Here’s another one from the archives, this time from my second poetry collection, Pagan Blues (2007):
I have placed it on the alter
for the devout to devour.
I have buried it in sand
forsaking it to the sun.
I have left it near the edge
letting gravity run its course.
I have split it in two
exposing it for the gods.
I have set it on the pyre
transforming it to ash.
I have ground it to dust
scattering it at sea.
I have hung it from a cross
skewering its side.
I have named it
and left it unnamed.
Posted in response to: http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2014/02/24/writing-challenge-object/
It’s December 23, 2012 and I’m in San Cristobal de las Casas, Mexico, for what many say is the day the Mayans have prophesied as the end of the world. Of course, in reality today marks the end of the previous Mayan calendar and there are no more Maya around to start the next one, but what’s a decade without at least one predicted apocalypse?
It’s a rainy day and I’ve joined a small group heading out to San Juan Chamula, located in the Chiapas highlands, known for its rebels. In fact, we pass truckloads of rebels driving into San Cristobal while we are heading out, replete with masks and rifles and an uncertain purpose.
San Juan Chamula enjoys unique autonomous status within Mexico. No outside police or military are allowed in the village and Chamulas have their own police force. We’re dropped off in front of a small cemetery and walk through the rain into the center of town. While visiting their church, home to a unique blend of traditional Maya beliefs with Catholic practices, we are witness to a shaman’s sacrifice. None of the locals seem to notice—they pass along to find the altar they are looking for, the one that will hear their prayers. I sit to the side and watch the shaman. He is kneeling, chanting, and rocking gently back and forth all while holding a very passive chicken. After going into a transe-like state, the shaman cleansers the chicken over the smoke from the rows of candles lit in front of him before twisting the bird’s neck. The chicken convulses a few times before becoming still and being placed back into the plastic bag it was brought in. After a few more chants, the shaman rises and leaves.
We follow this with a home visit in neighboring San Lorenzo Zinacantán, though this home is also a market and cafeteria. It’s good to know that on the last day of the world, after the sacrifices have been made, one can still get in a little shopping.
Posted in response to: http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/12/02/weekly-writing-challenge-snapshots/