.
God Incarnate
.
Old Coyote took the girl who picked flowers
all the way down to Tamoanchan, and so
Ometeotl sent their four sons to earth
to generate, while in exile, the new world;
four suns fell, but the fifth sun’s still in motion.
Quetzalcoatl, who would one day found Tollan,
was charged with rebuilding the earth, along with
Tezcatlipoca, after the flood had caused
the roof of heaven to crack and crumble down.
They set out to find the monster cipactli,
for where her heart was would be the new center.
Walking west to the sea, Tezcatlipoca
plunged his foot in, to entice Tlaltecuhtli—
the eye-studded goddess of earth whose joints were
covered with mouths—to emerge from the waters;
she came up and bit off his foot, but he tore
her jaw so she couldn’t descend deep again.
Then both gods became two enormous serpents
that twined the beast, to separate her in two.
Out of her body they made the earth’s surface,
raising the sky from her heart and stationing
gods at the corners to hold up the heavens,
while the two gods themselves became two trees
that grew above all, rooting the roof of sky.
Then to make amends for the violence done 25
the goddess, they gave her gifts: they graced her hair
with plants and trees and flowers, her skin with grass
of prairies and meadows; her eyes were grottoes,
springs and pools now, her mouths hollow caverns,
and her nose became mountains and low valleys.
With that done, Ehecatl Quetzalcoatl
set out in search of the bones of the ancients
to recreate humankind. Down in a cave
he met the Lord of Death and asked for the bones.
Mictlantecuhtli posed a test: make music
with a solid conch shell. He took the challenge.
He asked earthworms to bore a hole in the shell
then got some bees to buzz around inside it.
So he won the bet and stole the bones from death.
But as he was escaping with the bundle of
male and female bones, a flock of quail
scared him and he fell down a hole in the ground
and lay there as if dead while the quail pecked
the scattered bundle of bones. When he revived,
his nahual (his spirit double) informed him
what to do. He bundled the bones back up and
took them to Tamoanchan where Quilaztli
Cihuacoatl ground them up in a tub
of fine earthen ware while Quetzalcoatl
drew blood from his penis to bless the mixture. 50
From that tub of bones and blood arose a race
of creatures with human faces and features
whose lives were owed to the penances of gods
who were born the day humans were created.
But these beings were hungry and had no food.
The gods all together, following the hint
of red ants hauling corn, entered a deep cave
in search of the source of sustenance mountain
and there they witnessed the sexual union
of Piltzintecuhtli and Xochiquetzal,
who soon after gave birth to Cinteotl,
the young god of the maize cob, who crawled beneath
the earth and from his hair grew cotton, his nose
grew sage, from his fingers camotli sprouted,
and from his fingernails flowered young maize.
And so his body grew all foods for humans,
of which their flesh is made, by which they flourish,
Tzinteotl, beloved ground of being.
And every eight years, when the four year bearers
had twice cycled round, he rose before the sun,
first light of the sky, first spark out of Mictlan,
and people hymned his birth, his royal return
from the same sky house as eight full years before
(the mirror for his eight day fall and rising).
But still the people felt no true happiness, 75
but sadness on the earth, great pain, great anguish,
and the gods grew tired of groans and wanted
people to sing and dance, to praise their goodness.
Ehecatl thought in his heart, “what liquor
could cause these people to sing, dance and rejoice?”
But his thoughts strayed to a virgin he once saw,
Mayahuel, who lived with her old grandmother,
an ugly old vicious crone, Cicimitl.
The god reached their house at night, found all asleep.
He woke the virgin and told her “Come with me.”
And so, with her on his shoulder, they arrived
at a place where they transformed into one tree,
his side weeping willow, her side bloomed flowers.
Her grandmother woke and found the girl gone
and called her cronies, hideous Cicime,
to help her recover the girl. They found
the tree, but Ehecatl’s branches were gone;
but still they broke the branches of the virgin,
chewed her limbs to pieces to punish her sin
then left them scattered like bones and went back home.
