| We support the goals of Sonrisas Yucatan, a new civil association in Merida working to "help those who have forgotten to smile" Click on the logo above to visit their web site. |
| Photo Galleries |
| With your generous support as Sponsors, each of the entries here will have its own full page within our new design! Your town, your traditions can have full coverage, with great descriptive writing, beautiful photographs, and helpful facts about the area. Please see our NEWEST Sponsored page, courtesy of the generous support of Chihuahua Tourism. Are you a travel agent considering the "Routes of Mexico?" An independent traveler, perhaps? You can easily add any of these wonderful experiences in your trip to Mexico. Every festival entry is carefully tagged, enabling the search function we are now developing to sort it by type, by date, by city, by town or village, by distance from where you'll be, and by your own specific interest! |
The Last Kings: Stories from Yucatan
click for full-screen slideshow
With both hands, high priest Ildelfonso Ake Cocom raises the
gourd of sacred baalche mixture to the skies one last time, sweat
beading his brow as he calls out a closing plea to the gods in the
full, rounded phrases that characterize spoken Maya.
Perched on a stone platform below his uplifted arms is a table
with the elements of the saka purification ceremony: a cloth
painted with ideograms, candles in black, yellow, red, green,
representing the Mayan world's four cardinal directions, a hand-
made box of sacred herbs, four stout tobacco cigarettes, to
smoke out bad spirits, deer antlers, bone rattles decorated with
feathers.
Save for rhythmic taps on a hollowed-out wooden drum, little
disturbs the silence of Mayapan, this great ruined city ringed by
the low green forest of the Yucatecan plain. Using a whisk of new
siip-che leaves, and pure water, he blesses fellow priest Jorge
Coronado Arceo, then all the participants, and with a mellifluous
blast on the caracol, a rosy-pink conch shell from deep in the
sea, the ritual is over, the sun glancing down hard as ever.
The last kings of this region were named Cocom, and shaman
Ildefonso Ake Cocom is their direct descendant. For several
hundred years, Mayapan, or “standard of the Maya” was Yucatan's
cultural capital, and a proud one, with a large, vibrant population
who claimed that Kukulcan himself (the Mayan name for demigod
Quetzalcoatl) had founded their city.
In addition to being skilled astrologers, mathematicians, and
engineers, the Maya were profoundly spiritual people,
subscribers to a unique set of beliefs about the world. Describing
their complex pantheon as religion or philosophy would be
equally fair, as demons and angels, disasters and bounty all had
their explanation tethered to a well-defined, sacred balance with
Mother Earth.
Faith was an ordinary and an all-encompassing matter – a village
priest was called simply jmen or “practitioner” - a king would have
been chief arbiter but also an active priest, interpreting signs,
representing the deities in rituals.
But the Maya were also fiercely territorial warriors, and listening to
the hum of dragonflies in the slight breeze, it is easy to imagine
the shock when, returning from a journey, a lone royal family
member came upon the still-smoking city, devastated in a raid by
a more powerful kingdom near Chichen-Itza.
Vowing never to return, the survivors melted away into the
countryside. By splitting up into small groups, the Cocom family
ensured its bloodline, but ended, suddenly, the glory of what was
clearly a kingdom of greatness.
Here in the heat of mid-day, with the brilliant yellow of the lluvia de
oro (golden shower) trees all around, these stories don't seem
like history. Though no one but the most learned scholars can
read Maya, it is still spoken widely, and there is a feeling that in re-
discovering the achievements of this culture, that there will
always something more to the mystery of their collapse.
It is a common question to ask: what happened to the Maya?
How could such an accomplished civilization just disappear?
But ask priest and musician Alfonso Ake Conte, though, who is
leaning up against the cool rocks of a pyramid after the
ceremony, and his answer is beautifully simple: “We never left...”
Jay Dunn,
October 17, 2010
Mayapan, Yucatan
click for full-screen slideshow
With both hands, high priest Ildelfonso Ake Cocom raises the
gourd of sacred baalche mixture to the skies one last time, sweat
beading his brow as he calls out a closing plea to the gods in the
full, rounded phrases that characterize spoken Maya.
Perched on a stone platform below his uplifted arms is a table
with the elements of the saka purification ceremony: a cloth
painted with ideograms, candles in black, yellow, red, green,
representing the Mayan world's four cardinal directions, a hand-
made box of sacred herbs, four stout tobacco cigarettes, to
smoke out bad spirits, deer antlers, bone rattles decorated with
feathers.
Save for rhythmic taps on a hollowed-out wooden drum, little
disturbs the silence of Mayapan, this great ruined city ringed by
the low green forest of the Yucatecan plain. Using a whisk of new
siip-che leaves, and pure water, he blesses fellow priest Jorge
Coronado Arceo, then all the participants, and with a mellifluous
blast on the caracol, a rosy-pink conch shell from deep in the
sea, the ritual is over, the sun glancing down hard as ever.
