huge pendant on their breast, a reminder of their creation during the Sun of the Wind.
The music so beloved by Xochipilli was an important part of worship. Rattle and drum were the people’s simple instruments, and the showpiece of song was the human voice. A singer could only give a moving performance by channeling voices of the spirit world into his own throat.
War songs were sung to fill the hearts of men with courage. A genre called the “flower songs” symbolized human emotion in the world of nature: Love, the beauty of flowers, and delights of poetry, faded into the wintry tones of melancholy and decay. The “songs of privation” pondered the nature of god and the inevitability of death. And in the naughty “turtledove songs,” the pleasure girls sang erotic lyrics of their own amusements and their woes. Taunting the men to victory in both the battlefield and the bedroom, these courtesans danced the provocative “tickle dance.”
Dance was a gift brought to the world by Quetzalcoatl. The people would dance before the temples of the gods to honor them, asking Xochipilli for his blessing before each performance. Even the drum that struck up the beat was filled with the spirit of the god. There were religious spectacles such as the rain dance and the victory dance, as well as playful celebrations: Girls circling with colored ribbons round a maypole; great events where three thousand people danced in circling rings; comic dances of hunchbacks, and acrobats on stilts. These professional buffoons sometimes weaved in and out of the dancing crowds, refreshing them with comic relief.
Acrobats were favorite performers, capering with other men upon their shoulders, or juggling logs upon their toes. Contortionists would wrap their legs over their heads, covered with painted snakes to illustrate their sinuous miracles.
One diversion laced with religious import was the volador ceremony. A pole was erected, tall as a ship’s mast, with a rotating platform at the top. On this, dancer played the pipe and drum, and four men dressed as birds were tied to the corners of the frame with long ropes. They all leaped off at a signal, and as the platform slowly rotated the ropes unwound, flying the costumed birds around the pole. Symbolizing the movement of the planets, these players made a total of fifty-two revolutions before touching the ground---the number of years in the Mexican century.
The most peculiar of the paid entertainers was the illusionist. Among his deceptions were puppetry without strings; swinging a water-filled vessel from a cord, without spilling a drop; toasting corn on his cape; and surrounding someone’s house with phantasmic flames.
Men and women who slept together when they were supposed to be fasting were punished by Xochipilli with venereal disease. In fact, many forms of pleasure---such as drinking, gambling, and sex--- when overindulged in could be the causes of disaster and disease. There was a circle of five gods who administered the hazards and punishments of excessive vice, called the Ahuiateteo (Ah-wee-ah-TEH-teh-oh). These southern spirits were named Five-Lizard, Five-Vulture, Five-Rabbit, Five-Grass, and the most popular of all, Five-Flower. The number five symbolized a loss of control, and it was common knowledge that a fifth drink would make you drunk.
“Five-Flower,” or Macuilxochitl (MAH-kweel-SHOW-cheetle), was a transformation of Xochipilli himself. As the Prince of Flowers could become a bird, Five-Flower turned himself into a turtle, whose shell was often used as a drum. Five-Flower was the god of dicing and gambling, and a friend to the palace folk. Gamblers burned incense to him while they shook the five beans that served as dice, clapping and calling loudly as they threw. Five-Flower’s favorite game, patolli, was a board game in which the players moved their pieces based on a roll of the dice, resembling parchisi. The wagers on this game were so high, however, that desperate players even sold themselves into slavery for their stakes.
With five gods concerned with debauchery, it was fortunate that Xochipilli had at least one brother who shared his good health and well-being.
IXTLILTON (Eesh-TLEEL-tohn) was the god of health and medicine.
He was the patron of healers, most of whom were highly respected elder women. To these followers he taught the science of herbal remedies, many of which are still used in Mexico today. Yet the art of the curer was a blend of both botanical medicine and magic.
Disease infested the patient like a worm, which was extracted by the healer from the eyes and teeth. Illness could be caused by deficiencies both dietary and moral, or by excesses of the cup and the flesh. It could be sent by capricious witchcraft, or by the stern justice of the gods. The healer’s first step was to employ divination to discover the source of the illness. If the cause was found to be a moral transgression, a purifying cleanse in a cold stream or the sweat baths followed by a confession would often be the cure. More advanced disease was treated with the knowledge of herbs, but surgery was rare.
As the brother of Xochipilli, Ixtlilton knew that laughter, feasting, and the warmth of the sun could work as well as any medicine. The fragrance of flowers helped as a preventative treatment, and dance was used as part of many cures.
Ixtlilton’s name means “Little Black Face,” and he was indeed a dwarfish, swarthy god, with a green wreath worn around his brow. Above all, Ixtlilton was concerned for the health of children. When the little ones fell ill they were escorted to his temple, which was as full of potions as an apothocary. There, a kindly healer selected the appropriate remedy from her many jars, and the child was cured by drinking of its inky water.
The most formidable task of the healer was reuniting a patient with a wandering soul. Man was believed to have three souls:
The first and most important of these was called the yolia. This resided in the heart where it remained until death.
The second soul was called the tonalli. This gave one his individual character and linked him to his destiny. Residing in the head, the tonalli would venture out of the body each night to communicate with the spirit world in dreams. It also rose out during sexual intercourse, and could be shocked out by a sudden scare. One whose tonalli was set adrift would only survive for a few days.
The third soul was the ihiyotl, which was held in the liver like a gas. This was the animating inner fire which gave physical energy to the individual, working alongside the tonalli. The vitality of this life force could be harnessed to radiate healthful benefits to those around one---or noxious emmissions from the wicked at heart.
YACATECUHTLI (YAH-cah-TEH-coot-lee) was the god of the far-travelling merchants, and the father of commerce.
Traditionally, the only way for a peasant to rise in social status was to succeed in warfare. Some commoners, however, discovered a means to bypass government positions and yet amass great wealth. Forming a guild of merchants, these long-distance traders soon monopolized the importation of cotton to the city, and a new social class was born.
Merchants kept to themselves: They had their own barrios and married only into other merchant families, passing their profession down from father to son. Empowered with their own courts and entry to the finest schools, the merchant guild was determined to keep a low profile to prevent offending the emperor and his warriors. They wore the plainest of capes, and if stopped on the road with their wares would pretend to be merely transporting the goods for someone else. Merchants both embarked and slipped back into the city under cover of darkness, to disguise their riches.
As they steered their canoes swiftly through the night, the departing merchant warned his son, “The wasteland we are entering is ferocious and filled with evil men. Your brow will burn with the sun and wind, your weary face will be deathly white with dust. It may be that you will never return, yet know in your heart that you go reinforced by the compassion of your father and mother.”
As these trading missions could last for months---even years---the caravan was equipped like a party of bandits to force trade on unwilling customers if necessary. Disguised in local costume and speaking the native tongues, merchants often dealt in espionage as well. If the foreign tribe abused these spies in any way, the emperor was quick to declare war. If they did not, the merchants could always provoke them to it. As the warriors then followed in the traders’ footsteps, the luxuries began to flow in only one direction.
Once, a large party of traders was cut off six hundred miles from home and surrounded by hostile warriors. The merchants incredibly survived a four-year siege, during which time they became so battle-hardened that they routed their attackers. By the time the emperor finally sent a relief party, the merchants had conquered the countryside, and the gains of trade became the plunder of war. Returning to the feet of their delighted emperor, they laid down their captured battle standards.
For this conquest, the merchants declared they were allies of Huitzilopochtli, and they too should rise at death into the Heaven of the Sun---a boast that rankled the imperial army.
The moral compass of these firebrand tradesmen, the deity who trailblazed in the vanguard of their fortunes and their hopes, was Yacatecuhtli, the “Lord Who Has Gone Before.” This god wore his hair in the style of a warrior, cooling himself with a regal fan, and bolstered with a bamboo walking staff.
It was the traveler’s staff itself that Yacatecuhtli magically inhabited. Eschewing fancy idols, the company simply bound their staves together and adorned the framework with a swathe of sacred paper. With that---whether gritting their teeth with hunger in the badlands or surrounded by a garrison of pugnacious natives---they knew their god was always with them.
While the other gods demanded so much in sacrifice, the rootless Yacatecuhtli required only gratitude, cinching his belt along with his brothers-in-arms. And when the weary enterprisers were safely home, the happy remains from that night’s turkey dinner were offered as the men sat drinking cocoa by the hearth, paying thanks to the fire god as well as their patron, “The Wanderer.”
MIXCOATL (Meesh-COH-ahtl), the “Cloud Serpent,” was a stellar god who dwelled within the Milky Way, and the leader of the high-minded stars.
Among mortals, Mixcoatl was the god of the hunt. His very symbol was the arrow, and he traveled equipped with a hunter’s gear: A bow with a bristling quiver, and a netted sack for slaughtered game. He was the exemplar of a chieftain---an epic wanderer, a sage ancestor, and a virile warrior. His mastery in combat was backed by a knowledge of lawful spellcraft.
Mixcoatl wore a black mask over his eyes, and two feathers dangled from his hair. His body was painted in the red and white stripes of the sacrificial victim. As the souls of these fallen warriors rose in the night sky to become stars, Cloud Serpent welcomed them from the snaking Milky Way.
Mixcoatl was the patron of the barbarian tribes who lived beyond the northern frontier, called the Chichimecs. Wrapped in animal hides, and dwelling in the harsh desert caves, these wild nomads killed their ill and elderly once they outlived their usefulness. As they were ignorant of crops, Mixcoatl sustained these people with the spoils of the hunt, and passed down the secrets of herbal lore. His sacred animal---the deer---embodied his virile agility and inner fire, a beast the Chichimecs ate raw. Mixcoatl demanded no idols from his crude and mobile worshipers: An upright arrow nested in the desert grass marked his divinity by its fluttering, white banner.
To commemorate their past as wandering barbarians just such as these, the Mexicans worshiped Mixcoatl in a temple covered with red rocks and his beloved cacti, to recreate the harsh steppes of their origin.
There is good reason why Mixcoatl was patron of the fallen warriors, for he was brought unto this world to usher in war and sacrifice:
Not long after the sun had been created and sent into his course, the goddess Chalchiuhtlicue was in labor. She lay under the nurturing eyes of Coatlicue, in the streams of Seven Caves, on the isle of Aztlan. There she gave birth to a countless litter of sons, named the Cloud Serpents.
These young titans were soon visited by the resplendent Tonatiuh, who presented them with handsome thorn-tipped spears and shields. “Here are the gifts with which you will quench my thirst,” he told them. “You will serve me at table, and feed your mother, Tlaltecuhtli.” With this, the Cloud Serpents were released into the world.
Dwelling in caves, they became wandering gods of the wind-whipped badlands, traveling with coyotes and wolves. They were spirits of the mountains and trees, cacti and rocks; they caused the earth to quake and springs to flow. But the plumed costume of war does not a warrior make. These arrogant ogres squandered their arrows on birds. They became sloppily drunk and chased mortal women, crippling the men with dark-hearted magic. When the Cloud Serpents actually trapped a jaguar, they kept him for sport instead of offering him as sacrifice.
This thankless blasphemy had become intolerable, beginning to threaten even the gods. Yet Chalchiutlicue was pregnant once again, and she was determined that these children would confound their swinish kinsmen, and avenge their father the sun. There were five of these late-born babes: Eagle’s Twin, a dryad of the mesquite forests; Hawk Mountain, god of a landmark peak; Lord of the River, who irrigated the crops; Wolf Woman, patroness of the ball games; and the white Cloud Serpent, Mixcoatl. For four days the children quickly grew in the springs of Seven Caves, nourished by Tlaltecuhtli.
Tonatiuh now summoned the five to meet with him. They climbed into the top branches of a mesquite tree, as the sun descended to them. “Listen carefully now, my sons,” he instructed them. “These countless Cloud Serpents are a desecration, and offer nothing to their Father and Mother. You must destroy them.” He provided these children with the deadliest weapons in his arsenal, and drilled them in the arts of combat.
Meanwhile, their gruff brothers had spotted them. “Who are these newcomers who look so much like us?” they wondered. Seizing their spears, the Cloud Serpents closed in to investigate, faces smeared black with the ashes of former victims. The Five scattered---Mixcoatl hid himself under the earth, Eagle’s Twin dove into the mesquite, Hawk Mountain took refuge in his hill, Lord of the River in the streams, and Wolf Woman crouched within a ball court to watch the coming spectacle. Brandishing their spears, the Cloud Serpents charged the mesquite tree, and the battle began.
Eagle’s Twin split the trunk open, which came crashing down on his foes. As Mixcoatl shook the earth, Hawk Mountain erupted from his peak with a rain of stones. From the waters came a great boiling and churning, as the Lord of the Rivers rose up. These four unleashed their powers on the numberless brothers, Mixcoatl releasing his arrows to every compass point.
The Cloud Serpents begged for mercy, and a handful of survivors were spared, only to serve as sacrifices. The Five then led an example for mankind by waiting on Tonatiuh at table, offering him this inimitable food and precious drink.
Legend has it that Mixcoatl was the husband of Coatlicue, dwelling with her in Serpent Mountain, and he was the father of the Countless Stars. If this were true, then Mixcoatl and his stepson Huitzilopochtli were never to be reconciled, as the solar power of the Hummingbird overwhelmed the grandeur of the constellations.
Mixcoatl could manifest himself as a god named Camaxtli (Cah-MOSH-tlee). Huitzilopochtli and this powerful patron could not have been more opposed to each other, for Camaxtli’s chosen people were the archnemeses of the Mexicans---the Tlaxcalans (Tlosh-CALL-ans). Although the Tlaxcalans were feared and hated by the people of Mexico City, they were also thought of as the ideal worthy opponent.
In fact, one of the finest models of chivalry had been a Tlaxcalan warrior named Tlahuicole. After a meteoric military career, he had been captured at last by Mexico. Curious to meet the audacious living legend, the emperor called Tlahuicole before him. Amazingly, the Tlaxcalan was not only spared but offered the command of a Mexican army. After leading his was-once foes to victory, Tlahuicole returned heaped with honors, awaiting his rightful sacrifice so that he might join the sun. But the emperor much preferred that he serve out his days as a Mexican captain. To return home now would mean a shameful execution for cowardice, yet to remain would betray Camaxtli and his people. Tlahuicole therefore demanded his right to a death with dignity, and the emperor reluctantly sent him to the gladiatorial stone of Xipe Totec. Armed only with his feather-trimmed club, the old warrior worked miracles once more before finally succumbing to the inevitable. As Camaxtli looked approvingly on, a new star was born in the twinkling sky.
Camaxtli’s temple was stocked like an armory with weapons of war, for should his idol be captured by Mexico, the fight would be over forever. Time and again, the Mexicans tried in vain to capture Camaxtli’s statue to lock in Cihuacoatl’s House of Darkness. But, like Mexico, Tlaxcala had been promised by their god that they would one day rule the world. Little did either side know, that dubious honor would soon be claimed for the jealous patron of an alien people yet more warlike still.
ITZPAPALOTL (Eets-paw-PAW-lowtle) was a fearsome and belligerent barbarian goddess, mistress of death and war. Her name means “Knife Butterfly,” and she soared into night sky like an obsidian moth. Wings and tail tipped in twinkling knives, spreading out from a wiry woman’s body, the goddess cackled through her jaguar’s teeth, set in a face stripped of flesh. As she swooped bat-like down to earth, she snatched her quarry with the sharp talons of an owl.
Itzpapalotl was the female companion of the lord of darkness, Tezcatlipoca, and siphoned her power from the moon. By day she sent forth the ill-omened and unwanted rainbows, to parch the cactus fields and evict the rains. The seven colors of this inauspicious arc were dyed in the parti-colored skirt she wore. Itzpapalotl’s rainbow was a symbol of drought and death as surely as Mixcoatl’s Milky Way was a covenant of good living.
A mythical creature called the Black Serpent was her animal familiar, who haunted subterranean wells. There it lured people with its mesmerising breath, killing them by shooting its forked tongue into nostrils or rectum, and injecting a venom like the rainbow.
When the Cihuateteo were released after their four years service, and transformed to moths, the few deviants who returned to earth as devil women were led by Itzpapalotl, the darkest moth of all. Like Cihuacoatl, she could appear to powerful men as a voluptuous temptress to lure them into the downfall of adultery, and she also had the ability to change her sex. Though she was violent and merciless, Knife Butterfly was not frivolously wicked---The Mexicans worshiped her as “Our Mother the Warrior.” During their pilgrimage to the islands of the great lake, Itzpapalotl stood beside Huitzilopochtli to lend strength to her worshipers. And, like Mixcoatl and the Mexicans, the goddess had travelled south from the rugged steppes of the Chichimecs.
A tale is told of how the heroic Mixcoatl and the foreboding Itzpapalotl formed a partnership:
Mixcoatl had just defeated his beastly brothers, and there were but two Cloud Serpents left who had been spared the sacrificial block. These blameless brothers were named Xiuhnel (Shee-oo-nell) and Mimich (Mee-meech), and they were hunters in a holy northern desert.
One day, Itzpapalotl sent down a pair of does from the fires of heaven. These miraculous deer each had two heads growing from their shoulders. Captivated, the two brothers pursued the anomolous game for a night and a day, leaving a trail of arrows behind for miles. At sundown, the exhausted hunters decided to pitch their tents side by side and build a fire. When this was done, out in the darkness the monstrous does trans-formed into women. Creeping to the edge of camp, they called out, “Xiuhnel, Mimich! Where are you? Come here. Come eat and drink with us.”
Mimich asked his brother, “Well, why don’t you answer?”
“Come here, sisters,” Xiuhnel called to them. Joining the men, one of the maidens passed along a jug, cooing, “Drink this, Xiuhnel.”
Little did the bewitched hunter notice or care that he was downing a draught of intoxicating blood. He dropped the cup, leading the girl into his tent to lay down with her. Suddenly she threw him to the ground and leaped upon him, tearing open his chest to sink her teeth into his heart.
Outside, the other woman was calling, “Mimich, lover, come and eat,” but he would not hear her. Investigating the commotion, he opened the tent and cried out, “Has she actually eaten my older brother?” Mimich turned around and dove desperately into the bonfire, followed by the uncanny were-deer.
It was as if the two spirits had passed through a gateway into the spirit world, dropping through time and space. Mimich now beheld his huntress in her true form: It was, of course, Itzpapalotl. All through the night the Cloud Serpent was pursued, and on till noon of the following day. Spotting a great barrel cactus, Mimich dropped into it. When Itzpapalotl chased him into the plant he ambushed her, hitting her with so many arrows that she was incapacitated.
The spent Mimich tied back his hair and painted his face in mourning. Striking up a blaze from his fire sticks, he poured out his heart in grief for his brother. These laments were overheard by Xiuhtecuhtli, and the old god sent out his spirits from the fire. With this unlooked-for supernatural aid, Mimich was able to overpower the pinioned Itzpapalotl, and drag her toward the flames. As soon as she touched the fire, the goddess exploded like a fast-blooming flower, bursting into a pile of bright flints.
The god Mixcoatl soon joined his abused brother, and sifting through the multi-colored remains he detected the goddess’ heart beating in a large white flint. Taking this prize, he wrapped it up into a sacred war bundle, and carried her upon his back as a lucky talisman. Having passed through such a transformation, Itzpapalotl now held the power of fire, which could be struck from her flint. The joint powers of this unlikely pair made Mixcoatl utterly invincible in battle.
Itzpapalotl would guide and caution her worshipers, using the flint blade as her oracle. During a human sacrifice, the goddess would strike her spirit into the priestly knife. Thus, at the critical moment, the very instrument of worship itself was divine.
At twilight, the constellations rush up from beneath the earth, and Itzpapalotl soars with them into the obsidian mirror of night, the knife-tips of her wings twinkling like wandering stars.
TLACATZINACANTLI (Tlah-cawt-seen-ah-CAWNT-lee) was the bloodthirsty spirit of the bat. He had the body of a man, the head of a huge vampire bat, and his dragon-like wings were tipped in the blades of human sacrifice. Where hands and feet should be, there grasped giant claws, and a hungry tongue lolled down from a pair of fangs. The spirit wore only a loincloth, and from around his neck rang a collar of three bells, with human bones for the clappers.
This nocturnal spirit led the vampire bats, flying straight up to earth from the underworld at dusk. These creatures were as hungry for blood as were the gods, sinking their fangs into their prey and lapping up the flow as it ran down. While Tlacatzinacantli swooped awkwardly from branch to branch, owls fluttered behind him, dealing silent, unexpected death. Spiders dropped down on their silken strands wherever he happened to rest, and centipedes scuttled beneath his toes. He hunted brutally through the woods at night, swooping down upon his leathery wings to tear the head from a man’s shoulders, as though he were snatching a piece of fruit from a branch.
While most of the gods---no matter how sinister some may seem at first---had creative or protective sides to them, there were some spirits in this world that were creatures of pure doom and destruction.
THE TZITZIMIME (TSEE-tsee-MEE-meh) were female demons of twilight. Cold and conspiring, they despised the sun and plotted his overthrow each night as they hid among the stars. Named the “Devil Women,” the Tzitzimime were denied human sacrifice, and they yearned for the moment they could swoop to earth and gulp down humans whole. Their personal symbol captured this well: A spider descending on her silk.
The Tzitzimime had a bare skull for a face, from which they glared with fiery eyes. Their canines had grown into long, metal bars, and their eager molars were like sacrificial stones. Where hands and feet should be were the long, grasping talons of a bird of prey, and small mouths gnashed from their knees. The belt that fastened their dress was a living snake. Their hair was flung in mad disarray, from which hung earrings made of human hands. The final, hideous touch in this demonic decoupage was a queenly crown, topped with an arrangement of human hands and hearts.
Beautiful though the stars may be---as the nocturnal souls of fallen warriors---the Tztitzimime who dwelled among them into the blackness were chill, malicious, and a threat to both mankind and the sun. As the spent sun dropped into the underworld at dusk, the Tzitzimime poured in after him throughout the night. Once below, the shriveling sun found no rest, but continued in his flight to the east with full speed and a feeble light. There he stumbled blindly through a gloomy and hostile atmosphere, thick with the fluttering stings of these pesty yet neverending adversaries. Twinkling with a crisp complicity, the Tzitzimime were waiting above for him in the east, to suffocate the rising sun in a shroud of darkness. With the aid of sacrifice from his devoted worshipers, however, the vital essence of the sun was replenished; he confronts the evil moon, rebuffs a few chilling shots from the Morning Star, and then banishes these foes from the sky in a sweep of royal blue.
On very rare occasions, the sun would in fact buckle underneath such battery, and he would be smothered in a solar eclipse. In this moment of calamity, the fate of the earth hung by a thread. The Tzitzimime had won in battle, and if the sun should not pull back from the brink, these monsters of night would be unleashed on the earth. As darkness spread, the celestial demonesses dropped from the sky, seizing and devouring those mortals whose flesh had so long been denied them. The people shrieked, blasting on horns and beating on drums in an attempt to frighten them away, and rally the sun with their battle cries. Everyone---even the little ones---drew blood from their ears to revive him, and prisoners with the palest skin and the lightest hair (the very qualities needed in the sky) were sacrificed, while everyone waited and hoped.
For this was precisely how our world was destined to end: At doomsday, in the year named 4-Motion, earthquakes will rip the earth apart. The doorway to the spirit world will be torn through, and the Tzitzimime will fulfill their purpose at last---swarming in from the west to gorge themselves as the world is locked in famine. It is said that on this day, even the sun himself will be transformed into one of their number.
MAYAHUEL was the young goddess of the maguey cactus, and the sweet, alcoholic drink that it produced.
The maguey cactus was almost as important to our ancestors as corn: Called the “life of the land,” cloth and rope were woven from her fibers, and embroidery needles were made from her thorns. Her leaves were used in cooking, for making paper, and for tiling roofs. The juice from the cactus also had its use in medicine, but once this juice was fermented, its real powers of regeneration were brought out. The resulting liquor, called pulque (POOL-kay), was not only a source of pleasure, but a gateway to connect with deeper levels of reality. This “spirit” was in itself divine, and therefore an offering fit for the gods.
It was the gods themselves who first caused this fantastic plant to be. It happened in the early days of creation, when Tezcatlipoca had recently brought music to the world. The gods soon noticed, however, that there was little on earth that inspired the people to joyful song. This troubled them. “Man should enjoy living on the earth, yet he seems to be quite sad,” they said to one another. “They need something more than the promise of food and water to cause them to rejoice, and to praise us in their songs and dances.”
Quetzalcoatl overheard this discussion, and thought long and hard about a solution. He decided that if the people had an intoxicating liquor to drink, it would bring pleasure to their lives, and make them want to celebrate. Suddenly he remembered a lovely young goddess who would likely be able to help him in this creation: Mayahuel.
The pretty virgin lived in one of the heavens with her grandmother, but this guardian, however, was no less than one of the fearsome Tzitzimime. Quetzalcoatl proceeded very carefully to their dwelling, and found them both fast asleep. Cautiously, he woke little Mayahuel and whispered to her, “I have come to escort you into the world.” The astonished goddess agreed at once to go with him. Being the gentleman he was, Quetzalcoatl offered to carry her on his shoulders, and he flew down through the clouds with her, lighting on the surface of the earth. (Having stolen bones from the underworld, corn from the mountains, and now Mayahuel from heaven, Quetzalcoatl began to sometimes answer the prayers of thieves.)
When Mayahuel’s grandmother woke, she was furious to find the girl had run away. This ancient star demon called for her sisters, the Tzitzimime, to help scour the earth and find the little truant. The outraged spirits dove from heaven, pouring into the sky like spiders on their threads. Quetzalcoatl, the god of air, sensed this disturbance and disguised himself and Mayahuel with a transformation. Clinging together like lovers, they became a tall tree, each god forming one of its forking branches.
The eagle-eyed grandmother recognized her own kin when she saw it, however, and with her flock of sisters she swooped. The tree shuddered and split in half at their descent, both limbs crashing to the ground. The branch of Quetzalcoatl was ignored; Mayahuel, however, was torn to pieces by her unforgiving guardian. The savage grandmother then passed the broken fragments of the luckless little goddess to the other Tzitzimime, who devoured her flesh in retribution, and took wing into the heavens once more.
Quetzalcoatl returned to human form and shook his head sadly over Mayahuel’s remains. Nothing but a few gnawed bones were left of the little virgin. Gathering up what he could, the god gave them a simple burial in the earth.
Mayahuel was a god, however, and death only brings to immortals new life. From her grave there rose the first maguey cactus, and mankind would indeed come to rejoice in the blessings of her inebriating drink.
Mayahuel appeared as a beautiful young woman, nesting in the leaves and flowers of her maguey plant. She wore a conical cap, and a nose ring shaped like the crescent moon. Often she held the cups of pulque she produced. Mayahuel had grown from a virgin goddess to the ultimate in female reproductivity. The maguey leaves were so numerous and inexhaustable that it was as if Mayahuel had a countless number of breasts, with the cactus spines at the tip, her many nipples. Pulque---a cloudy white spirit, rich in vitamins---was compared to mother’s milk, and Mayahuel was often shown nursing. Her name, in fact, means “Powerful Flow.”
No one forgot that Mayahuel sacrificed herself for our benefit. In order to extract the sweet “honey water” from her plants, people felt as if they were decapitating the maguey, cutting the beating heart out of her leaves. When approaching the cactus with a machete, the farmer held a brazier of incense in the other. “Forgive me, eternal maguey,” he would say, “for I am about to cut open your breast. It is not my wish to see you suffer, so please---mistress of itchings---do not inflict illness on me. Before I wound you, I pray to you and make my offerings.” This fruitful goddess was a generous mother.
Mayahuel later found a husband, named Patecatl (Pah-TEH-cawtle), the “Medicine-Lander.” He was the root to her leaves, steeped in her fermenting drink to lend it his strength and richness.
Mayahuel had her own holiday, with a bizarre custom. After all the dances and parades, several vessels of pulque were lined up before the celebrants. Next to these were set two hundred and sixty straws, yet only one of these had been drilled all the way through. The merry-makers were let loose to hunt frantically through the pile, tossing aside the sealed tubes. When someone finally found the lucky straw, the losers had to sit back and watch while he happily drained all the pulque by himself.
Such selfish indulgence, however, had less fourtunate results.
THE COUNTLESS RABBITS were the happy companions of Mayahuel.
There were many minor little gods in the Mexican world, so many they were impossible to count. Among them was a gang of gods of plenty, who took the form of rabbits. An individual Rabbit chose a particular village to be his home, and he named himself after it. It was thereafter his pleasure to protect the local villagers, looking over their harvests and lending aid from the spirit world to help their crops be plentiful. The Countless Rabbits were attendants upon great Mother Earth just as the Tlaloque were to Tlaloc.
It is said the Rabbits, as fertility gods, chose the form of the little mammal because of his powers of procreation. It was a source of pride to them that the rabbit could be seen in the shadowy face of the moon. They wore a symbol of the crescent moon for a nose ring, and painted across the shields they clutched in their paws.
The Rabbits were rustic gods and they held their own country festival when the harvest had been gathered in. At these feasts pulque invariably flowed freely and inhibitions dropped. As a result, the interest of the Rabbits was taken up with the wild joys of drunkeness as a reward for their hard work in the fields. Drinking cups were often shaped like the rabbits, and when a reveler lost control in a burst of shouting, fists, or tears, he was said to be “acting like his Rabbit.”
Once Quetzalcoatl had introduced Mayahuel to the world, pulque began to flow freely. Distinguished chieftains from all over the land were soon invited to a feast, to sample this new blessing. It was a hit. All of the leaders sampled a third cup, then a fourth, as happy as the gods could have wished. The chieftain of the Chichimecs, however, demanded a fifth round. Once this cup was drained, he lost control of himself and behaved disgracefully. For his grand finale, the chief stood before his colleagues and threw off his loincloth. The other chieftains sent him back in shame to the hot, humid clime whence he came, and the casual nudity of the Chichimecs would shock and intrigue the Mexicans ever after. It became common wisdom that while four drinks would make you merry, a fifth was the sign of a true alcoholic.
The dangers of alcohol were greatly feared by the law-and-order emperors of Mexico. People of retirement age were invited to enjoy spirits, to warm their blood and help them sleep. Among younger adults, however, alcohol was required to be private, social, and discreet. If a peasant got so drunk that he lost control in public, the officials tore his house down, telling him if he wanted to behave like an animal he could go live in the fields like an animal. If he relapsed a second time, the drunkard would be executed. Noblemen, who were supposed to lead a good example, were put to death for the first offense.
It was said that Tezcatlipoca himself shared the dread of liquor. Before Mayahuel was transformed, the other gods wanted liquor to be a blessing that would gladden the hearts of men. Tezcatlipoca, however, was prepared to order the death of anyone who took a single draught. At length the god of kings was brought around to compromise, but he insisted that if all the others were to live, someone must die as a proxy sacrifice. It was the most famous of the little fertility gods who volunteered “Two Rabbit” Ometochtli (Oh-meh-TOECH-tlee). By agreeing to be killed, Ometochtli spared the lives of men. Being divine, of course, his death came like the sleep of the inebriated, from which he awoke refreshed.
At the feast of Ometochtli was offered a sacred ceremonial drink so potent it was known as “fivefold pulque.” He was a friend of Macuilxochitl, and he loved dicers. Gamblers would even set out a little cup of pulque as an offering for him when they sat down to play. He had a knack for making the roll come up snake-eyes, and as they shook the beans they used for dice gamblers would call out, “Two Rabbit, give me your luck!” The celebrated Spanish friar Durán once asked an old Mexican why this was so. The old man answered, “Why do you invoke your wine when you toast?” Friar Durán decided to drop the subject for fear of having to explain Spanish drinking games, stating, “They drink enough as it is without our teaching them how.”
Of all the rabbits, only one, Tepoztecatl (Teh-pose-TEH-cawtle), still has a temple standing. To reach it one must pass through a cleft in the hill, from which protrudes a huge, phallic rock.
Not all of the Rabbits were so jolly. Some---such as “the Drowner” and “the Strangler”---used only the demonic powers of alcohol, tipping their besotted followers over a cliff and into the drink.
COATL XOXOUHQUI (COH-ahtl Show-show-UH-kee), or “Green Serpent” was the spirit of the morning glory, one of four hallucinogenic plants held sacred by the Mexicans. Narcotics stretched the five senses, opening a power of inner sight previously unknown. They might be taken to communicate with the gods in waking dreams, or for divination, for personal visions, for supernatural curing, or sometimes just for pleasure. If the priests had their calendar to use in divination, the shamans had their narcotics.
The morning glory was a green vine with a woody trunk and long, white flowers. It was believed to sprout from the body of a spirit named Green Serpent, who appeared dripping with dew and seeds, the tendrils of the plant twining all around her. The people took care not to offend her, offering her food and incense and even sweeping around the roots of her vines. Her seeds were treated with religious awe, cared for by diviners in little baskets they passed down through generations.
These seeds were eaten to produce a delirium during which the goddess would appear in a chromatic vision. During this, she might reveal the source of an illness, expose a thief, or discover a missing person. In order to consult the oracle, a skilled diviner would bring the patient to a quiet retreat after dark. As the patient swallowed the seeds, the diviner would pray, “Come hither, cold spirit, and soothe your servant’s fevered mind.” Green Serpent would then appear, sometimes as two little girls dressed in white. Based on what the patient murmured during this séance, the diviner would make his or her diagnosis.
Morning glory was said to grow even in Tlalocan, and her creepers wreathed around Xochipilli’s throne.
Tobacco was likewise a gift from the gods, and it composed the flesh of the goddess Cihuacoatl. Shamans used a species of tobacco four times more potent than ours to induce a trance state during their chants. This transported their spirits out of time and space, where they beseeched the gods to restore health and stability to their patients. Drunk as a syrupy liquid, tobacco removed fatigue and pain, and its smoke could shield one from evil influences. This smoke also was a form of nourishment for the gods, and was frequently burnt in offering.
The third sacred hallucinogen was peyote, a small, spineless cactus which provides colored visions, sent by the little black spirit who inhabits it. Peyote hunters would travel hundreds of miles on pilgrimage, singing, fasting, and staying awake all night through emotional initiations. In addition to curing fever, peyote inspired warriors with unshakeable courage, protected them from injury, and could sustain them with no food or water.
Last of all were hallucinogenic mushrooms, known as the “flesh of the gods,” and a gift from Quetzalcoatl. Mushrooms dipped in honey were served amongst both the gods in heaven and at the coronation of kings. To gather them, priests would go out into the hills and remain praying until the breeze at dawn began to blow.
Modern Mexican Indians consider the unusual saint named El Niño to be the patron of the mushroom. Virgin girls collect these during a new moon and place them reverently on his altar.
Hallucinogenic mushrooms were served at the banquets of wealthy merchants. Once eaten, spirits would enter the men with a kaleidoscope of visions, in which each beheld his own fate: One man sees himself captured in war, another eaten by wildcats, one sees himself rich and happy, another executed for adultery, yet another laid low in a rooftop fall. When the intoxication passed, the men---whether laughing or washing their eyes with tears---discussed what they had seen.
TLAZOLTEOTL (Tlah-sohl-TEH-ohtle), was the goddess of transgression, of the consequences that come from excess, gluttony, and lust. It was Tlazolteotl, the “Filth God,” who tempted humanity with lecherous desires, and it was Tlazolteotl who forgave these sins and granted absolution.
Theis goddess went with breasts bared, holding a coral snake that was the image of lust. Her skirt, half red and half black, was overlaid with the crescent moons of the Countless Rabbits. Tawny yellow feathers jutted down from her headdress, weaving across her neck like dried palm fronds. As a nose ring, the goddess wore the decapitated quail offered in so many sacrifices. Most notable, however, was the black region painted around her mouth---Tlazolteotl cleaned us of our sins by swallowing them. She was known as the “Excrement Eater,” for a sinner languishing in the consquences of his own debauchery was like a dog eating its own defilement.
While Xochiquetzal celebrated the beauty of sex, Tlazolteotl ruled the dark side of forbidden love and perversion. Prostitutes were her women. Besides the often drug-addicted market hookers, there was a class of girls maintained in the state-run “Houses of Joy.” These “pleasure girls” were taken as virgins from their community and brought to the military barracks. There they were devoted by Huitzilopochtli to attracting new souls to his worship, and making men of his warriors. After years of these licentious “festivals,” the retired girls were sometimes sacrificed.
Adultery corrupted not only the soul but the body with its filth. Such forbidden love clouded one with a miasma called the “lust-death,” a curse sent down by Tlazolteotl. These noxious fumes of sin could strike one’s children with consumption and knock baby animals out cold.
Improbably, Tlazolteotl---“Goddess of the Rump”---was a close sister of Ixcuina, the pure Lady of Cotton. Those who revealed their sins in confession were compared to skeins that have been spun anew.
If the sinner was merely concerned with minor transgressions, they could be wiped away through the ritual purifications of water, fire, incense, or the sweat bath. Prostitutes and cheating women could sneak to the crossroads at midnight and pray to Tlazolteotl. By dropping their robes, the moral stains slipped from them, and they returned home naked and redeemed. Serious misconduct would require sexual abstention, fasting, and bloodletting, but a lifetime of delinquincies required a full confession.
This formal confession allowed the penitent to live the rest of his life with a clear conscience, for it not only cleansed his soul of all wrongdoings, but cleared his legal record with the state. Because Tlazolteotl granted absolution only once in a lifetime, many people put confession off until late in life.
A penitent man would approach a priest with his desire to confess, who then consulted his almanacs for a favorable date. Visiting the priest on the day they had chosen, the two would sit on newly-made mats by the fireside. The eye of Tlazolteotl watched over them joined by Tezcatlipoca, who alone could look into men’s hearts and minds. Tossing incense onto the coals, the priest called to the gods while fragrant clouds infused the room:
“O mother and father of the gods, O lord of fire, behold a poor man who comes anxiously weeping. It seems that he has sinned, that by deluding himself he has lived unchastely. Lord Tezcatlipoca, you who are near and far, ease his troubled heart.”
The sinner now touched the earth with his fingers and kissed them, then added incense to the flames. Having now sworn by heaven and earth to tell the full truth, he confessed all of his unclean deeds, beginning with childhood and sparing nothing from shame. The priest was then sworn to secrecy, for what he had been told was meant not for his ears but for the gods. He called now upon the presiding deities:
“You have heard this terrified man, who has placed his rotten stench before you. He strays from your presence and steps blindly into the snare. His crimes corrupt the very marrow of his body, and it tears his heart out to think what he has done. Though he has offended you, may he not find redemption? Lord, wash him in your bottomless waters and guide him to a better course.”
Turning to the penitent, the confessor gravely admonished him:
“You hide on the edge of a cliff from which there is no escape, and throw yourself from the crag into the torrents. By choking down and suppressing such filth, your rottenness has seeped out into the world, blackening the land of death and stinking in the nostrils of heaven. Tezcatlipoca is quick to take offense, and no later than tomorrow may cast you down in disgust to where our father Mictlantecuhtli waits, panting and thirsting for you in our common home. There, clinging to your ugly deeds, you will get what you deserve.
“You were flawless when your father Quetzalcoatl made you. You were as pure as jade or turquoise. But of your own volition you have jumped into excrement in which you roll and play, wallowing in filth. Now that you have revealed it to this goddess, the bather of men, our lord has caused dawn to break. You are once more like a freshly hatched parrot. “Go softly now in peace and quiet. Try your feet out. Behave humbly, modestly, even sadly. Our lord of near and far listens within you and knows when you offend him. Be not as you have been. May you never falter again. Sweep, clean, and get your life in order. Yet dance and sing, for now Tezcatlipoca will be seeking you for a friend.
“You have commited adultery and used words to hurt your neighbor. Your penance shall be to fast, burn incense, and draw blood, because you found pleasure in vice. You shall go about wearing only a paper loincloth, and you must pass thorns through your earlobe and tongue once a day for one year. From now on, when you see someone going hungry, all skin and bone, offer him your food. Give clothing to him who needs it, for your body is also his---especially the sick man, for he is the image of Tezcatlipoca. Be careful. Pay close attention. May the lord of the near and nigh recreate you. This is all.”
XOLOTL (SHOW-lowtle) was the god of freaks and clowns, of misshapen men, and sexual aberrations. His very name means “Monster.”
One of the biggest forms of freaks were twin children. As the twin brother of Quetzalcoatl, Xolotl was their guardian. The name Quetzalcoatl, in fact, can mean “Precious Twin” as well as “Plumed Serpent.” Xolotl often wore earrings shaped like his brother’s Wind Jewel. Quetzalcoatl was born in the east as the Morning Star each day, retreating as the sun chased him away. Xolotl then appeared at dusk as the Evening Star, and as he set he pursued the sun to the horizon, passing away and following him into the underworld.
Xolotl watched over the birth of twins and other freaks. Twins were powerful and frightening to the Mexicans, abnormal omens of strange intrusion from the spirit world. It was said that twins were doubly charged with the powers of the earth, and involuntarily channeled the forces from the age of creation. This window sometimes opened onto the mathematical order of the cosmos, at other times onto conflict and chaos. Because of this risk, parents of twins were privately advised to pick one baby at random and destroy it. Few however seemed to follow this advice.
To neutralize their own involuntary powers, twins were put upon to assist in all sorts of little rituals: Since their presence would draw heat from a fire, a sweatbath would sit cold all day unless the twins tended to the heated rocks themselves. To keep food from going cold even as it boiled, a twin might offer to lower the tamale into the pot.
Because of the god’s excessive powers of birth however, women who had trouble getting pregnant might pray to Xolotl for children. Xolotl sometimes liked to appear in two identical forms simultaneously, becoming his own twin.
A trickster himself, Xolotl was also the guardian of dwarfs and hunchbacks. These abnormal and intimidating people were coveted by rulers for courtly entertainers, and granted the rare privilege of giving unihibited and biting criticism. Like twins, they were endowed with powers of the spirit world, and could conduct the forces of chaos and inversion. Laughed with respectfully, dwarfs and hunchbacks were invited by the emperor to lend him advice on the serious matters of religion and national policy.
Xolotl was hideous, but happy. He was a shape-shifter, sometimes taking the form of a salamander, but his most natural form was a dog with big teeth and a broad tongue. Open sores ran on his tattered ears and deep furrows crossed his face. Dogs were loved by humans, but were also filthy and without morals. In human shape, Xolotl was completely deformed: His eyes dropped from their sockets and hung from his cheeks, his skin painted black, finger-like toes on backward-turned feet, twisted wrists---And yet this god was so often laughing and cavorting.
Xolotl was the patron of a courtly sport called tlachtli (TLAWCH-tlee), which in its finest was a solemn and sacred ritual.
This sport was played in the paved alley of a sunken ball court, formed by the walls of two elevated bleachers filled with spectators. At the center line stood a well, and two stone rings jutted from each side wall. The court, having been rededicated in a midnight ceremony, would be washed with blood before an important match. Teams of one to three would face off, and the rubber latex ball would be thrown into service. From then on, the use of hands or feet was illegal, players striking the ball with only the elbows, knees, or even the hips to send it bouncing into the end zones. The teams wore padded uniforms to protect them from injury or death. Spectators wagered their garments on the game, sometimes literally losing the shirt off their backs. On the very rare occasion that the ball passed through one of the narrow rings, the match was immediately won and the player was entitled to all of the mantles worn among the crowd, with inevitably sparked a stampede for the gates.
Tlachtli was overshadowed with religious significance. The cosmic ball court was hung in the night sky as the constellation we call Gemini. The ball itself was seen as the sun battling his nocturnal enemies of the underworld. The contest between players was thus much like the heroic escape of the sun from subterannean skies into the world above.
The captain of the losing team was beheaded, and his blood poured down the mid-court well into the bowels of the earth. His skull was then either spiked onto the ball court racks, or embedded inside one of the balls (thus giving it a hollow center) to be used in tomorrow’s game.
It was the link between the ball game and Mictlan that interested this god, for Xolotl was the emissary of the underworld. As a go-between from the land of death, Xolotl appeared as a walking skeleton draped in princely robes.
When a man passed away, he was said to have been wed to Tlaltecuhtli. His body was dressed in a suit of paper and a small bowl of water was placed beside him, as precious in Mictlan as it is on earth. A jade stone was placed in his mouth to symbolize the soul named the yolia, released from his heart to begin its wandering. A dog with red or yellow coloration which had been raised in the household was now killed and cremated with its master on the funeral pyre.
As we have seen, the destination of the soul depended not on one’s moral worth, but on the method of one’s death. Yet what happened to the soul not singled out for the House of the Sun, or tapped for Tlalocan? It was but a dismal future, for he was shortly whisked into the cold north and dropped into the jaws of hell. At the cremation services, the officiating priest would warn the passing soul, “You are arriving at the mysterious land of the unfleshed, a place whence you shall never return. No more shall you recall your time on earth, or the life and death of the orphans you leave behind.”
Peering through the gloomy shadows, the first thing that the soul beheld was a wide, swift river coursing through the abyss---a saline spring composed of mourner’s tears. On the far bank, he could now see the dog that had been offered at his funeral. This clever dog, recognizing his master, splashed into the water in order to ferry him across it. Clinging to the back of his little animal, the departed shade navigated the black and briny watercourse. It was Xolotl the Dog Monster that presided over this gateway from which no man returned, as they entered the “Home without a Chimney.” Yet it was here the god bade the passing soul farewell, for this was but the first of many trials in the underworld.
MICTLANTECUHTLI (MEEK-tlawn-TEH-coot-lee) was the god of death and lord of the underworld. He was the “Head-Down-Dropper,” for his latest vassals tumbled sprawling and kicking from their graves into Mictlan such a dark and misty realm of discontent a place of endless torment, both dreary and fearsome. Insects scuttled over the bones that scattered from these cavern walls, moist with mold and excrement. Through these lightless corridors scuttled flocks of quail, having been decapitated in the blood sacrifices of men. From the cobwebs and the cold stone corners glowed the molten yellow eyes of owls. These birds rose to earth in ponderous dignity, appearing as ill omens of death. (“Owl” in fact became a term of endearment for a loved one who had passed away.) Into this sink of putrefaction the dead shades made their lonesome way.
Once safely across the river of tears, the soul continued alone on foot. Now began a four-year odyssey through a dismal landscape, where painful obstacles were laid at every step. Descending gradually into this subterannean world, the departed soul discovered that his path continued through a gorge, set between two cliff faces high as mountains. To his amazement, the rock walls slowly rumbled apart from each other, sliding along the ground. Then, with no warning, the cliff faces crashed together with the booming of an earthquake. The soul had to time his sprint through this gauntlet with care, or be battered painfully between the clattering rocks. Souls, of course, cannot be destroyed by such physical means; these obstacles of river and rocks prevented the suffering ghosts from coming back from the dead to harm the living.
As he wandered, the spirit found that Mictlan was a helix of spiraling levels: After circling the realm, what was once the floor had risen to become the ceiling. Dropping further into hell, the soul passed through eight hills and eight deserts before reaching Knife Mountain. This black volcano was composed entirely from razor-sharp obsidian, over which the soul made gingerly progress. Here a great green dragon called the “Flowery Destiny” was said to dwell. Was this mysterious creature somehow linked to the ill-starred fate that brought the soul to this destination?
Dropping into the fourth plane below the earth, the soul entered a region of torment---The Obsidian Wind. A pereptual hurricane whipped across the bleak landscape, the icy winds biting flesh like so many whistling obsidian knives. To prepare for this, one had been cremated with the materials needed to cobble together a small shelter. Men leaned sword against shield and draped these with a cape, while women rigged up several stalks of cane, their baskets and fabrics sealing them in. Huddling beneath these rickety lean-tos, the weary found rest during their long months of pilgrimage.
Further below, the soul reached a place we know little about, only that the banners which symbolized a human sacrifice were flourished here. Somewhere through all of this, the nighttime sun made his dim and shriveled way through the netherworld skies. Having dropped into Mictlan at sunset, the tired sun was now escorted by the spirits of the underworld. These shades had but the worst of intentions for the sun, and he spent the night in battle with them, straining to reach the east and the world of life.
Once the beleaguered soul reached the seventh level of the underworld he was continually fired at by the spirits of death, who brandished their bows and arrows. These flinty spirits were rapacious as starving dogs or birds of carrion.
Coursing ever downwards, the path became rockier, until the spirit had to clamber over a narrow trail. These thorny crossings were haunted by the spirits of savage beasts, who kept a tooth whetted on human hearts.
At last, after four years of trials, the departed soul arrived before the throne room of the Lord and Lady of Mictlan. Stripped of all clothing, his journey was at an end: In the awesome presence of these masters the soul at last found eternal rest, dissolving into the misty void forever. Upon the earth, his loved ones now ceased to burn offerings for him---for there was nothing left.
1 The surface of the earth
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2 The Water Crossing
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3 Where Mountains Clash
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4 Knife Mountain
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5 Obsidian Wind
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6 Where Banners Are Flourished
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7 Where One Is Shot with Arrows
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8 Where Hearts Are Eaten
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9 The Place of the Dead
Mictlantecuhtli was terrifying: His skin was a sickly dark grey, and his long, black hair hung in dreadlocks. He wore a suit made of blood-speckled bones. Behind the giant skull he wore as a mask his eyes burned like cold stars, allowing him to see in the blackness. His collar was strung with eyeballs for beads, with the dangling talisman of a human heart. The god’s sweeping cape was of coarse paper, as was his conical headdress, from which an enormous white plume spiraled. Long earrings and a spray of owl feathers completed the morose wardrobe.
The Lady of Mictlan was his hideous consort. The mouth of her bare skull was frequently turned up, as if waiting for her deserts to drop. She would dance on the open jaws of the earth, as the shrouded cadavers began to tumble in.
Like many gods, these two needed physical nourishment. Instead of the coveted human heart, however, they were content with the putrid refuse others cast away: Fruit pits, spines, and briery thistles. Hands, feet, and the eyes torn from sinners were also added to their beetle stews, and infused with passed gas. All of this was washed down with a quaff of pus, drunk from the brain-pan of a skull.
The Mexicans were not afraid to die, perhaps because the thought of dying was so often on their minds. Even kings wore the skull and crossbones on their coronation robes. This worldly existence held no more reality to them than a shimmering dream.
We have seen so often how for one thing to eat and live, another must die. Yet though the precious essence of our blood will be transformed by the earth into so many new creations, our souls will find no such rebirth. A soul is a flimsy, insubstantial thing, dissolving under the gaze of Tezcatlipoca like dew and mist before the dawn. We were not modeled after the nature of gods, and they had no interest in redeeming us, for there is nothing special about the individual that could not be replaced by nature. As we were not worth preserving, so were we not worth punishing. Bleak as it was, Mictlan was merely the common home of beggars and kings.
This unglamorous destiny of the rulers was belied, however, in the grandeur of their funerals. After the death of an emperor the royal body continued to sit in state, attended by visiting kings who offered him gifts for use in his posthumous existence. Over four days he was costumed in turn as the first sons of the Divine Couple. Scores of jesters and concubines were sacrificed over a large drum, to serve their master during his journey in the next life. Contradicting all scripture, some rulers even insisted that they, like King Huemac, would simply retreat to a mountain cave after death, only to usher in a future golden age for their people one day. We can only wonder did the ruler honestly believe his princely status on earth could be carried into the afterlife?
The mists of Mictlan shroud so many mysteries: Why did the people confess their sins to Tlazolteotl if they were not to be punished for them? Did the priesthood really expect to find no finer reward for a lifetime of piety than the trials of Mictlan for themselves? Some Mexican philosophers argued that if we are ignorant of our destiny, why not make a heaven of this earthly life for as long as it lasts? To others, the world itself was hell, and happiness could only exist in the beyond. If not, all our suffering would have been in vain.
Will Mictlan be a place of endless sadness, the poets wondered, or shall we be joyfully reunited with the Giver of Life once more? Do flowers fall into the underworld when they die? And if our mother and father have gone before us, will we not see their faces again? Most enticingly, if the soul continues after death, is it not a new form of living after all? To this last question, the poets had a clear but painful answer: “Your heart knows the truth---We come to live upon this earth but once.”
The truth is that notwithstanding the darkest ponderings of poets or the brightest hopes of emperors Mictlan was the “Place of No Exits,” and none have ever returned to solve our mysteries.
THERE is a story told from long ago, back in the days when Motecuhzoma the Elder ruled as king of Mexico.
Hundreds of years had passed since the Mexicans had left their island home of Aztlan, and by now they were a very rich and successful kingdom. Now the ruler began to wonder about what had happened to those who had stayed behind, and if the goddess Coatlicue could still be found there. The king decided to find her, if he could, and send her presents. He called for his second-in-command, named Tlacaelel. This wise man warned the king that only sorcerers would be able to reach the long-lost island, for it was said to be shrouded in thorny rock roses, tangled vines, and lagoons thick with reed beds. Plus, although the people of Aztlan were their ancestors, Tlacaelel reminded the king that they could be as vicous as they could be delightful.
So Motecuhzoma summoned a party of sixty loyal sorcerers and loaded their packs with rich gifts that would befit a goddess: Precious jewels, the finest women’s clothing, chocolate and vanilla, and the largest, finest feathers he could find. Off they went to the north, a long, long way, until at last they reached the place where Aztlan was supposed to be, at a wall of woods too tangled for humans to pass. (One would have to pass through a realm of the spirit.)
The sorcerers now prepared to transform into animals which could navigate this thicket. They concocted the ointment for this magic spell, grinding up loathsome animals in their pots: vipers, spiders, scorpions and centipedes, even burnt flesh of the gila monster. Then they dropped in tobacco, hallucinogenic seeds, and lastly, black worms with poisonous hairs. They drew a circle in the dirt around themselves, and smeared this black paste all over their bodies. Now they were ready. Calling upon the gods, the sorcerers were suddenly transformed into birds and wildcats. Passing through the wood (and spirit world), they landed on the banks of Aztlan and were restored to human form.
What they saw was an island in the middle of a lake, at whose center rose a high hill. The first people the sorcerers met were a group of fishermen in their canoes. To their delight, they found they spoke the same language.
“How did you come to be in our land?” the fishers asked.
“Sir,” replied a sorcerer, “We come from the City of Mexico, sent by our lords in search of our ancestors.”
“Whom do you worship?”
“We worship the great Huitzilopochtli,” was the reassuring answer. “Our king has sent us with gifts to bring to Coatlicue.”
Pleased with this, the fishermen escorted the sorcerers by canoe to the hill where the goddess dwelled. At the foot of this, they found a little old man, who was the servant of Coatlicue. The fishermen politely told him about the sorcerers’ errand, and he replied, “It is good they have come.”
Stepping forward, one magician bowed before this man and said, “Revered elder, we are at your service, and will obey your every word.”
The old man then said, “Welcome, my children. But who has sent you here?”
“King Motecuhzoma, and his prime minister Tlacaelel,” was the answer.
The old man seemed confused. “Who are these men?” he asked. “No one by those names has ever lived in Aztlan.” He then went on to list the names of the leaders who had departed, way back when Huitzilopochtli led the great migration.
“But sir,” a wizard protested, “that was hundreds of years ago. We only know those names from the history books, but they have long since passed away.”
Now the old man was truly astonished. “My lord! What could have killed them? Everyone I know was here in Aztlan when those men left, and we are all still in perfect health. In that case, who are you who are living?”
The sorcerers explained that they were just the descendants of these historical figures. (It seemed that time did not pass in this land of the spirit the same as it did in the outside world.)
“Have you spoken with Huitzilopochtli himself?” the old man asked.
They admitted they hadn’t, and the old man was disappointed by this. “We want to know when Huitzilopochtli will return,” he explained. “When he left, he told his mother he would do so, and now poor Coatlicue spends each day in sorrow and loneliness, waiting for him.”
“Well, we have presents to bring her from the wealth her son enjoys, and his greetings.”
“In that case,” said the old man, “follow me.” And off he went up the mountain with such a quick, nimble step that the magicians could hardly keep up.
Halfway up the hill, the breathless sorcerers finally sank into the sand, first to their knees and then up to their waists, and could not move. The old man skipped back down to them and shook his head. “What have you been doing, Mexicans?” he asked. “How have you made yourselves so heavy? What is it you eat in your country?”
“We eat the palace food,” they admitted, “and drink cocoa.”
“These foods have made you heavy. They keep you from visiting the place of your fathers, and will drag you down to death.” Worldly nourishment cannot provide the strength or energy of the world of the spirit. “Now give me your baggage, and I will see if the lady of the house will see you now.” He scooped their heavy bags up onto his shoulder as if they were light as a feather, and with that, trotted on up the mountain.
The magicians were just struggling over the crest of the hill when suddenly Coatlicue appeared before them. The ancient goddess was dark and dusty, with a face that was terrifying to look on. Yet when she spoke, her voice was sweet and comforting. With a tear in her eye, she told the sorcerers, “It is good you have come, my children.”
Trembling with fear, one wizard spoke, “Great and powerful lady, our king sends kisses for your hands.” He went on to reassure Coatlicue that her son was “brave and strong, with a good head and a good heart.” He told her of the rise of the Mexicans from a poor tribe into a rich and powerful kingdom, of their gold and silver, their feathers and gems, and saying this, spread before her all the luxurious presents from the king and his lord, Huitzilopochtli. As Coatlicue looked at all the twinkling treasure at her feet, her response was quite a surprise.
“Is the clothing my son wears,” she asked, “the same as these fancy, feathered capes?”
“Oh yes, madam,” they assured her. “He wears the most exquisite of all garments, for he is the lord of us all!”
The goddess smiled sadly. “On one hand,” she began, “I am very happy for him. But he is a different son than when he left. As you have seen, my people are poor and simple folk. These riches you have brought, we do not use them here. Huitzilopochtli, as he left to lead you south, asked me for no more fineries than two pairs of humble sandals---one for the trip there, and one to come home in. Do not take these rich clothes back with you. Such fripperies, and the rich food you eat corrupts and rots you, ruins you, makes you old.” The world of the spirit values another sort of wealth.
Coatlicue sighed sadly as she thought of her son, and told the astonished sorcerers, “It is so difficult to be without him. I am like a penitent who is fasting for your cause. When Huitzilopochtli left, he told me: ‘My dear mother, I will be gone only as long as it takes to set my people in the throne that I have promised them. We will wage war against every village, city, and state, until they are all placed within my service. ‘However,’ he went on, ‘I prophesy that, one day, those I have subjected with my sword and shield will rise against me, turn me on my head and strike my weapons to the ground. I will my cities to strangers in the same order that I won them, and I will be expelled from this earth. Then, mother, I will return to your lap. Do not be sad.’
‘Congratulations,’ I told him. ‘But do not linger.’ I know he must have found happiness, for he has forgotten a lonely old mother. So tell him the years assigned him are drawing to a close, and it will be time for him to come home. To remind him of his origins, please give him this mantle and loincloth, of the sort he used to prefer.” With that, she handed the sorcerers the coarse and common clothing, made of maguey fibers.
Coatlicue escorted the wizards back to her elderly servant, who began to lead the way down the mountain. “Wait a minute,” called the goddess to the Mexicans, “and see how in this land no one grows old. Watch my servant!” The sorcerers turned to look, and it appeared that as the little man climbed lower and lower, the younger and younger he became, rejuventaing himself. “This is how we live here, my children,” boomed Coatlicue. “And this is how your ancestors lived.”
The power and splendor of the Aztec state are but one point on the cyclical journey that it must undergo. It will eventually crumble and return to its origins in the only way that return can be made---through death. But that power and splendor are ultimately insignificant. Only a material people could be nourished by material things. For a people whose nature is spiritual, such nourishment is destructive. In the place of myth, beings go on forever. In the human world they are contaminated with death.
The sorcerers were treated to a healthy, simple meal by the old man, and then transformed into the same animals as before, to take their leave. Touching down on the other side of the wood, the wizards were dismayed to find that only forty of their number had reappeared as human beings. Sorcery was a dangerous business, and whether the lost ones had been absorbed completely by their animal forms, or were simply eaten by other beasts, no one knows.
The sorcerers returned to the palace and told Motecuhzoma and Tlacaelel all that had happened and what Coatlicue told them. When they heard this, the two great lords wept---not for the future doom of Mexico, but because they wished so badly to see this mystical land of their ancestors.
THE ROSTER OF THE GODS
Ometeotl:
“God of Duality” Of whom all other gods are manifestations.
Ometecuhtli and Omecihuatl:
“Lord and Lady of Duality.” The creator couple who decide people’s fates.
Tezcatlipoca:
“Smoking Mirror.” Also called Titlacahuan- “We Are His Slaves.” God of destiny, the night sky, and transgression. Patron of kings, slaves, sorcerers.
-Tezcatlanextia:
“Mirror Which Illumines”: Tezcatlipoca’s other half of a duality, the clear day to his obscure night.
-Tepeyollotl:
“Heart of the Hill.” His alter ego as a jaguar, associated with the interior of the earth, rain, and fire.
-Piltzintecuhtli:
“Venerable Lord Prince.” The god of youth; the young sun as progenitor. Associated with corn.
-Itztli:
The deified flint knife, a calendar god.
-Huehuecoyotl:
“Old Coyote.” A clever trickster figure of pleasure, lust, and dance, unpredictable and mischievous. A patron of featherworkers, and a shaman. He had the body of a human and the head of a coyote.
-Chalchiuhtecolotl:
“Precious Owl.” God of night and blackness.
-Chalchiuhtotolin:
“Precious Turkey.” God of night and mystery.
-Ixquimilli:
“The Blindfolded One.” Blindfolded to express his impartiality. His blind star in the heavens moved backwards, and was an omen of war when it appeared. A god of punishment. A different form of Itzlacoliuhqui. (See below.)
-Tlamatzincatl: A young virginal god, living chastely in the woods, clad in deerskins and eating wild fruit and insects.
-Omacatl:
A sprit of revelry. The patron of invitations to feasts.
Quetzalcoatl:
“Plumed Serpent.” Culture, writing, the arts, priesthood.
-Ehecatl:
God of wind, and the breath of life.
-Topiltzin:
“Our Prince.” His human embodiment on earth amongst the Toltecs.
-Tlahuizcalpantecuhtli:
“Lord of the House of Dawn.” God of the morning star.
-Itztlacoliuhqui:
“Curved Obsidian.” God of frost, stone, coldness, and castigation. Related to Ixquimilli. (Thus, Tezcatlipoca and Quetzalcoatl seem to come full circle through their manifestations.)
Tlaloc:
“The One upon the Earth.” God of rain.
-Epcohua:
“Serpent of the Mother-of-Pearl.”
-The Tlaloque:
Minor rain spirits.
-Opochtli:
“Lefty.” Patron of the fishers and fowlers. He invented the fishing net, the atlatl, the trident, oars, ropes, and bird snares.
-Nappatecuhtli:
Patron of mat-making.
-Yauhqueme, Tomiauhtecuhtli:
Other important Tlaloque.
Huitzilopochtli:
“Southern Hummingbird.” The national god of the Aztecs. God of war and of the sun.
-Tlacahuepan:
“Man-Post,” sometimes called “Blue Sky.” His demonic younger brother, wearing a skull mask on the back of his head.
-Paynal:
“He who Hastens.” The messenger of Huitzilopochtli, representing his amazing speed.
-Tetzauhteotl:
“The Omen.” The guiding voice.
Coyolxauhqui:
“Bells on Her Cheeks.” Daughter of Coatlicue, killed by her brother Huitzilopochtli.
The Huitznahua:
“The four hundred Southerners.” Sons of Coatlicue, routed by their brother Huitzilopochtli.
Cuauhuitlicac:
A turncoat Huitznahua who defected to Huitzilopochtli’s side.
Huehueteotl:
“The Old Old God.” God of fire, time, centrality, and of age.
-Tlalxictentican:
“He Who Is at the Navel of the Earth.” God of centrality.
-Xiuhtecuhtli:
“Turquoise Lord.” God of fire, and of the year.
-Tozpan and Ihuitl:
Attendants on Xiuhtecuhtli.
-Cuezalin:
God of fire whilst working in the underworld.
The Xiuhcoatls:
Fire snakes, which appear as thunderbolts or sun rays.
Xipe Totec:
“Our Lord the Flayed One.” Fertility god of early spring. Patron of gold workers.
-Itztapaltotec:
“Our Lord the Flat Stone.” Xipe’s deified sacrificial stone.
Mictlantecuhtli:
“Lord of the Underworld.” God of death.
-Acolnahuacatl, Acolmiztli, Chalmecatl and Chalmecaci- huatl (f):
Deities of the underworld.
Mictlancihuatl:
“Lady of the Underworld.” Goddess of death.
Xolotl:
God of twins and freaks, patron of the ball game, and the dog who guided the souls of the dead on their journey to the underworld.
Tlaltecuhtli:
The earth monster/earth mother.
-Cipactli:
Aspect of earth monster seen as a colossal crocodile.
Tonantzin:
“Our Mother.” The great goddess.
-Toci:
“Our Grandmother.”
-Yaocihuatl:
“War Woman.” Patroness of discord and hostility.
-Yohualticitl:
“Midwife of the Night.” Goddess of childbirth.
-Teteo Innan:
“Mother of the Gods.”
-Tlazolteotl:
“Filth Goddess.” Goddess of sin, and of the consequences of lust and excess.
-Tlaelquani:
“Excrement Eater.” Patroness of the military prostitutes.
-Ixcuina:
Goddess of cotton. The spinner of the thread and weaver of the fabric of life. The patroness of adulterers.
-Coatlicue:
“Serpent Skirt”: Mother of Huitzilopochtli.
-Chimalma:
“Shield Hand.” A naked cave goddess of war and stars.
-Cihuacoatl:
“Serpent Woman.”
-Ilamatecuhtli:
“Leading Old Woman.” Earth goddess of the old, dried- up corn ear. Wore a two-faced mask, one on either side.
-Itzpapalotl:
“Knife Butterfly.”
-Malinalxochitl:
Huitzilopochtli’s sister. Goddess of witchcraft.
-Quilaztli:
“The Sprouter.” The towering protectress of the Chalmeca who maintains the precious maize erect in its mythic holy field. She appeared as an eagle or a woman
warrior. Patroness of the sweat bath.
Chantico-Cuaxolotl:
“Snake Monster.” Two-headed, to show the good and evil potentials of fire. Fire goddess. The goddess who lit the fire at theresurrection of the world. She wore a head scarf. Patroness of Xochimilco,metalworkers,goldsmiths, the hearth, and related to Mictlantecuhtli..
-Atlatonan:
An earth and water goddess.
-Mecitli:
“Grandma Maguey.” Born cradled in an agave leaf, and linked to water and the moon. An accomplice of Mixcoatl.
-Iztaccihuatl:
“White Woman.” Spirit of the snowy mountain east of the City, which presided as queen over all other mountains.
The Cihuateteo:
“The Divine Women.” Spirits of women who died in childbirth.
Apantecuhtli, Huictlolinqui, Tepanquizqui, Tlallamanac, Papaztac, and Tzontemoc:
“1-Lord on the Water,” “3-Who Comes Over in Place of Others,” Creator gods who consulted during the first creations.
Yappalliicue, Nochpalliicue, Tiacapan, Teico, Tlacoehua, and Xocoyotl:
“Black Skirt, Red Skirt, First Born, Younger Sister, Middle Child, Younger Daughter.” Creator goddesses who consulted during the first creations.
Oxomoco and Cipactonal:
Patron and patroness of divination. She was patroness of weaving. These two were the deified first human couple.
Nanahuatzin:
“Lord Venereal Disease.” God of skin disease. Son of Quetzalcoatl.
-Tonatiuh:
The sun.
-Yohualtecuhtli:
“Lord of the Night.” The sun while in the underworld, as a wrinkled and ominous being. Darkness, midnight, and cyclic completion. Would appear as a tzitzimime on doomsday.
-Tlalchitonatiuh:
A calendar deity hybrid of Tlaloc and Quetzalcoatl with the solar disk.
-Xiuhpilli:
An avatar of the sun much like Xochipilli.
Tecuciztecatl:
“Lord of the Conch.” A wealthy god who became the moon. Son of Tlaloc.
Mixcoatl:
Patron of the Chichimecs.
-Camaxtli:
Patron of techniques and tools for hunting. Sometimes seen as the lord of the east instead of Xipe Totec.
Cuauhtli’icohuauh, Cuetlachcihuatl, Tlotepetl, and Apantecuhtli:
“Eagle Serpent,” “Cuetlachtli Woman,” “Mountain Falcon,” and “Lord on the Water.” Friendly brothers and sister of Mixcoatl.
Mimixcoa:
The hostile countless brothers of Mixcoatl.
Chalchiuhtlicue:
“Jade Skirt.” Goddess of springs and fresh water. Consort of Tlaloc.
-Acuecueyotl:
“Waves.” Her aspect as imperious, [destructive] motion.
Matlalcueitl:
Goddess of rain. Said to be second wife of Tlaloc after Tezcatlipoca abducted Xochiquetzal.
Huixtocihuatl:
Goddess of salt and salt water.
The Cicinteteo:
All the gods of corn.
Xilonen:
Goddess of the youngest corn.
Cinteotl:
“Lord Maize.” God of maturing corn.
Chicomecoatl:
“Seven Serpent.” Goddess of sustenance and mature corn. Sister of Tlaloc.
-Chalchiuhcihuatl:
A goddess of the harvest.
Mayahuel:
“Powerful Flow.” Fertility goddess of maguey.
Patecatl:
God of maguey. He cured its fermenting juice to create pulque.
The Countless Rabbits:
Minor local gods of farming and drink.
-Ometochtli:
“Two Rabbit.” The most famous of the Rabbits.
-Tezcatzontecatl:
A pulque god.
Tepoztecatl:
God of alcoholic excess. Patron of Tepozotlan, a town known for its drinkers.
The Tzitzimime:
Female monsters of twilight.
Tlacatzinacantli:
The bat god, a spirit associated with night, blood sacrifice, and death.
Coatl Xoxouhqui:
Goddess of morning glory.
Xochiquetzal:
“Flower Feather.” Young, fertile, beautiful goddess of song, dance, artistry, weaving, sexual pleasure, and delight. Also, procreation, pregnancy, and childbirth.
Tezcacoac Ayopechtli:
Her aspect as a goddess of birth.
Chicomexochitl:
The male counterpart in duality to the goddess.
Xochipilli:
“Prince of Flowers.” A pleasure god, of youth, flowers, dancing, music, and games.
-The Ahuiateteo:
Five southern gods of the dangers of gambling, drink, and sex.
-Macuilxochitl:
“Five Flower.” God of gambling, feasting, and patolli.
-Macuilcuetzpalin:
“Five Lizard.”
-Macuilcozcacuauhtli:
“Five Vulture.”
-Macuiltochtli:
“Five Rabbit.”
-Macuilmalinalli:
“Five Grass.”
Ixtlilton:
“Little Black Face.” God of health and medical curing.
Yacatecuhtli:
“Lord of the Vanguard.” Patron of Merchants.
Coyotlinahual:
Patroness of feather-workers. They had an effigy beautifully adorned with gold and plumes. She ruled over a group of these gods.
Xiuhtlati:
A patroness of feather-workers.
Atlahua:
“The Spear Thrower.” Patron of fowlers on the lake.
Izquitecatl:
Patron of pulque makers. Discovered the process.
Tzapotlatenan:
Patroness of uxitl makers, an esteemed medicinal ointment. She cured ulcers or eruptions on the scalp.
Chiconahui Itzcuintli:
Patroness of the lapidaries. She wore a pair of red sandals with obsidian serpents on them.
Coltzin:
Patron of the Matlatzincas, in the province of Tuluca.
Coltic: The same god?
The twisted Tepanec god of war.
Haztacoatl:
“Crane Serpent.” Patron of Tzanaquatla in the province of Tlatlauhquitepec.
Matlalcuhetl:
“Blue Skirt.” Patron of Capulapa in the province of Tlatlauhquitepec.
Chalchiuhtotolin:
“Jade Turkey.”
Iztapaltotec:
The representative of the dead warriors who accompany the sun and who, converted into stars, descend each year to fertilize it. Thus related to the Morning Star.
The Calpulteteo:
Every barrio in Mexico City had its own little god, called a Calpulteotl.