The god gathered up the virgin’s scattered bones
and buried them in the ground, from which arose
the maguey cactus from which the pulque milk
is made by which the people of the valley
made merry and found spirit to sing and dance. 100
In Teotihuacan, where men became gods,
the gods then gathered, to see who would be sun,
to bring the dawn, to light the world for all.
Tecciztecatl eagerly stepped forward
to take the position. Quetzalcoatl
then proposed his son, Nanahuatl, but he
demurred: “I’m poor and weak, unworthy to be
the lord of light. There are other, nobler gods.”
But, at last, he accepted the great honor.
Then Nanahuatl and Tecciztecatl
performed their penances. They fasted four days,
they heaped the holy stone brazier with fire.
The latter was decked with costly attire
and burned expensive copal on the brazier
and pierced his body with precious greenstone barbs;
the former had simple reeds to smear his blood,
drawn from his tongue with true maguey cactus spines,
upon a grass ball, made of dried pine needles,
and all he burned were scabs and pus as incense.
Then they mounted the pyramids at midnight
and burned their bloody penitential tools
and donned the costumes that turn men into gods.
Tecciztecatl wore a splendid headdress
made of heron feathers, but Nanahuatl
wore a paper headdress and paper clothing. 125
They danced at midnight round the holy fire
blazing in the hearth stone, the heart of the rite,
spirits swell to drum beats, flutes and conch shell tunes,
and the gods bid them both, “Fall into the flames!”
The former ran to leap in the fire but
balked when he reached it, felt its unbearable
heat intolerable stopped the lord in fear;
he turns around, retreats, then tries again and
again withdraws, recoils, exerts himself
twice more to no avail. Then the other
takes the chance to prevail, steels his heart,
casts out every fear in one sure strong resolve
and quickly plunges headlong in the fire.
Flames burn Nanahuatl’s body to the full.
After him Tecciztecatl joined the flames
after the blaze died down and smoke plumes billowed.
An eagle ascended bearing the new sun
away into the heavens, and a jaguar
jumped over the fire, becoming spotted
from the smoke and ashes, and carried away
the one who was to become the spotted moon.
And gradually the whole horizon began
to glow, faintly first, but soon intensely red
and the gods made bets on which side the new sun
would rise from. Some bet on east, and sure enough, 150
soon the bright young sun graced the east horizon.
But neither the sun nor, behind him, the new moon
would move; they simply sat on the horizon.
The gods were distressed and sent a messenger
to find out from the sun why he would not move.
The messenger inquired and the sun said:
“Because I require the blood of their reign,
their legitimacy must feed my fierce flames.”
The messenger returned, reported the news
and the gods vowed to die for new motion’s sake.
Ehecatl was chosen to fire-drill
upon the hearth stone the hearts of all the gods,
and toss their broken bodies down the stone steps
of both the pyramids, and so, from then on,
gods began to die in Teotihuacan.
(Because of this the ancient Mexicans said,
“He who has died, he becomes a god.” They’d say,
“He became a god there,” meaning that he died.)
Topiltzin Ce Acatl lived in this sun,
and ruled the famous city of Tollan,
the fabulous city where all arts flourished.
But Ce Acatl Quetzalcoatl was not
native to Tula, but son of the nomad
Mixcoatl, a warrior for the sun,
who raided the cities of men for fine souls 175
with whom to daily nourish the sun’s famine.
(The myths at this point are unfortunately
not the easiest to decipher because
our sources, in Spanish records, are garbled,
abbreviated, distorted and confused,
or lacking the pictures to which they refer.
Nevertheless, what’s left is still intriguing—
which claims to be true Tolteca history—
and so, with caution, I’ll return to telling.)
Mixcoatl was a great Chichimec hunter
from the northern country of desert highlands
whose hearty nomadic clans were greatly feared
by the settled peoples of the southern lands.
He was of his mother’s five special children,
born after the four hundred cloud-serpents were,
in the Place of Seven Caves, the year One Flint.
Such was the genealogy he fought with,
a savage tribal lord whose totemic god
was the blazing eyeball of the desert sun,
and who carried his patron in a bundle
of powerful sacred stones full of prestige
animated by a myth of origins.
Two cloud-serpent hunters, Xiuhnel and Mimich,
were hunting two deer, both bicephalous deer;
all day they pursued them in the heat of day 200
and at sunset they were tired and pitched camp.
By night the deer, which had become women, came
calling, “Where are you? Come to drink, come to eat.”
Xiuhnel, alone in his tent, called, “Come in here.”
So one came to him and gave him blood to drink
and lay down beside him, and suddenly she
threw him on his face and tore open his chest
to devour his heart, his flower of life.
But Mimich heard the call, and heard his brother
scream in horror as he died, and did not come.
Instead he spun his fire sticks and lit up
a blazing fire, and threw himself in it.
The woman pursued him into the fire
through the night until the following noon
then into the trunk of a barrel cactus
where he trapped her and shot her full of arrows,
and in that form she became Itzpapalotl,
Obsidian Butterfly, who blossomed flint
of five diverse shades, blue, white, yellow, red, black.
The white was wrapped into a holy bundle.
Armed with this white flint bundle, Mixcoatl
went and waged war in a place called Comallan
whose people sent food to appease him, and then
he waged war in Tecanma and Cocyama
where he leveled all the high village temples, 225
then came to Huehuetocan and to Pochtlan,
where he took food and conquered, resting his heart.
But when Mixcoatl came to Huitznahuac
the woman Chimalman came to confront him.
A priestess of the civilized lamenting
with her sisters as their city burned and bled
their fathers, mothers, families, and temples
ground down like corn, flowing with blood like water,
and she stood naked before this warrior
whose four arrows missed her as he shot them all,
for her eyes, her body, pierced his savage heart
and he would have her. As a sharp-eyed eagle
catches in his glance from on high a rabbit
unsuspecting below, though born under fear
of shadows crossing the ground as one does now
when the eagle shoots like a flint-tipped arrow
and fulfills the need foreseen in his sharp glance,
so now the warlord swept like wind through the house
and clutched the woman Chimalman in his grip
and forced her manfully on the temple steps.
Her body was a wound that soon gave true signs
that in it was ripening the warlord’s seed,
and when a full day-count had turned, her garden
was ready to give forth its fruit. For four days
she labored, then our Prince was born, on One Reed. 250
When he was born his mother died, and One Reed,
as he was called for the day of his birth and
the year of his birth—Ce Acatl as well—
was raised by Quilaztli and Cihuacoatl
through the next years Two Flint, Three House, Four Rabbit,
Five Reed, Six Flint, Seven House, and Eight Rabbit,
and in the year Nine Reed, when One Reed turned nine,
Topiltzin wished to know what happened to his
father, ever-absent and unknown to him;
father’s face, he was told, had flowered in death.
So Ce Acatl Quetzalcoatl set out
to wander the earth in search, to turn the sand
to bring the bones of his father into light.
Finding the bones, he dug them up, looked on them,
and sowed them in the temple of Quilaztli.
In the year Two Rabbit, Ce Acatl came
to Tollantzinco where he dwelt for four years
and built his house of fasting. From there he went
to Cuextlan in the east, where he built a bridge
of stone (still there, they say) across the waters.
In the year Five House the Toltecs came and asked
Ce Acatl to be their ruler in Tollan.
There he installed his throne and became their priest.
There in the year Two Reed he built his palace,
his fourfold houses of penances and prayer, 275
his turquoise, coral, white-shell, quetzal-feather
houses where he prayed, did penance, and kept fasts.
At midnight he went down to the water’s edge
and sewed his greenstone spines through his flesh and bled
his blood upon a bed of quetzal feathers,
and burned copal incense mixed with his substance.
Up to the heights of Huitzco and Xicocotl,
he prayed, upon the hill of Nonohualco,
he sought the depths of hidden divinity
beyond the fatal play of dualities
chanting the many names that amount to the
same so long as they serve to silence the mind.
He had his father’s heart, red and full of fire,
but his blue-green eyes he had from his mother,
those deep lunar caves of liquid consciousness
that tempered, fed his heart with flowers and songs
and shed tears like rain of compassion for things
so prone to catastrophe and suffering.
His father’s force, his mother’s authority,
with one he ruled himself, with the other
he guided his Toltecs like wind a herd of
deer will scent and follow through a marsh of reed.
His guidance first brought the windfall of great wealth,
of jade and greenstone, turquoise, gold and coral,
white-shell and many colors of obsidian, 300
conchs from both the coasts, fishes of all species,
fine feathers of all the birds beneath the sun,
the quetzal, cotinga, roseate spoonbill,
the troupial, the trogon and the heron,
pink flamingos from Florida or Cuba,
birds of beautiful song, parrots who could talk
brought all the way from Mayan Costa Rica.
His traders traded seed and song and story
for turquoise and for slaves from northern pueblos
whose people knew them by their flutes and backpacks
full of strange surprises from the fabled south;
they painted glyphs of them on canyon cave walls
and prayed for their arrival when the spring came.
Cacao of many colors and of cotton
grew that way upon the branch; no need for dye
before weavers could spin all colors of thread
then weave abundant rainbow-patterned blankets.
Squashes grew huge and perfectly round, and maize
had ears the size of grindstones, long as deer horns,
and amaranths so large that one could climb them.
All food heaped in abundance like a mountain.
From the hill called Tzatzitepetl criers
stood and called down orders clearly heard by all,
and from every corner of the land they flocked
to hear and learn the laws Quetzalcoatl made. 325
For he himself never appeared before them,
but dwelt deep within his palace protected
by counselors and bodyguards and keepers,
seated upon his three mats of authority,
and heralds held his ear and did his bidding,
they heard each word well and retold them to
whomever it was he willed that they should hear.
Often, they say, Owl sorcerers in vain
sought to humiliate Prince Quetzalcoatl
who only sacrificed birds, butterflies, snakes,
they tried to tempt him into sacrificing
humans to the gods, to tear people’s hearts out
and drill in them the annual new fires
and toss their bodies down the pyramid steps
and tease out prophecies from how they landed.
But he refused and drove them from his presence
for greatly did he love his common people,
his Toltecs, brilliant masters of arts and crafts.
He would not sacrifice them to any god,
but rather he bid them magnify the gods
with true architecture and subtle sculpture,
with his holy temple of serpent columns,
in painting and writing the red and the black,
in murals depicting creation’s bounty
uniting real things to form equations 350
that honed the mind to focus on ideals.
Prince One Reed Quetzalcoatl synchronized
the seasonal and sacred calendar rounds,
the dual differential gear of day signs
that coordinates the cycle of the solar
circuit round the houses of the cosmic tree
with the course of the Lord of the House of Dawn,
and assigns to each human soul its tonal,
the fire that drives each heart to its own fate.
No day arrived too early, and none too late.
And when the eighteen months, each of twenty days,
was counting thirteen for the twenty-eighth time
and all the days the year of seasons would allow
had risen to their zenith and descended,
they’d fast five days, relight fires, begin again.
The crisis of the seasons had passed again
and feasting and processions were in order.
Beans cooked with red chiles filled hot tamales
which all, both poor and rich, partake of freely,
and around the square of temples wind parades
of celebrants drunk on spirit and pulque.
But the prince and his inner circle stay in
the palace court and discourse on the world
and its affairs. His generals propose wars,
which border tribes deserve retaliation, 375
which refused to offer tribute to his throne.
His traders report on their explorations
into unknown lands, off the edges of maps.
When such temporal affairs had been settled
the wise prince consulted with his star readers
till he was at ease, then called for attendants
to pour and pass brimming bowls of chocolate
to stimulate the flowers of fine discourse.
Then Ce Acatl spoke to his fellow priests
and told his noble friends his wealth of wisdom:
“There grows in Tamoanchan a mighty tree
whose roots reach Tlalocan, the cold dark nether
regions; its canopy spreads all the way up
out into Omeyocan, where two are one,
beyond and above the nine spheres of heaven.
It was there that Huehuecoyotl seduced
Xochiquetzal, wife of Piltzintecuhtli,
who broke the branch that blossomed flowers and bled,
so that with sex, death first entered our world.
In its branches nest bird-souls of dead rulers.
Around its roots is a cloud of cold, wet mist.
It has two trunks like snakes twining each other.
Within each trunk flows a vital energy,
for heat and cold cross paths there and mix, so that
fire’s hot light contends with cold dark water. 400
Their fight creates our world of wheeling time,
of daily changing destinies, of the dry
and rainy seasons, of that great tree of sky
that spins its hanging branches above the earth.
Below, in Tlalocan, is the house of Death
where fall the seeds of souls once their life resolves.
But here between, in Tlalticpac, is it not
here that we face the light and speak our minds?
But we, my lords, can’t fulfill all our wishes,
nor can we rest safe on even what we see.
When they will the gods, whose lowly slaves we are,
thrust up a mountain, or knock down a mountain,
they flood our fields, or parch and blight our crops,
or shake the earth and crack new craggy caverns,
and who are we to protest, what can we do?
Only make better this life for each other,
shore up our losses, store food for the people—
isn’t this true worship of the gods on high?”
His counselors, as they will, approved his speech
and offered in turn minor variations
on this or that thread of themes he had sounded.
Some draw examples, some expand the moral.
So passed the years of peace and stability.
But in the year Eleven Flint the Owl
sorcerers gathered round like dogs, like vultures 425
to contrive a plan to oust the prince and tear
the body of his empire into shreds.
Some suggested brewing powerful pulque
and drugging him into corruption and shame
so that his priestly authority would fall.
Then Tezcatlipoca rose like smoke and said:
“I say that we should show him his own body.”
With a cackle of laughs all approved this plan.
So he went with a double-sided mirror
of smooth black obsidian, small, wrapped in cloth,
to the palace of Prince One Reed of Tollan
and announced himself to the palace porters.
By now the year Twelve House had lit new fires
when he was allowed to enter in disguise
having intrigued the prince with his dark riddle
about his body that he himself must see.
“What is this thing you call my body?” he asked,
and Tezcatlipoca unwrapped his mirror
and handed it to the prince saying, “Look there,
your body which is so loved will appear there.”
Quetzalcoatl took it and beheld himself,
squinting, studying the strange apparition,
until, in a flash of recognition, shock
flooded his heart and horror overcame him.
Like a thorn, like a spine, like a biting wind, 450
it cut his heart, it tore, it severed his heart,
to see his face so old, his great beard so grey.
His eyelids were swollen, his blue eyes sunken
deep in their sockets, his face was all furrowed
and spotted like a large mottled jaguar pelt.
He saw a monster mirrored back at himself
and declared, “If my subjects ever saw me
they would flee for sure. They must never see me.”
The stranger withdrew, left the prince in anguish,
but sent his double in, Coyotlinahual,
a fine craftsman of feather, turquoise, and jade
who bowed before the prince and offered his gifts.
“Permit me to array and prepare you, prince,
to appear in splendor before the people.
I can make a mask and costume to transform
you into what they revere: the gods above.”
The prince was intrigued and ordered the costume.
So Coyotlinahual undertook the work.
First he had quetzal-bird tail-feathers brought
which he worked into a network he had wrought
of fine-spun cotton thread, adding beads of jade
to dazzle when sunlight caught on their facets,
and this became the prince’s feathered headdress.
Then he carved a mask of stone and laid in it
a mosaic of squares of red and green stone 475
with white quartz eyes and obsidian pupils.
Next he painted red the mouth and yellow stripes
upon the face, then inserted serpent teeth
into a beak covered with spoonbill feathers;
this second face grew from the chin of the mask.
When the work was perfected and beautiful
Coyotlinahual displayed it to the prince,
and with permission arrayed him in the mask,
adorned him with the headdress, then handed him
the mirror so he could see himself disguised
by the brilliance of the artist’s handiwork.
When Ce Acatl saw Quetzalcoatl
he was very pleased with himself and forgot
his former sorrow for his aging body.
The aging prince then began to show himself
in the mask of Coyotlinahual atop
his temple pyramid before the people
as their god he presented himself to all.
So the year of Twelve House went by in Tollan.
During the prince’s season of renewed joy
the sorcerers schemed the next step in their plan.
Out in the countryside they cooked up a stew
of tomatoes, chiles, green corn and red beans
then harvested maguey and boiled a brew
to make four-day pulque, a stout cactus beer 500
mixed with, to sweeten it, wild honeycomb.
Then they returned with the fruits of their labors
to Tollan when Thirteen Rabbit had come round
requesting the prince’s presence, to offer
him presents from his bountiful countryside.
He bid they be brought before him and greeted
and he accepted a bowl of their chili.
He enjoyed it very much, but it was hot,
and they, disguised as humble country farmers
simply desiring to please their great ruler,
offered him pulque to cool his mouth down.
“Isn’t it fatally intoxicating?”
the inexperienced ruler asked his guests.
“Oh no, just taste it with one of your fingers,
your majesty, it is indeed strong and fresh.”
He dipped his index finger and licked the milk,
and liked it, and said “Let me drink but three sips.”
“No, you must drink four!” they said, so he drank four.
“A fifth, a libation to you!” He drank some more.
So he drank, and they passed it around to all
his counselors, priests, advisors and heralds,
all drank five drinks till they got completely drunk.
And one of them, Ihuimecatl, piped up
and spoke, “My Prince, may it please your grace to sing
a holy song to honor you,” and he sang, 525
“My house of quetzal, my house of troupial,
my house of turquoise, my house of coral shell,
soon, oh soon, for my carelessness, I must leave!”
And the prince was drunk and full of joy and heard
the song of his shame but reveled just the same,
for all his life he’d known pain and affliction
and all of a sudden life’s burden lifted
and he understood his condition fully.
A deep joy welled up and burst out into tears
and the aging king, with watery eyes, spoke:
“My friends, is it true one really lives on earth?
Not forever here, only awhile here.
Even jade crumbles, even gold wears away,
even quetzal plumes eventually decay.
Only a while, not forever on earth.
“I grasp the secret, my lords, the hidden: so
it is, we are but men, must go away, die.
Like a fresco of red, we will be erased.
Like a flower, our petals, our hearts will dry.
“Is it true that we really live here on earth?
We come here only to sleep, only to dream.
Our hearts bloom for a season, and blossom buds
but wither when the seething summer winds blow.
Is it only here we come to know faces?
Or will we hear our friends’ voices there as well? 550
“I am drunk and I weep, I grieve and I think,
I speak within myself and discover this:
indeed I shall never die, indeed I shall
never disappear. Where there is no death,
there where death is overcome, let me go there.
“Where is it we go where death does not exist?
Should I live weeping? May your heart find its way.
Here no one lives forever; princes must die,
people turn to ash. May your heart find its way.”
His words moved his counselors, sorcerers too,
and all stood silent, some wept in sympathy,
others hung their heads, ashamed in their knowledge.
Just then the sorcerers’ plans may have foundered
had the lord of illusion not been with them.
Tezcatlipoca, who is he, what power
does he possess? All is smoke and dark mirrors
with him, the deceptions of fortune and change,
the elation of ball games, taking chances,
he whose slaves we are who dare to know who owns
the here and now.
Who is Quetzalcoatl?
a hybrid spirit, a flying bird-serpent,
a mediator between spheres of being,
a king of the arts, a priest of penances,
a Christ, but one in being with a Caesar.
The two as one express all poles of conflict. 575
Just then Tezcatlipoca winked knowingly
and put to death this moment of clarity.
As though it had been torn from the page of time
the scene went on as though the fatal knowledge
had not become so explicit beautifully
in the mouth, off the tongue of the falling king.
Drunk, still turning new thoughts in his head, he said:
“Bring my sister, Quetzalpetatl, down to me,
down from her mountainside austerities
into my palace so she can drink pulque,
this milk white liquor that has turned my mourning
into gladness again. She should drink with me
and we will rejoice together all night long,
all night long we’ll rejoice and lie together.”
His heralds went up Nonohualco and called
Quetzalpetatl, “Noble lady of fasts,
your brother the High Priest Quetzalcoatl
awaits you in his palace. Will you join him?”
She consented and came and sat down beside
her brother and drank five servings of pulque.
The seducers sang another song to her:
“O Quetzalpetatl, my sister, where now
will you live? Let’s drink now until we are drunk!”
The priest and his sister, the lady of fasts,
stayed together all night long. Now no longer 600
did their prayers and penances reach the heavens,
no longer did they go down to the waters
at midnight nor perform sacraments at dawn
but when the sun rose they were filled with anguish,
and hollow their hearts, hearts orphaned in remorse.
He asked his day counters what tonal had come.
They told him the day’s power was Ten Serpent.
Quetzalpetatl fled to the hills in shame
where she was transformed into a yellow moth.
“I’m doomed! A wretched fool!” Ce Acatl groaned,
“No longer will the day signs be counted here,
here in my house! Let it happen, let it be!
With this body of earth, who can be but base,
miserable and afflicted? All that’s precious
is no more! I return to sober virtue.
Ah mother, who formed me and shaped me, mother!”
His heralds wept in sadness and raised a chant:
“He gave us a life of abundant riches,
He who is our Prince, Lord Quetzalcoatl.
Lost your headdress, the tree, broken and bleeding.
Let us behold him now and weep as we see.”
“I will go away, abandon the city.
Have prepared for me a stone sarcophagus.”
It was done, and on the day Eleven Death
Quetzalcoatl hid himself within it. 625
For four days he lay there without food or drink
and at sunset on One Water he became
sick unto death. “It is time for me to go,”
he said upon rising. “Hide all my riches,
my jewels in the springs, my jade in the hills.”
So it was done, and at sundown on Two Dog
Prince One Reed departed from his home Tollan.
The arrows of fate had struck him from the sky
and by the day Five Reed he was fully gone.
In Mesoamerica the full orbit
of an entire era could be figured
in the life-course of an individual
being; which is another way to say that
ontogeny rehearses phylogeny.
So as, long ago, the extinct sauropsids
diverged in two distinct, surprising branches—
one, bereft of limbs, slithers along the soil
and coils, like ivy, limbs and trunks of trees
camouflaged, its forked tongue tastes its way along;
the other, plumed by rituals of courtship
found a surprising emergent property:
a feathered wing was perfect for sky flying;
so birds were born, incredible soaring saurs.
Quetzalcoatlus N. once flew in Texas,
a huge pterosaur with forty foot wingspan 650
that lived and died in the late Mesozoic
seventy-five million years ago, they say.
So the human being, in its rise to life,
embeds the brains of both the bird and serpent
in its own neo-cortical blossoming.
The spinal chord buds at the snaky brain stem
which nests in the limbic ring of gut instincts,
above which fans the wings of the human brain,
our cross-wired hemispheres that soar in thought.
I have, in dreams of lucid elation, flown
high over sea shores, above rocky cliff lines
where waves surge in unison, cracking the crags,
and crosswinds catch my pinions and I swoop down
and skim the seething surface of the sea foam,
and before I wake I’ve felt the joy of flight,
grounded imagination raptured by night.
Topiltzin Ce Acatl, like a broken reed
departs for the east from beloved Tula
a bird in flight he seeks the salty sea mist,
his eyes are thunder clouds, his hot tears are rain.
Just as when later Nezahualcoyotl
fled his Texcoco and the persecution
of his rival, Lord of Azcapotzalco,
usurper and the slayer of his father;
a marvelous maker of flower-and-song 675
who scattered precious jades of soulful longing
in a time inauspicious for wisdom’s depth;
Itzcoatl, his ally in Tenochtitlan,
was burning books and reworking history
to align with novel lies of sovereignty.
Aztec nomads became heirs of Toltec states.
So now in Tollan Tezcatlipoca reigned
and instituted human sacrifices
as the fundamental way to please the gods,
feed the hungry sun on human hearts and blood
and so cement an empire with terror.
But Quetzalcoatl, the broken ruler
sought Tlillan, Tlapallan, the Red and Black Land,
the land where in wisdom the heart finds its way.
They say on his wandering way he left signs
like the tree at Cuauhtitlan at which he threw
stones that are still embedded in the tree’s bark;
at another place he shot one ceiba tree
through another so it stands there like a cross;
some say he built a ballcourt in their village,
others that he named their surrounding mountains;
some tell how he changed cacao trees to mesquite,
others how his tear drops drilled holes into stones.
In all the villages he passed they tell of
marvelous exploits of Quetzalcoatl, 700
proofs of his power and care for all people.
But nowhere did his heart stop and find its rest.
From a hilltop he caught a glimpse of Tula
and sat down on a rock to rest and look back
on his life and city. He sighed deep inside
and spoke a prophecy that welled up within:
“Tula, oh Tula, nothing stays in its place,
all things in this life are subject to decay;
only scraps remain of your former greatness
and I am powerless to stop your downfall.
I see another city rising in your
shadow, upon the waters of Texcoco.
Today it is a village but tomorrow
its size and strength will rival all your glory.
Its granaries will give birth to great harvests
and its tribute wealth will pour in from all four
quarters of the world as to its center.
For a time they will seem unsurpassable,
unassailable in their right to rule.
But every sun that rises just as surely
sets and every dawn is balanced by twilight.
A day shall come when earthquakes shake the country,
a fatal new plague will sweep away millions
for your healers will not know how to cure it,
and death and despair shall rule everywhere. 725
It makes me grieve; I am not pleased to see it,
for I, it’s me who comes to sack your city,
to wreak the havoc that shall wreck your world,
come back from the eastern sea where I go now
when another year One Reed falls into place;
disguised as a glittering green-faced fighter
speaking a strange tongue, riding a frightful beast,
I’ll enter your great city demanding gold,
your lordly speakers will be stricken speechless,
and on a day Five Serpent the city burns.
Your warriors will die violently by sword
confused by strange new rituals of warfare
of soldiers who ignore your rites of battle
by which your eagle-jaguars reach their heaven.
But they’ll have their own heaven to send you to,
and their own gods to which you will have to bow
or else they’ll send your souls quickly to their hell.
And I see your city rise again, beneath
a bright new sun mirrored by a smoking moon
and many new deaths and agonies of birth,
and in your sufferings the world will see
its aging image reflected and they’ll grieve.
These things shall be when the eagle of the east
sails over the sea and sinks its talons
into the native serpent sunning itself 750
on top of a flowering barrel cactus;
under this sign the new world will be born.”
So he spoke, then stood up to be on his way,
and where the palms of his hands had pressed the stone
were prints as though in mud, such was his distress
as he traced the future of the valley floor,
and they are there today, at Temacpalco.
Quetzalcoatl continued toward the east
until he reached the beach and heard the sea cry,
the heart’s silence in the roar and surge of waves
breaking on the shore. A warm west wind blew in
out of the gulf where sea and sky merge in one
like life and death, the breath draws in to pass on.
He stood there, held his breath and heard his heart beat.
He wept as wind washed salt and sand in his eyes.
He donned his headdress of blue-green quetzal plumes,
put on his death mask of turquoise mosaic
and mounted a bonfire heaped up on the shore.
He sat cross-legged silently facing east
on his pyre, his flesh lit up like a star,
offering himself up, focused on the flames,
steeling his consciousness against the heat
searing the dross of mortality to ash
when, beyond belief, they say from the flames rose
a thousand birds of bright beautiful colors, 775
roseate spoonbills, trogons and cotingas,
white cranes, herons, flamingos pink as coral,
keel-billed toucans, scarlet macaws, caciques,
canaries, currasows and chachalacas,
green parakeets and parrots, aracaris,
the piculet, the motmot and pionus,
tanagers, jacanas, dancing manakins
whose males shiver and flip in choral troupes
competing with other choruses to win
the chance for their ring leader to procreate
while the rest simply cede their right and wait,
sometimes for as long as eighteen years, to mate.
At last the pyre reached its consummation
and consumed his heart from which the quetzal bird
rose into heaven, streaming its blue tail,
it reached the sky within the sky in the east
across the sea to become the Lord of Dawn
who rises and shoots his arrows at the sun
urging him to come forth with each day’s tonal,
a sign that seeds sown in death dawn to new life.
Thus were completed all the days of One Reed
in the year, in the trecenta, on the day
Ce Acatl, under three signs of One Reed,
thirteen days shy of fifty-two years of age,
one hundred days after he left his Tollan. 800
——————–
(BOOK FOUR: Woe is Man)
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