The last kings of this region were named Cocom, and shaman
Ildefonso Ake Cocom is their direct descendant. For several
hundred years, Mayapan, or “standard of the Maya” was Yucatan's
cultural capital, and a proud one, with a large, vibrant population
who claimed that Kukulcan himself (the Mayan name for demigod
Quetzalcoatl) had founded their city.
In addition to being skilled astrologers, mathematicians, and
engineers, the Maya were profoundly spiritual people,
subscribers to a unique set of beliefs about the world. Describing
their complex pantheon as religion or philosophy would be
equally fair, as demons and angels, disasters and bounty all had
their explanation tethered to a well-defined, sacred balance with
Mother Earth.
Faith was an ordinary and an all-encompassing matter – a village
priest was called simply jmen or “practitioner” - a king would have
been chief arbiter but also an active priest, interpreting signs,
representing the deities in rituals.
But the Maya were also fiercely territorial warriors, and listening to
the hum of dragonflies in the slight breeze, it is easy to imagine
the shock when, returning from a journey, a lone royal family
member came upon the still-smoking city, devastated in a raid by
a more powerful kingdom near Chichen-Itza.
Vowing never to return, the survivors melted away into the
countryside. By splitting up into small groups, the Cocom family
ensured its bloodline, but ended, suddenly, the glory of what was
clearly a kingdom of greatness.
Here in the heat of mid-day, with the brilliant yellow of the lluvia de
oro (golden shower) trees all around, these stories don't seem
like history. Though no one but the most learned scholars can
read Maya, it is still spoken widely, and there is a feeling that in re-
discovering the achievements of this culture, that there will
always something more to the mystery of their collapse.
It is a common question to ask: what happened to the Maya?
How could such an accomplished civilization just disappear?
But ask priest and musician Alfonso Ake Conte, though, who is
leaning up against the cool rocks of a pyramid after the
ceremony, and his answer is beautifully simple: “We never left...”
Jay Dunn,
October 17, 2010
Mayapan, Yucatan
We're building an easy new way for
tourists and travel agents to add
authentic experiences to their trips...
Mexico is a fascinating blend of indigenous
tradition and colonial influence. There are
hundreds of ceremonies, religious rites,
and ethnic rituals yearly.
How can you know what all the options are?
It's simple! We start with chronological
order: a listing of every festival, with
award-winning photographs, informative
essays, and helpful facts about the area.
But here's the best part: just type in your
travel dates, then narrow your search by
the region you'll be visiting, by state, by city,
by village, or by distance from your location.
The patented SORT functions we're
developing will find lots of colorful
celebrations you might not know about!
Have a specific cultural interest, like
textiles, or traditional music? Just select
what you're interested in, and let us help
you make informed decisions about
making the most of Mexico!
This material is copyrighted Jay Dunn 2012, as is all associated content on www.mexicoculturalcalendar.com |
| Yucatan |
The Black Christ of Izamal
Izamal is a place of exemplary balance, due in many ways to
the mending of hearts that continues within its yellow walls
today. For it is here, not far from where I write, that the great
pilgrimage shrine to Itzam-Na, the Mayan god of healing, was
built. It is also here, in 1553, that the invading Spanish forced
the Mayans to take it apart, stone by stone, to fashion the
church of San Antonio de Padua.
Healing comes in many forms, with forgiveness at its
foundation. Itzam-Na and the sun god Kinich Kak Mo must
have forgiven this and more, for it was also in Izamal that Friar
Diego de Landa burned all the Mayan texts he could find, then
spent the rest of his life regretting his actions.
It is surely a result of this turbulence, that a spiritual
reconciliation of sorts has taken place – there is, in this
somewhat sleepy town, an abiding peace, and a strange
energy, the source of which is hard to locate.
For all the efforts of the Spanish, Catholicism has, as in many
other places in Mexico, seamlessly blended with indigenous
beliefs, and it is at this intersection that the legend of the
“Cristo Negro” was born.
For some, he represents the worker, or the native, for others,
he might be a symbol of what it means to be a “mestizo.”
Whatever the interpretation, just as there is no doubt that the
Virgin of Guadalupe, the Virgin Mary, and this town's own Virgin
of Izamal share many of the same qualities, there is no doubt
that a figure projecting an all-encompassing forgiveness for
human weakness has a universal appeal.
We have only a few hours in hand, but they are rich with
impressions, a whirlwind of stolen moments on foot, and
quick glimpses across the cobblestones from the driver's seat
of a “calesa,” the town's signature horse-drawn carriages.
Couples flirt in the shade near the ruins of Hun Pik Tok,
grandmother hobbles along with a long fruit-picking pole to the
tangerine tree in her backyard, faded photographs and locks of
hair are tucked into a wooden picture frame, hundreds of
roses made into arrangements wait to be moved into position
at the convent, boys finish their work in the dry yellow grass by
an enormous skein of firecracker fuses, and wait for the
moment they can wield their lighters.
And this they do, the town beginning many days of October
festival that very night, leading up to Hanal Pixan, Yucatan's
Day of the Dead. Fireworks light up the darkness, from our last
stop all the way at the edge of town, signaling the way for a
procession that started in nearby Sitilpech at 5:00 AM.
Twelve hours later, after the 5:00 PM mass at Capilla de San
Jose, hundreds of devotees, linked hand-in-hand to protect the
image, round the corner into Izamal's zocalo, with brass band
and drums, flickering candles burning hands in the evening
breeze.
In the legend, two indigenous brothers came to town, and
through their hard work and attentiveness to the church,
earned the great respect of both the locals and the
Franciscans. Over the years, there were mysterious
circumstances, though, like unexplained disappearances,
where one would be gone for a time, the other appearing at
will.
I had come upon the “Cristo Negro” by chance, all alone,
around 4:00 PM, in an alcove on the left, just inside the great
wooden doors of San Antonio de Padua's main entrance.
Without knowing what the order of events was, I took a few
moments to photograph the cross and its otherworldly
companion.
What I couldn't have known is that the Black Christ had also
been on the other side of town all day, under watchful eyes,
and I would later see him borne into the main square on the
shoulders of an adoring crowd that evening.
How was this simultaneous appearance possible? Maybe
there are two figures. Maybe not. Part of me doesn't really want
to know the answer. But I had my moment of peace at 4:00 PM,
and if you ask any of the people in the procession today, I likely
had my miracle, too.
Jay Dunn
October 18, 2010
Izamal, Yucatan
the mending of hearts that continues within its yellow walls
today. For it is here, not far from where I write, that the great
pilgrimage shrine to Itzam-Na, the Mayan god of healing, was
built. It is also here, in 1553, that the invading Spanish forced
the Mayans to take it apart, stone by stone, to fashion the
church of San Antonio de Padua.
Healing comes in many forms, with forgiveness at its
foundation. Itzam-Na and the sun god Kinich Kak Mo must
have forgiven this and more, for it was also in Izamal that Friar
Diego de Landa burned all the Mayan texts he could find, then
spent the rest of his life regretting his actions.
It is surely a result of this turbulence, that a spiritual
reconciliation of sorts has taken place – there is, in this
somewhat sleepy town, an abiding peace, and a strange
energy, the source of which is hard to locate.
For all the efforts of the Spanish, Catholicism has, as in many
other places in Mexico, seamlessly blended with indigenous
beliefs, and it is at this intersection that the legend of the
“Cristo Negro” was born.
For some, he represents the worker, or the native, for others,
he might be a symbol of what it means to be a “mestizo.”
Whatever the interpretation, just as there is no doubt that the
Virgin of Guadalupe, the Virgin Mary, and this town's own Virgin
of Izamal share many of the same qualities, there is no doubt
that a figure projecting an all-encompassing forgiveness for
human weakness has a universal appeal.
We have only a few hours in hand, but they are rich with
impressions, a whirlwind of stolen moments on foot, and
quick glimpses across the cobblestones from the driver's seat
of a “calesa,” the town's signature horse-drawn carriages.
Couples flirt in the shade near the ruins of Hun Pik Tok,
grandmother hobbles along with a long fruit-picking pole to the
tangerine tree in her backyard, faded photographs and locks of
hair are tucked into a wooden picture frame, hundreds of
roses made into arrangements wait to be moved into position
at the convent, boys finish their work in the dry yellow grass by
an enormous skein of firecracker fuses, and wait for the
moment they can wield their lighters.
And this they do, the town beginning many days of October
festival that very night, leading up to Hanal Pixan, Yucatan's
Day of the Dead. Fireworks light up the darkness, from our last
stop all the way at the edge of town, signaling the way for a
procession that started in nearby Sitilpech at 5:00 AM.
Twelve hours later, after the 5:00 PM mass at Capilla de San
Jose, hundreds of devotees, linked hand-in-hand to protect the
image, round the corner into Izamal's zocalo, with brass band
and drums, flickering candles burning hands in the evening
breeze.
In the legend, two indigenous brothers came to town, and
through their hard work and attentiveness to the church,
earned the great respect of both the locals and the
Franciscans. Over the years, there were mysterious
circumstances, though, like unexplained disappearances,
where one would be gone for a time, the other appearing at
will.
I had come upon the “Cristo Negro” by chance, all alone,
around 4:00 PM, in an alcove on the left, just inside the great
wooden doors of San Antonio de Padua's main entrance.
Without knowing what the order of events was, I took a few
moments to photograph the cross and its otherworldly
companion.
What I couldn't have known is that the Black Christ had also
been on the other side of town all day, under watchful eyes,
and I would later see him borne into the main square on the
shoulders of an adoring crowd that evening.
How was this simultaneous appearance possible? Maybe
there are two figures. Maybe not. Part of me doesn't really want
to know the answer. But I had my moment of peace at 4:00 PM,
and if you ask any of the people in the procession today, I likely
had my miracle, too.
Jay Dunn
October 18, 2010
Izamal, Yucatan
| Help us publish the good news from Mexico! Sponsor our cultural preservation efforts, and join our community on Facebook |
| Documentation is Conservation! Become a sponsor of our cultural preservation efforts in Mexico |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |